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pretty-circa006 · 4 months

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I guess your bio clearly states you write for Negan, but it doesn't explicitly state you write only for Negan. So I'm thinking I should just ask. Are you open to writing a dadsbsf!Rick and dadsbsf!Negan x reader fic, they have a rivalry and are always trying to one up eachother to get in the readers good graces, but little do they know you already want them (both) and you get them (both). Ik this isn't something you normally write and it's totally fine with multiple partners. But you're clearly a great writer and I just had to ask. It's totally fine you don't take this request or even ignore it. But if you were to write could do something with an age gap and a minx reader and mean Rick and Negan but only during steamy, but otherwise they sprinkle their lives on you.(Maybe this could be series or something it doesn't have to be oneshot and you could your time exploring the idea, idk why I'm so passionate about this lol)

Thanks, for hearing me out, believe me ik this a tall order. Again it's totally fine if you ignore this!!!

P.s idk why I added the photos I'm sorry 😭😭😭😭(them trying to mark their territory trying to make the other back off of you???)

dadsbsf! Negan x F! Reader x dadsbsf! Rick

summary Negan and Rick are over at your house, joining your dad for a game of poker. tags gambling, mentions of smoking and alcohol consumption, age gap (reader is college aged and Rick and Negan are kinda old...like late 40s early 50s?)

wc 2.3k

note i really liked this request and i hope i interpreted it correctly, if not, i sincerely apologize! just fyi, i plan on making this multiple parts, which is why there's no smut....YET! :P

*you are responsible for your own content consumption. if this is something you DO NOT like, simply DO NOT read or interact! :) *

She loves summer. It's more so what comes with it, rather than the season itself. Being back home from college and finally having her own space in her own room and her own bathroom with her own shower. Most of all, she loves the late nights in her backyard, swimming in the pool beneath the bright stars, cicadas buzzing and crickets chirping in the background.

Tonight's one of those nights. The dark, starry, cloudless sky accompanies her she floats on her back around the pool, enjoying the peace of the summer night. All she's missing is a nice midnight snack. The warm, humid nighttime air feels good against her wet skin as she climbs out the pool. She forgot to bring a towel with her when she came out earlier, but that doesn't matter since she's getting right back in anyway. Barefoot, she saunters across the soft grass to the sliding glass door that leads into her house.

"Honey, where's your towel? You're dripping all over the floor," her dad complains as soon as she steps inside. Feeling the freezing air conditioning on her wet body also has her wishing she brought a towel.

"Sorry, I forgot, but I..." She trails off, finally noticing that her dad isn't alone and that he's at the dining room table with his best friends, Rick and Negan, in the middle of a game of poker.

"Hi, Rick...Negan," she awkwardly greets, folding her arms over her chest, suddenly feeling naked in front of the two.

"I'll be right back, gonna go grab her a towel," her dad explains, excusing himself from the table.

"Late night swim?" Negan teases while shamelessly eyeing the freezing girl's half-naked body. Her face grows hot as she feels his hazel eyes undressing what little clothing she has on.

"Why don' you join us for a game?" Rick suggests with a pat to the seat beside him.

"But I dunno how to play." Despite this, she takes the seat anyway. Rick pulls the chair closer to him until he can't anymore.

"I'ma teach ya how." This earns a scoff from Negan.

"Doll, you don't want this fuckin' prick teachin' ya how to play poker."

"This comin' from the idiot who lost five hundred dollars last time we played," Rick fires back. Negan rolls his eyes and flips him the bird.

She bursts into a fit of giggles at their rivalry. "I think I'll stick with Rick. I don't have much money to lose."

Her dad finally comes back into the room, towel in hand. He tosses it at her and it lands over her head like a ghost costume.

"Hey!" she huffs as she fixes the towel properly around her shoulders. Her father just huffs a laugh at her plight.

"Rick's gonna teach me how to play poker," she tells her dad excitedly. He grimaces which earns a snicker from Negan.

"If ya want any chance at winnin', you'll have your ol' man to teach ya, but hey," he raises his hands in mock surrender before taking his seat.

“I’m stickin' with Rick.” Rick gives her a soft smile and places his large hand on her thigh. Shivers run down her spine, and she’s sure it’s not from the air conditioning.

“You can jus’ watch this game and we’ll deal you into the next.” She nods in agreement and leans over Rick’s shoulder to look at his cards -a three of clubs and a three of spades-, ignoring the water droplets dripping from her hair onto his shirt, but he doesn’t seem to mind either. She has no idea what’s going on since she joined in mid-game, but by the looks of everyone’s faces…she still can’t tell what’s going. Her father’s face is blank and Negan’s has an air of mischief to it, but then again, it almost always does. Rick looks calm as his eyes move from his cards to the three that lie in the table’s center.

“Wha’s goin’ on?” She whispers in his ear. He leans down to her level and explains to her that the three cards in the middle are the flop and that things are looking good for him. She nods and leans closer to get a better look. The three men all slide more chips into pile. Negan reveals another card next to the three, which Rick informs her is called the turn. They bet again and Negan reveals one last card - the river, Rick tells her- before they all reveal their hands.

“Two pair,” her dad dejectedly reveals.

“Three of a kind,” comes Negan’s reveal.

“Full house,” Rick calls out smugly as he takes the pile of chips

“See, I knew Rick was gonna win!” She cheers, causing the two other men to groan in annoyance. Rick squeezes her thigh, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Negan who’s glaring daggers at the blue eyed man.

“You playin’ this round, hon?” Her dad asks, shuffling the cards. She happily agrees and deals her in.

“Ya sure ya wanna stick with Rick? He was just fuckin’ lucky last round,” Negan bargains.

“Lucky and four hundred dollars richer! I’m stickin’ by him.” Rick flashes Negan the smuggest look ever before wrapping his arm around her, pulling her closer.

“Got my good luck charm right here.”

“See if you get so lucky this time ‘round,” her dad challenges as he deals out two cards to each player. She looks at her cards, still not fully sure on how to play. She slides in a chip alongside everyone else, which Rick explains is the ante. Her dad reveals the flop and she looks from it to her own cards, not knowing what plays she has, if any. She glances over at Rick who’s immersed in his own cards.

“Rick, what do I do?” She whispers.

“C’mere, I’ll help ya out,” he offers with a pat to his lap. She climbs onto his lap from her own chair, leaving her towel behind. Her dad doesn’t bat an eye. Rick is one of his best friends, basically a brother to him, and in turn like family. At least that’s the way he sees it, like a simple loving action between good family friends.

But Rick can hardly focus on either of their cards. Having her on his lap is distracting. Her plush ass sits directly on top of his crotch and he can feel himself getting hard as she shifts around to get comfortable. If she can feel it too, she doesn’t move away or say anything. He rests his chin on her shoulder as he looks at her cards -an eight of diamonds and an eight of hearts- his beard prickling against her soft skin.

“See that eight of spades on the table, you’re close to havin’ a four of a kind,” he whispers.

“Is that good?”

“Very.” Nobody’s looking, so he presses a quick kiss to her shoulder. She stifles a giggle at the ticklish sensation of his beard against her skin. They all bet again and the next card is revealed. She shifts around excitedly once she sees another eight on the table.

“Keep still, sweetheart,” Rick warns, growing harder in his pants. She doesn’t say anything, but Rick can see her shoulders shake with more stifled laughter. Everyone places another bet before the river is revealed and they all show their hands.

“Full house,” Negan says as he reveals his cards.

“Flush,” her dad reveals.

“Two pair,” Rick shows his hand.

“Four of a kind,” she apprehensively says, showing her own hand.

“Maybe she is some kinda goddamn good luck charm,” Negan grunts.

“Did I win?” She asks, noticing the proud but somehow simultaneously disappointed faces around the table.

“You did, sweetheart, good job!” Rick says, hugging her from his position behind her. She gets up and presses a quick kiss to his cheek, dangerously close to his lips before skipping into the kitchen.

“That was fun, but I’ma head back to the pool now.” Negan watches her struggle to reach a snack in one of the cabinets. She jumps a few times, her ass jiggling a bit each time she lands. He stands up and joins her in the kitchen, watching her pathetically try a few more times before standing behind her and effortlessly grabbing the bag of chips. He even opens it before handing them to her.

“T-thanks,” she says turning to face him and taking the bag. Her whole body feels like it’s on fire as she stares up at him. He’s standing so close to her, basically pinning her against the counter. His tongue glides across his bottom lip as he hungrily eyes her up and down, eyes lingering on her tits that her bikini top could hardly contain.

“You’re welcome.” She doesn’t know what to say or even if she should say anything. Her eyes wander down to his strong arms that are folded across his chest, his tattoos on full display. She bites her lip when her eyes graze over the slight bulge in his pants. She can’t tell if he’s hard or just big, but either way she desperately needs to take a dip in the pool to cool the heat building up inside of her.

“I’m gonna go back out now, bye!” She slips away from him and hurries out to the backyard before jumping into the pool.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆

She had about thirty minutes alone until she hears the sliding glass door open. Out comes Rick in nothing but his swimming trunks and a beer in hand. He doesn't seem to see her as he makes his way to the hot tub. He gets in, letting out a sigh of relief as he feels the hot water relaxing his muscles. He rests his arms around the ledge and tilts his head back, relaxing and the sight is delicious. She climbs out the pool and carefully steps into the hot water beside Rick.

"Hey darlin'," Rick greets once she's sitting beside him.

"What're you still doin' here? Isn't it past midnight?" she asks.

"Me 'n Negan wanted the hot tub for a bit, but your old man's done for the night."

"Oh. Okay." She's looking at Rick in a way he can't decipher. Her eyes hungrily trail across his body as she scoots closer and suddenly, she's in Rick's lap like before.

"I can still sit here, right?"

"Of course," he reassures, his hands resting on her thighs, fidgeting with the waistband of her bikini bottoms. He rests his chin on her shoulder, just relaxing and enjoying the feeling of her against him.

The sliding glass door opens again, a jarring interruption to their peace. She flinches, scared one of her parents were about to come out and see her and Rick in a compromising position, but Rick, seeing that it's only Negan, holds her tighter. He joins them in the hot tub with a beer in hand and cigar between his lips. In nothing but his swim trunks, his hairy chest and tattoos are on full display, taking all of her attention away from Rick. If looks could kill, Negan would have murdered Rick with his hazel colored death glare. The tension in the hot tub is so thick, it's almost suffocating. Negan being there somehow makes her feel guilty for being so close to Rick, but leaving his lap isn't something she wants to do either.

"Hey, Negan," she says in a weak attempt to relieve the tension and kill the awkward silence.

"Hey doll," he takes a drag from the cigar before blowing out the smoke, "congrats on winnin' your very first poker game."

"Thanks...couldn'ta done it without Rick, really." She subconsciously leans further into Rick and he presses a few scratchy kisses to her shoulder and the back of her neck. Negan rolls his eyes at both her and Rick.

"C'mere," he commands with a come hither motion. She swallows nervously, looking from man to man. Rick can feel that she wants to get up so he unravels his arms from her waist so she can, which she does, albeit apprehensively. Even though he didn't tell her to, she sits on Negan's lap, her cunt right atop his growing boner, the only barriers between them being his swim trunks and her bikini bottoms. His beard tickles the side of her face as he leans down to whisper in her ear.

Rick watches the two with an intense gaze, almost as if he was daring Negan to try something with his girl. Negan's arms are around her now as he whispers something in her ear. Rick is sure he's just talking shit but jealousy still twinges in his chest.

"Anything that asshole thinks he can teach ya, I can do it better," Negan whispers. Rick sees her giggling and she turns her head to whisper something back to him.

"Yeah? Then why'd ya lose both games earlier?" she teases. He lets out a laugh which catches Rick's attention. His blue eyes glare daggers at Negan who only spares him a smug glance.

"Didn't wanna embarrass poor Rick over here by beating his ass in front of ya," he says loud enough for Rick to hear. His voice returns to a whisper. "As for the other game...you just got pretty damn lucky."

"Mmhmm sure," she replies sarcastically with an eye roll. She stands up and wades her way to the hot tub's stairs.

"G'nite y'all," she wishes them as she exits the tub.

"Goin' to bed already? Night's just started?" Negan complains, already missing having her on his lap.

"It's almost three in the mornin'," Rick comments looking at his watch. "Night, sweetheart!"

"See you both at the barbecue tomorrow!" She blows them both a kiss before skipping off toward the house. She can feel their gazes boring into her, particularly her ass as she does so.

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kiarastromboli · 9 months

Text

Teach me (Chris Sturniolo x y/n)

Part.2 Part.3

Masterlist.

Warning: Virgin reader, Smut content, don’t like it = don’t read it :)

Summary: Chris shows up in the middle of the night in your room, asking for answers to the exam you both are supposed to take in the following days, and things take an unexpected turn.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

We are on a summer Tuesday evening, the air warm and heavy, the sound of cicadas outside, and the gentle breeze causing tree branches to brush against my window sill, absolute calm. The house was silent; it was already 11:25 PM, the only reason I wasn't asleep? I was busy revising for the upcoming major exam. Honestly, I didn't need to; I had the knowledge and even more, but I'm a perfectionist. Why settle for the minimum when you can achieve much more?

Anyway, I allowed myself to study a bit more tonight since I have no classes tomorrow. I had some music playing in the background, loud enough for me to hear but not too loud to distract me. Tonight, nothing could distract me!

*knock knock knock*

I jumped in surprise when I heard faint noises coming from the window at the other end of my room. I thought I was impossible to distract, but apparently, I was wrong.

I walked slowly towards the window; it was probably my cat scratching to come in. Well, I wasn't sure; what else could it be?

I pulled the curtain covering my window to open it and came face to face with Chris Sturniolo.

WAIT, WHAT? What is that rascal Chris doing at my window? Oh my god, if my parents hear him, I'm done for.

Let me give you a brief recap to better understand the situation and the reason for my current anxiety.

My name is Y/n, and honestly, there's not much to say about me. I'm a quiet girl, the complete opposite of what one would consider "cool" and "popular." I'm disciplined, polite, courteous, studious, discreet – in short, the perfect little girl who will have a good diploma, an excellent job in an excellent city, and an excellent family. I do what is expected of me without questioning, and I never, I repeat, NEVER go against the rules.

Chris, on the other hand, is Chris. If I were a boy, I would be absolutely the opposite of that guy. He plays on the high school lacrosse team with his brother. He's a real jerk – sorry, I don't want to sound vulgar, but he's a real jerk. He spends his time skipping classes to do who knows what with who knows who. He thinks he's "cool" and "popular" because all the girls run after him, but the truth is, he's just a good-looking guy with a devilish behavior. Back in elementary school, I had a crush on him; when he found out, he mocked me, and he never stopped, even now in high school. So, yes, he's an immature jerk.

What could Chris possibly be doing at my window in the middle of the night when my parents are at home? My father has always been strict about no boys in my room, and certainly not in the middle of the night?

"Are you going to let me in?" he said, looking up at me.

"Absolutely not! How do you know where I live? You can't stay here; you have to leave now!" I shouted in a panic, looking around to make sure no one saw him here.

"Let me in, and I'll answer all your little questions," he said with a smirk.

"Oh my god," I whispered to myself, bringing my hand to my forehead. "No, Chris, you don't understand; my parents are here. If they know there's a boy at my window—"

"Okay, if you don't let me in, I'll knock on the front door, pretending to be your boyfriend. It's up to you," he said, cutting me off before moving away from my window.

"NO! Okay, fine, come in," I sighed. "Damn, damn, damn," I muttered to myself as I moved away from the window to lock the door to my room.

"Your room is cool," he said, dropping onto my bed as if it were his own. "What's his name?" he added, picking up a stuffed animal lying on my bed.

"Get your filthy body off my clean bed, please," I snapped, grabbing my stuffed animal from his hands with a brisk motion.

"Relax; I just wanted to chat," he said, rolling his eyes before getting up to move towards me. "Nice pajamas," he said with a smirk, scanning my body with his eyes.

I blushed uncontrollably; I was wearing really short shorts and an equally short tank top. What? It's fine; I know what you're thinking. I'll stop you right there; it's summer, it's super hot, and I didn't anticipate Mr. Troublemaker's surprise visit.

"What do you want?" I asked timidly, stuttering and crossing my arms to hide my stomach. I hated having my body exposed in front of others; it made me feel vulnerable.

"I need your help for the exam coming up next week," he said, moving towards my desk. "And before you refuse to help me, I have an offer you can't refuse!" he said, turning to me, leaning against my desk this time.

"And did you have to come and ask for my help in the middle of the night, Chris, seriously?" I replied, annoyed.

"I stole the test papers from the teachers' lounge. If you help me, you can memorize all the answers by heart," he said, crossing his arms with a smug smile.

I laughed when he presented his "impossible to refuse" offer. What an idiot. "If you think that I, Y/n, will help you cheat on the most important exam of the year, you're way dumber than I thought."

"Oh yeah? You seemed pretty bothered by the bad grade you got in gym yesterday," he said, advancing towards me. "You know, I know the coach really well, well enough to be able to change your grade."

Damn, it was the only grade below average I had all year. It's true that it would be convenient to make it disappear. What? No, Y/n, you're crazy; this is Chris we're talking about, he's a manipulator, and you're falling into his trap. Oh my god, stop; I need to get him out of here.

"Why do you want me to help you? Find the answers yourself," I replied, giving him a dark look.

"Because I don't feel like it, and you love this kind of thing," he said, rolling his eyes. "Y/n, it's beneficial for both of us. Look, you ensure you get 100% on the exam, in addition to seeing your gym grade increase, and it will save me from repeating this year."

"Get out of my room, Chris; I'm not going to help you cheat. It's bad," I said, crossing my arms.

"Bad? Who do you think you are? Come on, we don't care; it's just an exam!" he said, laughing.

"You don't care, but I do," I said, pointing to the window he came in through.

He smiled arrogantly before licking his lips, looking at me. "You're more tenacious than I thought," he said, plunging his eyes into mine. "I like that."

I won't lie; his words made me a little nervous at the moment. Okay, I said he was a big jerk,

not that he was ugly!

"Oh, are you blushing because of me? Does what I say affect you?" he said, slowly approaching me.

"G-Get out of my room," I said weakly, stepping back.

"Why? You don't want me to leave your room, Y/n. Don't lie to me; I know you like me," he said confidently, continuing to advance towards me until my back hit the door of my room.

I swallowed hard as I felt my throat tighten due to the proximity between us. "You're insane. I would have to be crazy to like a guy like you," I said timidly, avoiding his gaze.

"I'm sure I can drive you crazy," he said, grabbing my chin to force me to look him in the eyes.

A wave of heat engulfed me; I slightly opened my mouth to get more air. My heartbeat accelerated; I must be all red now.

"Listen," he said, getting even closer to me. "If you help me with this exam," he said, placing his hand in the small of my back, "in addition to the things I've already offered you," he said, slowly lowering his hand to my hip, "I can also show you a few things you might like," he said softly, plunging his eyes into mine.

I cleared my throat. "What are you talking about?" I said all timid.

"Oh, come on, Y/n, you know exactly what I'm talking about; you're dying for it. Look at yourself," he said with an arrogant smile. "And if you want to know, I'm dying for it too," he whispered in my ear, making my knees weak.

"Stop lying, you don't give a damn about me. You're acting like an asshole with me; you only want the answers to this exam," I said, stuttering and trying not to be swayed by his sweet words.

"Y/n, I know where you live because I follow you after school every day to make sure nothing happens to you on the way," he said, moving his face a few centimeters away from mine. "I spend my time teasing you in the hope of getting closer to you," he added, running his hand over my cheek. "If I didn't care about you, I wouldn't have even noticed the bad grades you're getting in PE," he said, rolling his eyes.

If these were lies, then he's a very good liar. Oh my god, my mother always warned me about bad boys like Chris, but I felt like fainting when his hand tightened a little more around my hip. "Chris—"

"You know what, screw this exam; I'll study it on my own. Let me kiss you, and I promise to leave your room and never bother you about this exam again," he said, almost sounding desperate. Wait, is he serious? Chris has a crush on me? I must be dreaming; it can't be possible.

"Chris, if this is a joke, it's really not funny," I said uncertainly, furrowing my brow when he moved his face closer to mine.

"I'm dead serious," he said, fixing his gaze on my lips.

My eyes were switching between his and his lips; I didn't know what to do. I was bewildered by the situation until Chris placed his soft lips on mine. My eyes instinctively closed to better savor the moment. I was kissing the most handsome guy in high school in my room, just like in the movies. His hand slid under my shorts to grab my buttock, making me sigh in surprise during our kiss. He seized the opportunity to slip his tongue into my mouth, dancing with mine. He started smiling against my lips when he heard a pathetic moan die in our kiss as he began to knead my buttocks.

"Chris," I said, separating our lips and pushing him by his chest.

"What?" he said with a confused look as I moved away from him.

"We're not going to do this," I told him, shaking my head. "My parents are here; you can't just barge into my room in the middle of the night and coerce me with sex to get the answers to this damn exam," I said, offended.

"Y/n, I don't care about the exam. I did all this to get closer to you!" he said, taking a step towards me.

I stepped back when he tried to grab my hand to hold it in his. "Okay, prove it," I said, crossing my arms. "You said you would leave me alone about this exam and leave my room if I let you kiss me," I added, heading to the window to open it again.

He opened his mouth to speak before changing his mind, shaking his head.

"Show me you're not a liar," I said, pointing to the window.

He sighed before moving towards the window. "I'm not a liar, Y/n," he said, furrowing his brow before starting to pass his legs through the window.

There, I was finally rid of him. I should feel relieved, right? So why does something deep inside me break seeing him leave?

Without thinking, before he had time to pass through my window entirely, I grabbed him by his T-shirt to kiss him again. I couldn't let him go like that. I don't know what was happening to me, but everything was screaming at me to throw myself on his lips and never leave them.

He straightened up before closing the window with one hand. His other hand came to caress my cheek.

I had absolutely no idea what I was doing; we headed towards my desk without paying attention. He grabbed the back of my thighs to make me sit on my desk just behind me. His lips left mine to move towards my neck, his arms tightened around my waist, and my thighs surrounded his.

"Do you still want me to leave your room now?" he said arrogantly.

"Shut up," I said, feeling my breath quicken when he started sucking on the skin of my neck between his lips. "Chris, you can't leave marks," I said, a little panicked.

"Why not? You're mine," he said authoritatively, raising his face in front of mine and grabbing my throat in his hand.

"First, I'm not yours, Chris, and second, my father will kill me if he sees hickies on my neck," I said, chuckling timidly at his reaction.

Without a word, he began kissing my neck again before slowly moving towards my chest, making me anxious. "What are you doing?" I asked, stuttering.

"I'm leaving my mark where I'm sure no one else will see it," he whispered before grabbing the fabric of my tank top to slightly uncover my breast and place his lips on it.

"Chris—" I said, jumping when he started sucking a hickey on that sensitive area.

I could feel shivers running through my entire body; my back arched, and my thighs instinctively tightened around his waist while a few silent moans escaped my lips.

"Are you always this sensitive, or am I the one making you feel this way?" he said, raising his head towards me with a big smile.

I started blushing uncontrollably when he said that; I didn't even have a response to his question. I had never done anything like this with a boy before.

"Did you lose your tongue?" he asked, tilting his head to the side before coming to fix a strand of hair behind my ear.

"I-I don't know," I said in an almost inaudible voice. "Is it wrong?" I asked, embarrassed.

"No, not at all," he said, frowning. "What do you mean by 'I don't know'?" he asked, confused.

"I—" I didn't know what to answer. A silence settled at that moment; he looked me in the eyes before realizing.

"You've never done anything with a boy?" he asked, surprised.

I simply shook my head from side to side, too embarrassed to say anything.

His arrogant smile covered his lips a few seconds later. "Do you want me to teach you?"

My eyes widened when I heard that. I hesitated for a moment before nodding timidly.

"Use words, princess," he said, stroking my waist to encourage me to speak.

"I want you to teach me how to do it," I said, feeling a wave of confidence in myself.

He smiled before kissing me again; this time our kiss was slow and gentle, as if to reassure me. His hands played with the hem of my tank top. "Can I take this off?" he asked calmly.

"Take yours off first," I asked directly. I didn't want to be the only one exposed for some reason. My statement made him chuckle, and he separated from my lips to remove his t-shirt.

I took a moment to observe him. Unconsciously, I started biting my lips, and Chris smiled at my reaction. "It's your turn now," he said, moving towards me again.

Once again, I hesitated for a moment, looking into his eyes. "You don't have to do it if you don't want to, you know," he said without breaking eye contact.

His words were enough to make me feel comfortable. I took my tank top off over my head without overthinking it. "But I want to," I said before covering my chest, feeling a wave of embarrassment engulf me.

Chris immediately grabbed my arms. "You don't need to hide from me, Y/n," I let him remove my arms from the way, and he directed his eyes to my chest, licking his lips. "You're beautiful," he said before pressing his lips against mine once again.

I felt more and more at ease with him. My hands, which were previously at the back of his neck, started to travel along his chest down to his waist, where he hastily seized my wrist. "Slow down, princess."

"What? Did I do it wrong? Isn't that what I'm supposed to do?" I asked, panicking. He chuckled at my reaction.

"No, you didn't do anything wrong," he said, smiling. "We have all the time in the world, don't rush yourself," he whispered before kissing my neck again.

My hand found its place in his hair, and he gradually directed his kisses towards my chest, prompting me to throw my head back at the new sensation of his lips around my nipples.

One of his hands slipped between my thighs, making me jump and tilt my head forward at the proximity of his hand to my sensitive area.

He began to gently caress my pussy through my clothes, causing a silent moan to escape my lips.

I could feel my head starting to spin due to all this sudden stimulation; I couldn't help but squirm in all directions. "Can I take off your shorts?" he asked, looking up at me.

"Y-yes," I replied timidly before he slowly removed my shorts and resumed kissing me, this time moving down to my stomach, making me breathe harder.

He stopped kissing me when he reached the level of my white panties to examine them closely. "You're so wet that I can see the trace on your panties," he said with a smirk.

Embarrassment washed over me. "I'm sorry," I said softly, trying to close my thighs, but he grabbed them to force me to keep them open.

"Don't be," he said, bringing his head closer to my thighs. "I like it," he said, planting a kiss on my clothed pussy, making me shiver. "You're so sensitive; I bet I could make you come in less than 5 minutes with my tongue," he said, running his fingers between the fabric of my panties and my skin.

"Do you want me to do it?" he asked, looking up at me with a sly smile. I timidly nodded. "Say it," he said in a firm tone.

"What?" I asked, a bit embarrassed.

"If you want me to do it, you'll have to ask me, Y/n," he said arrogantly.

"Chris," I said in a frustrated moan; I could see his smile widening, amused by the situation. He returned to plant another kiss on my still-clothed pussy. "I-I want you to make me come with your tongue," I said, almost inaudibly moaning.

"Anything you want, princess," he said satisfied before removing my panties. I lifted my hips to help him, and he placed a few kisses around my sensitive area before putting my legs over his shoulders and diving his head between my legs.

The upper part of my body leaned forward slightly at the sensation of his lips around my clit. Instinctively, my hand pressed into his long, wavy hair, and I couldn't control the soft moans that escaped me. "Y/n, quiet down; your parents will hear you," he said, chuckling against me before getting back to work.

His tongue applied pressure to my clit, driving me wild. One of his hands reached for my breasts to play with them, mainly to prevent me from squirming all over my desk, which kept creaking. He moved his tongue in circular motions, gradually increasing the speed. After a few seconds, I felt something new in my lower abdomen, as if it were knotting due to the pressure. My thighs started to tighten slightly around his face without me realizing it. When I lowered my eyes to look at him, I could see his beautiful blue eyes already fixed on me, admiring me as if I were his last meal.

My eyebrows furrowed when all this stimulation started to take over. "Chris," I struggled to say in a weak voice; it felt like I was about to faint. "Oh my—fucking god," I said, throwing my head back and covering my mouth with my hand.

Chris didn't stop; on the contrary, he accelerated his movements, and his grip on my breasts became much firmer. He started moaning between my legs, and the vibrations of his moans against my clit were enough to push me over the edge. My legs began to tremble. "Fuck—Chris," I said before reaching orgasm on his face.

He slowed down the movement of his tongue before completely stopping to let me ride out my orgasm. "I told you," he said, straightening up and using the back of his hand to wipe his mouth, "less than 5 minutes."

I chuckled at his remark, "You never stop boasting, huh?" I said with a smile, and his hands came around my cheeks before placing a chaste kiss on my lips.

"Never," he said, smiling before I reconnected our lips, making him smile at my hungry kiss. "What do you want?" he asked, separating our lips.

"I want to pleasure you too," I replied, playing with his necklace. He licked his lips, looking into my eyes.

"Is that what you want?" he asked, pressing his pelvis against mine to make me feel his erection through his pants, and I nodded.

"Yes, that's what I want," I said with an innocent look.

He immediately reconnected our lips without waiting a second longer, then grabbed the back of my thighs to carry me to my bed.

He gently placed me at the edge of the bed before leaning forward to kiss me again. "If you want us to stop, let me know," I brought my hands to his belt to remove it while he looked at me with desire.

I lowered his pants and stared at his erect member. Suddenly, panic resurfaced. "You don't have to do this," he said, bringing his hand to my cheek.

I looked up to meet his reassuring gaze. "I don't know how to do it," I said timidly, "but I want to." I added, placing my hand on his thigh.

"Do what feels right, I'll guide you," he said, never taking his eyes off me, as I slid down his boxers to his ankles.

The apprehension and stress were still there, but it was too late; after all, I was already committed. I really wanted it; I was just terribly afraid of messing up. I stopped overthinking and took his member in my hand, giving him a look to make sure I wasn't doing anything wrong. He nodded to indicate I should continue. I began hesitant strokes with my hand, eliciting a moan from his mouth.

His hand came to caress the top of my head, and I threw him a last uncertain glance before taking him into my mouth. He flinched and took a step back when I started, and I immediately looked up at him in panic. "Sorry," I apologized embarrassedly.

"No, don't be. It's okay; you just need to avoid letting your teeth touch it. It's not very pleasant," he explained in a reassuring voice before coming back towards me.

I nodded, and this time, I made sure my teeth didn't touch him. His hand returned to my hair. "Yeah, like that," he moaned, making my pussy clench at the tone of his voice. I continued my movements with closed eyes. "You can use your hand for what you can't fit in your mouth," he said weakly, and I did as he instructed. I could feel how much he was holding back from thrusting into my mouth to avoid rushing me, and the muffled sounds from his mouth sent an electric shock to my pussy.

"Fuck, you need to stop," he said, throwing his head back. I pulled away and looked up at him, confused.

"Did I do something wrong?" I asked, feeling lost.

"No, baby, you did a great job. It's just that I was about to come," he said, caressing my cheek and catching his breath.

"Oh," I said, chuckling. "Maybe you can come inside me?" I said without thinking, excited by the moment; I wanted more.

"Y/n," he said, diving his eyes into mine before I got up, grabbed the back of his neck, and kissed him again. "Is this really what you want?" he asked before reconnecting our lips.

"Please," I said pathetically, guided by my desires and excitement at that moment. My hands tangled in his hair, and his hands firmly gripped my hips.

"I don't have a condom, princess," he emphasized, smiling against my lips.

"I have..." I said timidly before heading to my bedside table to take out a new box of condoms.

A sly smile appeared, and I could already feel his remarks coming. So, before he had a chance to say anything, I cut him off, "I'm a virgin, not irresponsible, Chris," I said, rolling my eyes when I stood in front of him.

"I didn't say anything," he said, chuckling, before pushing me onto the bed and positioning himself above me to kiss me again. "Are you sure this is really what you want, Y/n?" he asked, directing his lips to my neck. "I don't want you to feel forced into anything. What we've done already is more than enough for now," he added.

"Jeez, Chris, stop talking," I said, chuckling, before grabbing his head between my hands to kiss him even more passionately than before.

"Are you that impatient?" he said, chuckling. "I need to stretch you a bit first, okay?" he said, directing his fingers towards my entrance. I simply nodded, and he pushed the first finger inside, prompting me to raise my head at the sensation. "Is it okay?"

"Yes, you can add another finger," I said, feeling my breath quicken. He inserted a second finger and began to move them in and out to stretch me.

"I wish your parents weren't here so I could hear you better, Y/n. You make beautiful sounds," he said, burying his head in my neck and curling his fingers inside me to stretch me further.

"Chris," I said, moaning and pulling slightly on his hair, "I need more."

"Do you think you're ready?" he asked, looking into my eyes. He had never looked at me like that before; his gaze was tender and caring.

"Yes," I replied, nodding. He grabbed a condom and opened it with his mouth. I could feel the pressure building, but I wasn't going to back down. I was going to do it; I was ready to do it.

He put on the condom and positioned himself at my entrance. "Tell me if you want me to stop, and I'll do it immediately," he said, and I nodded. "It might hurt a bit at the beginning if it's too much for you—"

"Chris, just do it," I said, cutting him off when I felt the stress overwhelm me.

He began to push slowly inside me, scrutinizing any sign of discomfort on my face. My eyebrows furrowed at the burning sensation when he started penetrating me. "Fuck," I said, glancing down to see what was happening between my legs before letting my head fall back on the pillow. He stopped halfway to make sure it wasn't too much for me. "Don't stop," I said, breathing quickly, and he resumed his advance until he touched the depth, prompting me to bury my head in his neck to muffle a moan.

"Are you okay?" he asked without moving from where he was.

"Yes, you can move," I said before he began to make slow thrusts. At first, it burned a little; it was uncomfortable, but with each subsequent movement, the pain transformed into pleasure.

"Oh my god, you're so tight, Y/n, fuckkk," he said, moaning against my lips. His thrusts gradually accelerated, and my hand gripped his bicep.

"It-feels good," I admitted, moaning softly and clenching my jaw.

"I've dreamt of this for so long; it's even better than in my dreams," he said, gripping onto my hips.

"You dreamed of this?" I asked him, confused, not knowing if he was being honest with what he was saying.

"Mhm," he simply hummed before lowering his free hand between our bodies to massage my clit. "You're mine now," he said in my ear, and my grip around his bicep tightened with the stimulation he was providing at that moment. His hip movements accelerated again, knotting my lower abdomen for the second time tonight. "Say it," he added in an authoritative tone.

"I'm yours, Chris," I said with the little strength I had left. My mind didn't know where to focus at that moment.

"Yes, and this pussy is mine too, Y/n," he said, moaning in my ear, driving me crazy. "I want you to cum again for me, princess," he said, accelerating his thrusts, yet still gentle and delicate.

My eyes rolled back, and my legs tightened around him. "Let go, princess," he said breathlessly. "Cum all over me." With his words, I threw my head back and started clenching around him. "Fuck, I can feel you clenching around me, baby," he said, burying his head in my neck, and I started to climax. I grabbed his hand, placing it over my mouth to muffle any noise, and shortly after, he climaxed too.

"Oh my god," I said before he let all his weight fall on me, moaning one last time.

"I never want to move from here," he said, smiling against my neck.

"You'll have to before my parents wake up," I said, chuckling. "It's already a miracle they didn't hear us," I said, running my hand through his hair.

He sat up and withdrew from me before tossing the condom into my trash bin. I sat up, covering myself with my blanket. "Will this happen again?" I asked him timidly, looking at him as he put on his boxers.

"Of course, it will, princess," he said, smiling, before sitting next to me and rubbing my thigh. "Can I stay a little longer?" he asked, locking his eyes with mine, and I nodded.

He settled next to me, pulling me close and gently running his hand over my curves. "Send me the exam tomorrow; I don't have class. I'll give you the answers," I told him, looking up at him.

"I thought this was bad, and good girls like you don't do these kinds of things," he said, chuckling and furrowing his brows.

"Good girls like me aren't supposed to sleep with bad boys like you," I replied, straddling him to be on top, and he sat up to kiss me.

"I told you I'd drive you crazy," he said, smiling against my lips.

Masterlist.

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #ao3 fanfic #nick sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo edit #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #ao3 #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #smut

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comfortless · 9 months

Text

Deep Water

nix! König x fem! reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. no.. intentional harm done to reader but there are sporadic mentions of murder (drowning), König is kind of a creep here do you guys forgive me (say yes), implied sex; dubcon everything. König is wearing a fishing net rather than the usual hood because. it made sense to me sorry.

notes: yet again, i have found that i can not manage to write anything except for silly fantasy nonsense… bear with me this will pass (it will not). if you’re uncertain of what a nix is, i recommend skimming over this (or tl;dr— a shapeshifting water spirit).

You’ve always been told to beware of the river, especially on nights like this. When the singing starts up you were to run, as far and as fast as your feet could carry you. It would be the most beautiful sound you had ever heard, as well as the last. Whatever beast lies in wait along the silt of the riverbed luring people in with its haunting song isn’t kind. The drowned bodies resurfacing bloated and paled are enough for the townsfolk to assume that assuredly, a monster lies in wait someplace within the glassy water.

For all of the fear, town myths were just that— myths.

As always, there’s no singing when you seat yourself on smooth, mossy stones by the river’s bank. The moon hangs low, casting its brilliant reflection on calm, dark water. The air is alive with the buzzing of cicadas clinging to the trees at your back and night birds calling out to the wind. Nothing is amiss; it’s only peaceful, and that’s why despite the warnings, you often find yourself here when the temperature is favorable.

There are nights when the river isn’t calm, and currents are the most reliable reasoning for the deaths from past summers. The water is full of large rocks with sharp corners, teeming with plants that could so easily snare an ankle, and when the water is frothing and cruel it’s no surprise that one could be thrashed to unconsciousness if they weren’t careful.

You didn’t come here to take your chances on swimming, anyhow.

If anything, it’s a mere reprieve from the bustle of the town. No one wanders here any more since the myths gained traction, passed from mouth to listening ears time and time again, leaving this place entirely untouched. Occasionally the obnoxious teenager would cross your path on the walk here, declaring loudly to their friends about how they supposedly saw some slimy beast, eyes like moonbeams and scales like razors lying on the bank.

During your little adventures here, you often carry a snack with you, but not for yourself. Tonight, it’s just a small package of vanilla flavored cookies. In truth, they were awful— dry and near flavorless, but you suspect your friend here wouldn’t mind too terribly much, and if it got them out of your pantry without wasting it was a win for the both of you.

When the large dorsal fin crests over the water mere meters from the bank, you gratuitously crush the treats in a closed fist and toss the crumbs into the water. Time and time again, you’ve fed the large animal, watching as it thrashes about just below the surface before disappearing back into its depths. You’ve never gotten a good look at it, either, but you imagine it must stretch out past your height or further; some sort of gar or sturgeon.

Just as many times before, it glides further in, fin entirely out of sight now. The only evidence of it ever appearing at all were the small waves rippling in its wake. All is quieted once more as you embrace the placid bliss, readying your small flashlight and losing yourself into the book perched in your lap.

The next night, you’re greeted by a large snake basking over the rock you typically sat upon. It lies still, coiled into itself as it regards you, forked tongue flicking out for several moments before it simply slithers off, hiding itself away beneath the moss and stone.

“Best to leave you alone, huh?,” you ask to it’s retreating tail, feeling a bit silly for speaking to the reptile at all. It doesn’t respond, of course, nor does it bother to come out of hiding either.

You opt to seat yourself on the hill overlooking the water instead.

You find that after a day occupied by tedious tasks, there truly was no greater place to abandon your woes than here. Everything was peaceful; wild yet simplistic. Even with all of the death that seemed to haunt this place, you never feared the thought of ghosts. You’ve even entertained your imagination a time or two, that if you ever did meet one, you would only ask it not to disturb the wildlife you have grown so fond.

There’s a freedom and a mystery to places like this, places without the foot traffic of other people. It brings with it a sense of whimsy, especially when you glance towards the water and see the surface reflecting every twinkling star above.

The fish doesn’t appear, even as you listen to the water in wait, your head tilted as you lie back on soft grass to watch for ripples, for the swell of a large fin moving beneath. Nothing. You read your book as the night progresses, nearly completing it entirely before you make your way back home.

Weeks pass by like this— work, river, home and repeat. Occasionally it’s the same large snake that greets you when you wander there, more often it’s the large fish circling about waiting for crumbs of whatever treat you choose to bring. The bank and the small hill overlooking it have become a separate home to you, one where you can be away with the fairies, talking to your animal friends that never seem to stick around for long.

When the weather grows warmer, you even dare to take a swim.

You’re stood on the slick stones of the bank, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and a pair of underwear. It’s not proper swimming attire, but you reason that you’re not at the beach, not a soul is around, and it doesn’t really matter at all that you might look a bit silly. The prospect of swimming along that behemoth below is a tad terrifying, but you wouldn’t dare to wander too far in. Maybe the fish would even be intelligent enough to not attempt to eat you after you’ve been so kind to it.

It’s hot, and with a sticky layer of sweat glossing your skin, your worries seem minuscule in light of an easy way of cooling off. You toe at the calm water for a moment, testing its temperature before willing yourself to take a step forward, then another before you seat yourself in the vibrant expanse of darkened blue. Here, you realize, is the best place to stargaze, too; they shimmer all around you, within reach as you tap at the surface of water, watching it undulate beneath the pressure of your fingertips.

You could reach the moon, too, if you swam further out. A few meters from the bank and you would be directly beneath its reflection, bathed in that ethereal glow.

You watch for your friend for a time, trying to prioritize your wariness over your whimsy. When the fish doesn’t tread by you, the water remaining calm, you rise to your feet and take slow, metered steps as the water parts and flows against your shins.

Though the river is disturbed no matter how gently you stride forward, nothing slides out from its depths in pursuit of you. Nothing happens at all when you reach out to splay your hand out against the reflection, the water now gently lapping against your stomach rather than your legs.

You hadn’t expected any sort of shift in your reality, that would be ridiculous, but perhaps some sort of clarity; a further calm for a weary mind. It doesn’t come, and with a disheartened splash you wade your way back towards the shore.

This has been your sanctuary for some time. Excusing the snake, there’s not been any sort of threat to you, not here. A safe water world all your own. Though, that peace is shattered the moment that you make it to the bank and hear the water shift some small distance behind you. Turning your head, you’re met with the sight of a man, the bulky muscular silhouette towering in the patch of moonlight you had just stood in. Bright blue eyes catch the light, reflecting like an animal’s as you scramble back to where you’ve left your shorts.

He stands there, silent and unmoving like an obelisk even as you hastily dress yourself with a thundering heart and breaths that sound more or less like gasps, senses heightened by your panic as you turn tail to run.

No one had been there. You were sure of it when you sunk into the water. There was no sound when this person had swam over to take your place. He was just there, as if he had been the entire time and you somehow failed to notice.

You make your way into the woods framing this place, hurried steps and untied shoelaces. You don’t even bother with your flashlight.

Finding your way back home with aches in every muscle, the desperate rampage you had taken to get away finally coming to a close when the door slams shut behind you, you quickly shower and mull over what’s just happened. A ghost, perhaps. It had to of been. Any other person would have made noise in their approach, especially being that big. The mind could play its tricks; what you had seen was likely not even there at all— a terrifying figment of your imagination. That sets you at ease, somewhat, but not enough.

You don’t sleep well that night, tucked beneath your blanket and staring at the filtered moonlight through your curtains. Work isn’t on your mind at all come morning until your phone chimes with a notification from your manager, questioning your tardiness. A languid crawl out of bed follows, another shower, an unsatisfying breakfast, all before you opt to send a text back to let him know you won’t be in today.

It could be excused, you’re reliable and decent enough at the job; not one to boast, but far more eager to please than the rest of your coworkers. You would be entirely useless if you went in on no sleep, you reason.

You don’t want to go back there, not under the veil of night, but you find yourself horribly curious the longer that you bide your time indoors. You had to know if the thing that you saw was really there, had to calm your nerves. What if he had always been watching each time, and you simply hadn’t noticed? The forest bordering the river is terribly dark at night, anyone could crouch behind the shield of a tree and remain undetected until they willed the courage to drag you in, cup a palm over your mouth to silence your cries.

Maybe it was the monster the people in town rumored about.

The thought of some strange, silent thing living beneath the water waiting for an opportune moment to take you by the neck and drag you down to the silty floor to watch you drown horrified you. Yet, that’s the one conclusion that sticks. Those eyes… so lurid and haunting, no human being had eyes like that.

You inhale sharply, steeling your nerves as reach for a pocket knife for defense, toss it into the bag slung over your shoulder, and storm out the door.

The trek there is nothing short of dull.

No matter where you look, what shadows rise up beneath the dim glow of a falling sun, there’s nothing out in the woods. The river is equally tame. The water babbles over rock, cicadas buzz off in the distance, and not a thing seems amiss. Your search for footprints that don’t belong to the soles of your shoes turns up empty. The only thing that suggests just maybe it wasn’t all in your head is the book you had neglected to retrieve in your fear the night before.

The cover, every page within, now warped as though it had been pulled into the water and spit out to dry. You pick it up, peeling through damp pages, running your fingertips over the smeared ink. It’s possible that a particularly aggressive splash could have sullied it, but something tells you that that isn’t the case. Either way, it’s unreadable now. You sulk a bit as you slip the ruined thing into your bag and step towards the smooth stones to watch the water instead.

Night creeps in slowly with you there, and you’re on high alert for a time before you begin to relax as usual. Even giggle to yourself at how silly it was you believed you saw a ghost at all as you entertain yourself by skipping small stones across the water.

No large snake, no massive fish, no titan of a man appears before you, only a calming crescent moon and a few wandering wood ducks, gliding down from the bank to splash about. A thought comes to mind as the calm emboldens you: what would happen if you got in just one more time?

There’s nothing to suggest that you’re playing with fire as you leave your shoes neatly in the dry sand. If the ducks could swim unbothered by fish or men, then surely you could, too. You watch the little creatures a distance away as they dip their heads beneath the surface and chitter away amongst themselves while you take your first step in.

You don’t dare to go as far this time, stopping when the water brushes over your knees. You wait there while time seems to slow to a crawl, expecting the absolute worst, glancing further down the river, dipping your hand below the glassy surface until your fingertips brush the sand beneath.

It’s horribly hot and you’re still exhausted from the sleepless night before. The water feels nice, and you feel as though you have some sort of claim to it as you’ve been here more often than anyone else would dare to. Ghosts and monsters be damned, you seat yourself and let the water lap over your shoulders, tilting your head back to watch the stars.

When the singing begins it takes a moment to register just what it is that you’re hearing. It’s not beautiful, not like the myths have said. It’s hissed, a low whisper, a mockery of what a human song would sound like. The voice is rasped, lilted yet cold. The realization that it sings words from your book of poetry is what terrifies you the most, the warped pages all making sense now.

Your eyes dart to either side of you, forward, before realizing the voice is coming from behind you. Cold spreads through your veins as you try to force yourself to stand, but in your fear you find yourself petrified, rooted in water that would surely become your grave.

You can’t bring yourself to turn around, to inevitably find your eyes locked onto the shadowy frame of a man far too large, his eyes glistening and pale like the moon hanging above.

The voice pauses when it finds you unmoving, and you can hear the rustle of the creature shifting its weight where it’s stood on the rocks lining the bank. You’ve no clue how deep the river gets, where the opposite side leads, but your only chance of escape seems to be swimming through in the hopes that this thing doesn’t choose to chase after you. A part of you knows that he would, that that is exactly what he expects you to do, goading you to flee deeper with his eerie song so that he can drown you just as he did the others.

You do the opposite as you squeeze your eyes shut and crawl back towards the bank, making sure to keep some distance despite your willful blindness. You wouldn’t look at it, wouldn’t talk to it, you would just go home and never come back.

“Best to leave you alone, hm?”

You still as your fingers brush against wet moss, the voice no longer a whisper but loud, loud as it echoes your words from days past just above you. Beating back your own curiosity proves futile, because you look up at the damned thing then, expecting to see an impossible terror before you, sharp fangs wet with blood and appendages too spindly reaching out for you. Instead, you see only a man.

He’s crouched, only a meter or so away, and you immediately recognize his broad figure. The same as the night before. From this distance you can make out the finer details, the length of net covering his face and neck, the webbing between each finger. Still a scary sight, but only in the way it’s unfamiliar and imposing rather than instilling any sort of primordial fear.

“Excuse me?” You pull yourself fully out of the water, rising to your feet and taking a tentative step back. You’re prepared to run, a coil pulled too tight on the verge of snapping.

The man, creature, whatever he may be just tilts his head, lets the silence hang in the air for a moment before he has the audacity to laugh whether to himself or at the strange, bewildered expression on your face.

His stare is assessing as he sucks in a breath, follows suit in rising to his full height. From the size of him alone, you know you’re not getting away. A mere stride for him would be two or more for you, a deliberate tug of your wrist from him could snap it in an instant.

Yet, he doesn’t reach for you, only gestures toward your bag lying on the ground with a subtle flick of a finger. You give him a quizzical glance in turn, not bothering to retrieve it. You could come back during the day with a friend, gather it and never return. Only, your knife sits somewhere inside, the only protection that you’ve got. The realization spurs you to bend over and toss the strap over your shoulder.

“I’ll… I’ll be going now.”

The stare remains fixed upon you as you take another step back, blinking slowly every now and then as you both remain in some strange stasis.

It takes you a moment to put the pieces together. The reciting of words from the book, the mimicking of the words spoken to the snake, the hint at your bag… he’s expecting something and it’s not to steal away your life, only to be fed and have your company. It’s not charming, it’s awfully strange and eerie, but you find yourself giggling at the prospect of taming some murderous, shapeshifting monster with subpar treats and poetry.

You pull open the bag, searching for anything you may have brought along that he could eat, eventually prying out a small package and offering it out to him.

“Is this what you want?,” you ask, voice hushed and trembling.

He shakes his head, rustling the net cloaking him in the process. So, he understands, he’s just been willfully ignoring every other thing you’ve said prior. You store the package away with a perturbed expression crossing over your face.

“Then what?”

Any relief you had felt seems to dwindle when the giant takes a half-step closer. His skin is cool and wet as the river as he brushes his hand over your forearm, curling a set of fingers around it. The touch is gentle, but there’s a promise of violence lurking somewhere in the depths of his eyes.

“Come with me,” he urges in that harsh whisper from before, delicately squeezing as he pulls you towards him, leading you back to the river with a tight grip and a step back over the stones. Though his touch is passive, there’s a frightening strength lurking someplace beneath his flesh, tacked to bone, and as your gaze trails lower to rest to rest at your feet, the space between you two, the evidence of a life prone to violence and strength is laid bare before you.

You don’t fight the hold as he leads you to water so deep it caresses the base of your neck, right below the milky glow of a waning moon. Deeper still, as you’re pulled below, pressed down to the very bottom with his body lain over you. You can only hold your breath so long before an involuntary gasp leaves you, and a wave is funneled straight into your lungs.

Panic is fleeting, but the adrenaline stays ever-present. You claw, push, kick, to no avail. Pinned down by a hand weighing like an anchor you feel your vision flooding and hazy as his head knocks against your jaw, mouth sealing tightly over yours. It’s not a gentle kiss, the net fashioned into a hood digs into your skin, teeth scrape over your lip until you feel the sting of blood drawn.

All at once, your vision darkens and it’s over.

You find yourself lying back on the shore as the morning sun warms your face, causes your dampened shirt to cling to your skin. Disoriented, but alive, brushing your thumb over your lower lip as you sit up to stare at the subtle waves lapping over moss and rock.

Just a dream, you tell yourself, knowing full well you hadn’t fallen asleep.

Just a dream, even though you avoid the river entirely now. Your route home from work changes too, avoiding even a glimpse of the path that leads down to that place. You don’t even replace the book, you toss what remains of it after fishing through your bag, murmuring something about it surely being cursed and entertain yourself with film at night instead.

Sleep remains tentative, you wake with every sound, and your dreaming is filled with visions of a figure pushing you down into deep water, his weight bearing down upon you so heavily that you can not move until you wake with a start, eyes searching your bedroom.

Several weeks, and the fear does eventually fade.

The morning that the rain begins to fall, you realize you haven’t even thought about the river in days. There’s no monster prowling your nightmares anymore. You lived through what may or may not have occurred, and that was the end of it, simple as it may have been.

A late shift at work has you wandering out into the rain, umbrella in hand. You’re grateful that you live close, that you’re not entirely soaked to the bone when you step inside of the mundane building. Your coworkers notice your change in demeanor immediately, chirping about how glad they are that you’re finally feeling better, looking more yourself as the hours pass you by. It brings a smile to your face, a real one that you haven’t had in place since that last night.

Even in the summer, there’s a chill to the air in the late afternoon as you hurry home from work and make your way inside, stripping out of your wet clothes and setting your umbrella aside. It’s darker outside than it should be, even more so indoors. Reaching for the switch to turn on the lights proves useless— the power’s out.

You light your way with your phone, ignoring the way your pulse quickens and your heart flutters with the fear that something just doesn’t feel right. Your skin prickles with the thought of some unseen pair of eyes watching you, blue and cold. You only relax when you slam your bedroom door shut, locking it and pressing your forehead to the wood as you sigh. The puff of breath that escapes your lips is not the only in the room, you find out when the light of your phone illuminated your bed. Crouched beside it, a towering figure with a face veiled by fishing net. Words don’t come when you open your mouth to speak, and your heart stutters in your chest as you stand shaking but otherwise petrified.

“You didn’t come back.”

Of course you hadn’t.

Most people wouldn’t have.

“No. I’ve been… busy,” you choke out the excuse, hoping to pacify whatever emotion you imagine lurked beneath his tone, undetectable through the hiss of his voice. “I’ll visit soon, promise,” you lie, back pressed against the door as your fingers curl over the knob.

Your fear seems almost unwarranted. He doesn’t move toward you, only stands to wander back to the window where he must have broken in.

“Tonight?,” he asks in a voice so soft, the voice he must use as a lure because tugs at your heartstrings immediately, makes you want to follow despite the threat this thing poses merely by existing, despite everything.

“It’s cold— I’ll get sick,” you murmur. “How did you even find me..?”

“I will keep you warm.” The question goes unanswered.

You find yourself stifled again as he lumbers towards you, brushing cold fingers across the side of your face. It’s not a mockery of a kiss you receive next but a firm bite where your neck meets shoulder, not yet hard enough to draw blood, but enough to make you shiver, to grip at the wall of muscle that makes up his chest.

There’s a desperation to his movements as he herds you towards the window, pushes you toward the path leading back to the river. You’re soaked to the bone in seconds, hardly able to keep your eyes open past the weight of dampened eyelashes. The rain is so heavy it feels as though every step is like the first you took into cursed water, your feet sinking into the mud along the path with each tentative stride. The realization that you’re there doesn’t even hit you until you’re chest-deep in the chill, violent waves pushing against you, each carrying the threat of toppling you over entirely.

The palm splayed out against your bare back keeps you upright, leading you to a smooth rock jutting out in the midst of what seems a sea of frothing white and blue. The sea above is just as dark, angry clouds roaring as you’re pressed down onto your back, shivering terribly.

He keeps his promise though, a tight grip on each thigh as he pries your legs apart, sinks in between them and blankets you from the rain. Even with the cold pressed to your back, you feel the warmth of a summer sun above you, scorching from inside, just as blazing as the look in his wild eyes. The last of any resolve slips when you’re pulled beneath the violent waves, a tangle of limbs and desperate kisses coaxing oxygen into your lungs. Each roll and pull no less tumultuous than the waves overhead. A placid end when the rain comes to an impromptu halt, just as he stills over you. Hands rush to cup your face with one final, desperate and biting kiss.

When the morning sun pulls you from sleep, cool moss against your back and the weight of his head resting over your middle, the shallow water lapping lazily at your figure, you find that you no longer fear drowning.

#könig x reader #konig x reader #könig x you #konig x you #könig #konig #cod fanfiction #cod fanfic #konig fanfiction #i have been mulling over this for an eternity sorry it needed to be extracted from my brain #he is absolutely more lycanthrope coded to me but whoosh whatever nix König be upon ye #also apologies to everyone for not writing much lately and the fact this is hardly a real fic #cursed by the sleepy i just need a 10yr long nap #<- in my ‘in denial about burnout’ era

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yourlocaltreesimp · 3 months

Note

hello! I read your yanlinks and wanted to know if can be possible some hc of the links (+deity and dark link) with darling taking mask as their child? like I always wanted to hug and punch the goddess for what the poor kid suffer, imagine that traumatized kid just being take of that doomed world and just the reader just ‘this my child now, he will have the childhood all of you deserve but had’ so they better accept it. sorry :( if you can’t is okay

AHH OMG I LOVE THIS

ofc i can do this

thank you for sending this in-

so i didn’t do headcannons (so sorry) but I’ll definitely write more with mask ((i had too much fun)) and could make hcs!!

Also, funfact, my hotel had to evacuate while i was writing this

TW: Yandere content

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

There are few times you were separated from the chain anymore. As the trip progressed and their mental states began to spiral, you began to notice more and more how much they’d begun to infringe on your time. There was always one of them there, vying, hoping, tripping over themselves if they could just be of use to you. It was because of that you couldn’t leave. There were always eyes on you and a hand lingering somewhere on your skin.

A loving quirk, you may call it.

And you’d be willing to dismiss it if it were simply a matter of chance— there are plenty of them and one of you, it seems perfectly reasonable there’d be someone near you at all times… right?

The time you’d returned from bathing without telling them only to find Wind backed into a tree explaining he didn’t mean to lose sight of you says that thought is wrong. Time hardly ever yelled. Never at you and never again in your presence, but you’re reminded thinking back to that just how dangerous these boys are beneath their sweet smiles and reverent gaze.

And you may think that they simply wish to protect you. The woods are dangerous, afterall. The woods crawl with creatures that intend to bite. To take you and harm you.

Wind spent the rest of that night crying and huddled into you. He had not much more than a sliced lip, but he certainly was shaken. The others didn’t do much to hide their glares, after all they were justified.

Weren’t they?

They just wanted to keep you safe.

It’s exactly those prior events that made this specific circumstance so… unsettling.

You were alone.

The woods were quiet.

There were no monsters.

Your legs were shaky and weak beneath you as your hands pulled you up. The bark on the tree you’d used for support was wet and the earth smelled of fresh rain. The back of your clothes stuck to your skin, the cold seeping in.

Slowly, the world began to move at a pace that made sense. You didn’t realise until a gust of wind had shook the gnarled trees that the air was stagnant and dead.

Nor did you realise the sound of a hiccuping child, crying over the buzz of cicadas.

Internally, you struggled. This is the exact kind of fae trap you’d expect waking up in Hylia knows where, it’d be dumb to go blindly walking into that.

But the worst that could happen is you move from one cage to another, so your get began to tread across the muddy ground.

You certainly weren’t expecting what you got.

A boy. A link. Curled up at the base of a tree, crying. The sight was rather painful to bear, his fragile shoulders shuddering as he tried to choke everything back. his face his scrunched up, and he bares a snarl that is missing a few teeth when you kneel to help.

“Hello Li…” You trail off, quite unsure how he’d react to seeing you know his name when he was already quite unhappy at being interrupted.

“Hello, little one” You settle on that, pulling the sleeve of your shirt up and over your thumb to wipe the tears and snot off his face. He’s backed into the tree as far as his legs can manage to push him. You pause to gather exactly who you’re looking at, and if there’s anything to guess by the bright green tunic, ocarina and collection of masks, this is the young time you’d originally thought him to be.

“Are you alright? What happened” You try your hardest to soothe him, but it’s clear the distrust has already been so deeply woven within him. He just shakes his head and shoves you away.

So, without much else to do, you set up camp.

You talk aimlessly as you work, noticing that despite his stubborn silence, the young Link (Mask, as you decide to call him) was awfully perceptive. You hope, somewhere in his little mind, he can gather through your subpar attempts at starting a fire and your light-hearted ramblings that you’re not a threat. That the food you made was not poison and you were someone he could rely on.

You saw what the world had done to those boys.

Maybe you could help this one meet with a better fate.

It’s hours into the night before he’s cheered up. He chews happily on some chicken skewers you made, the world easing its grip on him. He recounts his own tales about Epona and Navi, ones Time wouldn’t usually be vulnerable enough to share. And even then he never spoke with such the same spark. This little boy in front of you, beaten down as he was, had so much life in him.

You would not let anyone take it from him.

Not Hylia, not the people, not whatever evil incarnate found him, not even the world.

He does nod off in time. It’s far later than you’d expect his little body to endure, but he falls asleep slumped against you. It seems with just the notion of safety, he gave out.

He’s just hardly light enough to carry, so you were able to unpack his bedroll and drape whatever fabric you could find to make a blanket.

The world goes sickeningly still again. The wind stopped and it felt as though the forest died. A voice, too loud and too encompassing cuts through the dead air. It’s multiplied and shifting, as though it can’t tell how it wishes to portray itself. It’s thousands of people.

But also just one.

“Hello, Little one” It mimicked your tone in every manner from soothing to mocking. You reach slowly to your side to grab your dagger.

“You needn’t be frightened. I have no need in harming you” The voice comes from in front of you instead of behind you. Your breath is stagnant in your lungs the moment you think you’re caught— that Time had found you.

No. He had not.

But the deity had.

He stands, impossibly tall and almost incomprehensibly grand. He has no pupils in the vast whiteness of his eyes, but you know he’s looking at you. You know because something in you freezes up. He sets down his sword with a thump, the intertwined metal heavy and ebbing a sense of power equal to the man who wields it. You purse your lips to start saying— something, but he holds up a single hand in dismissal.

“I know who you are. I know why you’re here” He kneels across from you, the fire licking each contour of his bold features. He’s comparable to many of the great roman or grecian statues, striking and yet too perfect to be human. The warm light casts his skin in a warm highlight to almost convince you that his body, his vessel holds warmth, but it’s the cold moonlight and the shadows that creep around his edges that remind you who it is you’re speaking with.

“You truly must forgive my… abrupt course of action. The others left me without much time.” He quiets his voice, eventually managing to mimic something close enough to human. It’s uncanny, but ignorable.

“So… you know about-“ You choke on the thought, “the others?” It is quite odd that despite this being some split into the past he knows not just of you, but he knows you— your situation.

“The hero never truly ridded of me, you know.” His lips curl halfway between a snarl and a smile, “I was always there. Watching. Observing. Learning.” As he speaks, his words feel as if they curl around you, cinching in.

“If I hadn’t taken you when I did, it might’ve been fair to say you would’ve been stuck.” Each syllable is sharp. Concise.

“What do you-“

“I’m sorry if you’re not feeling well. Time travel truly isn’t something the mortal body is accustomed to. Especially into such an obscure timeline. But I had to be sure I kept you safe. Hidden.”

One cage for another.

“There are no monsters in these woods anymore, my flower. Don’t worry. I ensured it” He whispers, that menacing grin branding into your mind.

But there was a monster in these woods.

Because not always are they agents of evil and incapable of causing anything but harm.

Sometimes they bare their teeth in grins. They take you and harm you. They hide their worst intentions behind sweetened tones and good intentions while they hold a knife to another.

#linked universe #legend of zelda #linkeduniverse #link x reader #linked universe x reader #link x you #yandere linked universe #x reader #firreplies #yandere linked universe x reader #lu fierce deity #yandere fierce deity link x reader #fierce deity x you #lu fierce deity x reader #fierce deity x reader #lu mask #mask gets a parent #two actually #yay!

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honeykaes · 1 year

Text

a renter's deal

pairing: renter!kaveh x afab!reader II 2.2k

warning: smut, 18+ content, minors do not interact, afab!reader with no set pronouns, cunnilingus, fingering, reader had a previous crush on kaveh, unambiguous if kaveh knew, reader is a landlord, unedited

synopsis: your old college-friend (and crush) Kaveh hadn’t paid rent yet. Just as you draft an email to inform him of the consequences, you hear a knock at the door wish a kaveh desperate to pay you back in other ways.

Cicadas loud chirping echoing from outside as your a/c continuously blast to avoid the hot temperatures of the summer from creeping into your apartment complex. It was the end of the month as the next loomed over in a couple of days. As the landlord, this was one of your busiest times. From working on paperwork moving people out of apartments to finalizing paperwork and credit scores to move people into the apartment, you had your work cut out for you—especially when it came to residents paying their dues for their apartments.

A fan blew past you, causing your body to shiver as you shake your head trying to focus again on the laptop in front of you. An excel sheet on the screen greeted you back, tracking everyone’s payments. Apartment 125, Tighnari, paid in full. So did apartment 243, Aether and Lumine, before they moved out.

As you scrolled down, you noticed only a few people had not paid you for rent yet despite today being the last day of the month—including your old college friend, Kaveh.

You and Kaveh were once friends in college before losing contact after graduating. He was always very popular and friendly, a heart of gold that always managed to get hurt by one situation or another. He was now a pretty-well known architect trying to start his own firm.

You helped him through his breakups, his tests—his ups and downs, as he did the same for you. You wanted to reconnect when you first worked with him, moving in to his complex but things weren’t the same. The two of you aren’t the same 18, 19 year olds staying up late and going to a midnight movie showing before an exam like you used to—you both were in your late twenties, different responsibilities and interests pulling you.

And that scared you, so you gave him space.

Since the economy had slowed and businesses and organizations were interesting in building more projects anymore, Kaveh suffered immensely, scrapping anything he could to try to pay rent at the last minute to you. You felt bad but you didn’t want to pry either.

You let out a sigh, clicking on your emails as you began to draft. Since he was late on payment, a meeting needed to be scheduled and fees processed to strategize a plan. You didn’t want to evict the poor man; or anyone for that matter.

Just as you finished drafting the email, you turned your head hearing a knock at the door. Placing your laptop on your coffee table and rising from the couch, you expected a resident to inform you about something breaking or not working. Your lips parted in shock to see Kaveh at the door.

Kaveh seemed completely disheveled, long blond ombre hair, a mess unlike its usually tidy self. His clothes were wrinkled and unfastened as if he had just woken up and immediately ran here. He leans along the wall near your door, chest heaving loudly as he struggles to catch his breath.

“Kaveh?! Are you alright?!” you stammered out. Kaveh puts a finger out to signal to give him a second before he finally catches his breath.

“N-No. I’m so sorry I’m late on rent,” he groaned. “I am working with this school to create a playground but they won’t be able to pay me until next week. I’m a bit short with rent with my current funds.”

Your lips curled downwards before lifting your head to to nurse the headache threatening to form from the stress of the situation.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve been late, Kaveh. I can’t grant you a grace period. I really need that money in full,” you murmured. Kaveh turned to face you, scarlet eyes misty in desperation. Your heart withered seeing him in this state, but you feared bugging would put you on a tight spot with your boss.

“Please (Y/n)! You got to understand, I really tried this time. I can give you what I have and give you the remaining next week! Then I’ll be good to go for next month,” Kaveh yelled out.

“Kaveh, let’s continue this inside, okay? I’ll get you a glass of water or some tea to calm your nerves,” you beckoned, as your own anxiety began to creep in your stomach, you open your door beckoning Kaveh to come inside without a potential audience watching the two of you.

As he nervously entered, stifly sitting himself at the couch as you leave to enter your adjacent kitchen.

“I am only short 500 out of the 1500 dollars for rent and utilities. I can surely give that to you next week,” Kaveh called out as you prepare some glasses of water for you two. You sigh once more, leaning yourself against the fridge trying to figure out what to say without hurting your old friend’s feelings anymore.

“Kaveh, technically it wouldn’t be 500 but 1000. 100 for the late fee and 400 because this is the second time, along with the 500. I don’t make these policies, my bosses do,” you replied solemnly, guilt beginning to eat at you.

“Then what can I do to prevent the late fees from occurring!” he asked.

In college, whenever he was in a bad situation, to make him feel better you always started off with a ridiculous joke to catch him off guard before giving some sound advice with a smile. Oftentimes, he’d be smiling back, hopeful and taking your feedback and lighthearted jokes for the better.

Grabbing the glasses of water, you walked back into the living room placing the waters on the coffee table and closing your laptop.

“I don’t know, fuck me or something,” you idly murmured out before chuckling. Just as you were about to give him actual advice, Kaveh fell to his knees in front of you, wrapping his arms around your legs. You gasped, flustered, body shifting in embarrassment feeling his close contact.

“Kaveh! What are you doing! It was a joke! Y’know like I used to do in college!” you stammered out. Kaveh lifted his head up, eyebrows slightly furrowed in determination.

“Well, I’m not! I wouldn’t mind it at all. If this makes those pesky late fees go away, I’d be more than happy to do this and more!” Kaveh replied. You tried forming words from your quivering lips but your mind seemed to be malfunctioning, feeling his lips beginning to trail along your thighs, placing soft kisses along the skin.

“...Please (Y/n). For old times sake?” he whispered.

Your heart tugged remembering the big crush you had on him before and the drunken kisses you shared with him as you attending parties together leaving you longing for more—the memories were flooding you like a tidal wave.

“...Okay, Kaveh…”

With a small smile gracing his sun-kissed face, Kaveh hands trailed up as his fingers hook on their shorts and the waistband of your underwear and gilded them down. He leaned his face in, puffs of his hot breath causing your body to shiver from the sensation as your clit began throbbing in anticipation.

His face tilts closer, darting his tongue out as he trailed a long swipe between your folds. The muscles curled up to brush against your clit, jolts of pleasure rooting through you from the sudden touch. He swirled along the bud of nerves, hands squeezing at your thighs. Your hands reached over to his hair, playing with the soft curls and losing yourself to pleasure.

He flicked his tongue along the nub, feeling your hips beginning to rock along his face. A low groan emitted from you as you ground yourself against him, his lips circling around your clit before beginning to suck. He continued to switch from sucking to rapidly flicking and circling his tongue on your clit while his hand crept up to squeeze your ass so he could keep up with your movements.

As he continued, one hand eventually left the globe letting two of his fingers sink into your dribbling cunt, coated with your arousal and his saliva. He pumped them deliberately slowly, your legs shaking from his delicate touch, wanting more.

“Kaveh,” you whimpered out, hearing him slurp continuously as your slick graced his mouth. He nuzzled his face deeper into your cunt, as his fingers pumped inside your pulsating walls, curling and massaging themselves to get you closer to your high.

Shutting your eyes, your hands traveled to your chest and squeezed it tightly as your voice began to rise, feeling Kaveh’s tongue press harder against the button. You throw your head back, as your high finally reached you. Kaveh struggled to keep up with your movements as he continued to thrust his fingers inside of you, nursing your high before it fell down.

With slight jitters, Kaveh finally leaned away, lower mouth completely coated in your slick. His tongue was parted out, strings of your arousal still connecting the muscle with your cunt. Your tired eyes stared down in embarrassment, cheeks warm in shame as Kaveh wipes his mouth in content.

You could see the bulge poking out from his pants.

“W-Well! You’ve done your part! So—”

You're interrupted by Kaveh rising from his knees on the floor and connecting his lips with your own in a passionate kiss. You can’t help but moan, feeling his tongue, stained in your juices, roam inside your own mouth as he pulled you closer. He momentarily broke the kiss, both of you trying to catch your breaths, lips hovering by your own.

“I want to ensure that you don’t go back on your word though. So please, let me ensure your pleasure…” Kaveh breathlessly begged, claiming your lips once more. His hands wandered to your waist as pinned you against the wall—paintings knocking roughly from the sudden movement.

Breaking the kiss once more, he zipped his pants down, revealing his throbbing erection. His cock was flushed, shivering as he took a hold of it as precum budded at its tip, dripping down to the rest of his length. He pumped it a few times with a shaky moan erupting from his lips before using another hand to slightly light your leg up near his small waist.

Your lips trembled as the tip of his cock spread past your folds trying to find your entrance, gathering up the abundant slick drooling from you. As Kaveh lined himself up, he placed his lips by your ear and with a low groan, sank himself inside of you.

He grunted loudly when he finally bottomed out, cock nestled deep inside of you. He pecked at your neck before snapping his hips back, thrusting himself inside of you. The paintings hit the wall rowdily to the pace of his thrusts.

“I hope you’re enjoying my end of the d-deal…” Kaveh grunted out, pressing his lips against your ear so you could hear all of his little noises. You moaned in response as Kaveh reached over to press tight circles along your overstimulated clit.

“Y-You made me so sensitive,” you admitted, as you chirped, feeling Kaveh shifting his angle pistoning inside of you so he was not hitting that spot he desperately wanted to find.

“T-That’s the point. I want to make you cum so hard. I know you can…you're so close aren’t you, eshgham,” he whispered, nibbling on your neck. Kaveh could feel your walls beginning to cave in and spasm, signaling your end was close.

“K-Kav—” Kaveh captured your lips as you reached your second climax, your body shivering pinned against him. Hips sloppily faltered as he furrowed his eyebrows to try to control his own temptations and guide you down your high once more.

As glossy lips part from your own, Kaveh slipped his cock out, pumping it rapidly before a desperate groan emitted from his lips before biting down to try to be quieter. Ropes of cum shot from his tip, smearing themselves on your thighs.

He watched as his cum glided down the curves of your wobbling leg. He let your other leg down before supported your weight on your body with a small smile.

“Easy there…you’re probably very overstimulated. Let’s get you all cleaned up in your bathroom. Where is that,” he asked. You tiredly pointed into the direction of your bedroom as he guided you toward it. As he opened the door, he gently set you down on the rim of the porcelain bathtub before reaching to grab a rag on your towel rack.

“I’m sorry for going a little overboard. I just wanted to ensure I had done my part. Keeping my end of the deal is important to me,” he murmured, wetting the towel up with some soap before wiping it down to clean your legs. As he wiped over your cunt, you whined at the burn of overstimulation getting to you.

“...So, please, please please don’t go back on your word, (Y/n),” he begged, with large pleading eyes. You sighed once more, but to his surprise it was a lot lighter in tone than earlier.

“...You don’t have to pay rent at all for this month, okay? I’ll cover it…just focus on getting the money for the next month,” you whispered. Kaveh lit up as a grin curled on his face. He leaned in placing a tender kiss on your forehead as your cheeks fought against a blush.

“...I missed you Kaveh…” you admitted. Kaveh brushed part of your hair away.

“I missed you too.”

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #genshin smut #kaveh x reader #kaveh smut #kaveh imagines #kaveh scenarios

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mizusnose · 3 months

Text

An Orange for My Love

mizu x reader June heat

hello again. been a while, huh? life’s been busy and moving fast. here’s a little something to make up for it. more writing in the future i hope. send in some requests :)

———

The heat of June makes you sweat around the edges of your hairline. You can feel the dry heat stick to your skin and cover you like a thin sheen of fabric. It’s suffocating and the AC unit has broken down, and now the windows are thrown open despite Mizu’s assurance that she felt fine. You knew she didn’t.

Somehow, the work you’d both been doing had sludged fo a stop, fragmented bits of your productivity melting off with each minute of the summer heat.

You glance Mizu’s way, a tired lazy grin on your face. She’s wearing huge basketball shorts that go past her knees when she stands up fully. The ones you bought her from the thrift store in town. Her wrists and arms and shoulders are out. Covered only by the chunky tank top that dips low and shows off her collarbones, freckled and red from the heat. Your thirst only grows as she smiles lazily back at you.

“Floor time?” You ask, unsurprised by Mizu’s eye roll.

“Fifteen minutes tops. Gotta get some stuff in.”

“Lame.”

“That’s adulthood” Mizu shrugs, slipping down past the coffee table and scooting off your thrifted carpet.

“Adulthood sucks” You sigh, meeting Mizu’s gaze once you’re both on the floor. You stretch your arm out and tip your fingers towards Mizu. There’s a patch of sun making its way towards you both, but not quite there yet. It creates a halo glow around Mizu’s body. Her hair staticky and frizzed from the humidity.

Time passes like this: you both drifting in and out of bird song and breezes that shift the tree leaves. Eventually, Mizu stands and groggily makes her way to the kitchen.

“what’re ya doin’” you mumble, too heat-soaked to properly pronounce.

Silence. Only the sound of a drawer opening and closing, the clatter of plates, and Mizu sniffling.

You don’t bother following. Content to stay put and not do anything until nightfall when the cicadas become silent and the air thins out to see the stars overhead.

Mizu’s foot pokes you in the side and you’re met with her long limbs and longer hair that she’s adjusted into a bun.

“Up. Eat.”

You listen only because Mizu sits next to you and helps you up. Her touch burns hot and you blame the weather, the season. Anything but the thunder in your chest, a quiet frenzy in your bones.

“Oranges.” You declare. Like a little kid learning colors and shapes. Mizu nods proudly regardless of the childlike wonder.

The thick orange slices are washed and cleaned, their skin ripped to reveal the glisten of the fruit. Color like sunset and lava, you take a bite and hum appreciatively.

Mizu sets the plate between you. This way, its thigh, plate, thigh. The glass the only thing separating you both.

“Good?”

You nod, swallowing quickly to answer: “Farmers market?”

Mizu nods, taking one for herself.

The sun spot that had started at the edge of the wall is now sitting cozily on Mizu’s hip. It splashes up her ribs and dips to her bellybutton. It’s undoubtedly hot, yet Mizu says nothing. Instead, she rips the skin of the orange slice off decisively, suddenly licking into the fruit.

It’s no use. She’d pulled too hard and the juice runs down her arm and collects at her elbow, into the crease of it. It catches the light and you start to stare as it drips onto Mizu’s basketball shorts.

“Shit—let me..”

And her lips are back to the fruit, a sharp suck sounds and mizu hums as she rips the skin away and eats the entirety of the orange slice. The juice only multiplies and is now creating a small puddle on the fabric of her shorts. It stays for a second before soaking into the cloth.

“Sorry. Messy.” Mizu jokes, lifting her arm and licking the juice off, starting from the elbow to her fingers. She sucks the rest of the juice from her fingers and wide palms. The sound makes you shiver despite the bead of sweat making its way down the center of your back.

“All good. Oranges are a mess—uh, messy. They’re messy. Not your fault at all!”

You fear Mizu will finally find out about your feelings for her because of an orange of all things. Yet, when you meet her eyes, they’re closed. Crinkled in a bright smile.

“I’m glad you liked it.”

The summer heat doesn’t die down for a while after that. But even when the night arrives, your cheeks still burn and your blood runs hot.

#blue eye samurai #mizu blue eye samurai #mizu x reader #mizu x fem!reader #headcanons

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shidouryusm · 1 year

Text

little universe - gojo satoru x reader

synopsis: in the last hours of dusk you realise how much Satoru means to you

word count: 1.4k

content: soft satoru, way too soft reader, fluff.

a.n - im too disgustingly soft for this towering paintbrush. I will kiss his eyes a thousand times

The summer sky casted an endless blue, painting the skyline with her depth. Somewhere in the distance, the silence of this passing hour was cut by the songs of cicadas. and in the midst, you see Satoru. sitting on the porch, propped against the door. a hand resting against his cheek as his eyes reach the infinity of the blue ahead of him.

“toru?” your voice prompting him to break the unsaid staring contest and look at you. You bring your hand, raking through his hair, it’s muscle memory for you at this point. His hair, slightly damp from the shower earlier,was flattened over his forehead, tufts of it covering the cerulean eyes. His hair felt like light clouds drifting through your fingers,holding a softness in it that makes you wanna play with it forever.

Satoru hums, feeling your touch. a sweet smile playing along his lips as he watches you take a seat beside him.

“you planning something devious? sitting like that.”, gojo laughs– a small breathy laughter, escaping his nostrils. his lips curving into his one sided smile upon your words.“can’t a man enjoy the simplicity of the nature. must I always be doing something”

“well, you aren’t exactly the type to…meditate under the nature, 'toru. it’s natural for me to conclude you’re probably plotting” you slash your hand against your throat “– world destruction or something nefarious like that. I'm not opposed at all though” you shrug your shoulders.

Gojo laughs again, a bit louder this time. his childish chuckle mixing with the buzz of the cicadas. A swarm of giddiness runs down your spine at his unadulterated boyishness.

“Is this what you feel about me, darling? well, that’s saddening”, his large hand wraps you around your shoulder, pulling you against him, your body flush against the sides as you encircle your arm around his waist, you feel his thumb rubs small circles on your shoulder. Satoru presses a small kiss between your eyes before resting his cheek against you. An act of sheer comfort and tranquility.

Silence veils over you both once again as you watch the blue sky deepening her shade, encroaching the night’s call. The colour of it resembling your lover’s eyes inadvertently making you look at them.

His eyes holds depth you can’t bring yourself to fathom. eyes that have witnessed acts you wish you could reverse time and undo. eyes that have seen through the uglies of the world that sometimes all you want is to wrap your hands around and protect them.

Yet these eyes hold unbounded beauty. eyes that conveys infinite promises to you. eyes that have never left the glint of mischievousness.

Eyes with so many layers of blue that you could sit down and point them out. Eyes even beautiful than the spread of the sky above and eyes that has left you falling more and more for him every passing day.

“thinking something about me, sweetheart?” his drawling voice brings you back. His eyes are narrowed at you, eyebrows raised, as he brings his face closer. His nose brushes against your temples, small breaths tickling the skin, while he plants a sudden, sloppy and a rather wet kiss on your cheek. “you wanna go in for some–”

“Toru, that is vile. did you just smear your spit on me” you scrunch your face, touching the damp spot on your cheek where he kissed.

“Why you’re acting like I don’t do it every nigh….HEY OW OKAY SORRY” you pinch his sides with your arm that was wrapped around his waist. Glowering at him before resuming to lean against his chest, “sit here quiet and nicely.”

“so mean.” you hear him mutter before tightening his hold on you, bringing you even closer. You smile, feeling his head resting against you again, as he releases a contented sigh.

A waft of wind blows through the front porch. You watch the overgrown lawn swaying along the rhythm. There’s a sense of vulnerability in this moment, with the lingering hues of the fleeting blue hour. You and him. Unprotected yet so shielded within each other.

Satoru’s heartbeat echos through your ear. The constant murmurs of his heart that is too big for his own good, sends your thoughts to an overdrive.

His cheeky persona has always masked the care and love he harbours for the younger generation. His countless attempts have always wanted to set apart the world from the raw ugliness that he had to endure. His growth over the years has set himself on the pedestal of “the honored one”. A beacon of hope. The strongest of the Jujutsu world. A one man army to fix every twisted mess of Jujutsu.

But to how many is he Satoru? A raging sweet-tooth who takes drink orders, unimaginably sweeter for a normal human. A guy with a palm-in-the-face dressing sense. Someone who will mess up the bathroom in the mornings.Someone who will purposely use your shower stuff because it feels like you’re with me always. Someone who will pout and jut his lips to get something they want, too endearing for you to stick to your uptightness. Someone who purposely spoils a movie for you if he watched it ahead.

Someone who displays all the pride in the world while mentioning his students as if they are his flesh and blood,often treating them with whatever they demand. Someone who has a laughter ringing like a dulcet, and someone who is just…purely Satoru.

You raise your head, facing him as you cup his cheek. A little sudden to surprise him but nonetheless melting into the touch. Your thumb rubs the rosy apple of his cheek, while his lips press a quick kiss to the inside of your palm.

“don’t you get tired, toru?” your voice dripping with earnesty, your eyes pleading him to say yes just so you can say take some rest.

Your insides points accusatory fingers to the world to make them see him as him. To let him take a break. To let him be his old self.

“I certainly do. I just wanted some sexy time with you and you turned me down. Im tired of being heartbroken all the time, baby”, satoru feigns sadness, closing his eyes with mocking despair. You shake your head, knowing he would avert it.

“Toru, you know what I’m talk-”

He stops you mid sentence with an abrupt small kiss, his lips tentatively hovers over yours before completely resting them. His large hand palming most of your face, tucking a hair behind your ear.

The kiss, unlike every other, held unsaid words. As if your toru understood what you meant and conveys the answers wordlessly through shared lips and breaths.

He pulls away, tucking your head against the crevice of his neck,his hands tangled in your hair, “I have you, my sweets. You may be a little obnoxious, leaving my heart into pieces, but having you is enough for me. more than enough if possible” his soft voice resonates in your ears.

Your throat feels lumpy at his words, arms tightening their hold on him. His admission filling a gap in your heart you never knew you had. You understand what he meant. The world may be oblivious to this side of his, but you aren’t.

The vulnerability that he pours out to you singles you out from them. The rest may anchor themselves on him, but he rests on you – forever will. A piece of his youth has still remained and it is cradled safe in your hearts. Away from the world, forming a makeshift universe – holding just you and him.

He may be the strongest to the world but he was Satoru to you. The messy haired teenager you somehow managed to fall in love with. The haughty second year who grew into an individual filled with love bigger than the sky and compassion touching ends of the universe. It was your Satoru amidst the “honoured one”

“Well, you’re stuck with me now, no matter how much obnoxious you find me. You dug yourself a hole with this one”, a kiss plants against his chest, right where his heart is. right where the unbroken universe of yours resides.

“Oh did I? how unfortunate of me”

As the last light of the fleeting evening hides under the blanket of nightfall, you make a promise to safeguard this Satoru away from the broken world.

oh to kiss this dumbass between the eyes and keep him in my pocket

oh tagging @stsgluver because baby said so

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mattsmunch · 1 month

Text

── 𐚁ྀི !　SAVE A HORSE, RIDE A COWBOY.

matt sturniolo x reader

SUMMARY: when matt’s girlfriend, y/n, learns how to ride a horse and he can’t keep his eyes to himself.

WARNING: LOWERCASE, suggestive content !! fluff, established relationship, cowboy!matt x fem reader, mentions of a smaller build body, pet names! (baby, my girl) and i believe that’s all :)

REQUESTED?: no!

AUTHORS NOTE: THIS IS AN ORIGINAL STORYLINE. i DONT allow any copying, “inspiration” or plagiarism. this is the plot BEFORE the smut (coming soon?) + NOT proof read, sorry for any typos :,)

WC: 6.8k

matt let out a frustrated huff as he tossed the saddle onto luna's back, buckling all the necessary straps and giving it a firm tug to make sure it was secure. the last thing he wanted was for y/n to fall off and lose interest in riding again. although he was a bit nervous, he was eager to share his passion for riding with his girlfriend.

y/n had very little knowledge about horses, apart from her boyfriend's passion for tending to and riding them. this was more than enough reason for her to spend a good few hours online shopping for a new wardrobe suitable for riding. the only issue was that her newly purchased clothing items were currently being altered to fit her smaller frame, but she was determined not to reschedule her date with her boyfriend. they had been apart for several days with minimal communication due to her job, and she missed him terribly.

y/n let out a soft sigh as she tugged gently on the small red ribbons that had been tied at the bottom ends of her braids, which she used to keep her face-framing pieces of hair out of the way. matt had emphasized the significance of maintaining a firm grip on the reins at all times, and she didn't want to give in to the urge to let go and push her bangs behind her ears as she often did. as she licked her lips nervously, the lingering taste of the wild cherry chapstick she'd applied earlier tingled on her tongue, causing her to involuntarily groan.

matt often teased her for her habit of consuming more chapstick than she used, due to her constant nervous ticks. without a second thought, she applied more of her lip balm, knowing that she wouldn’t be sporting her $250 cowboy boots just for style on Matt’s farm just for shit’s n giggles, these boots were the result of her unwavering support for her best friend, nick, who was also the reason she had met the love of her life.

in the backseat of the Uber, y/n nervously rubbed her lips together and sent a text message to matt, letting him know she was almost there. as she reapplied the lip balm for the umpteenth time, she couldn’t understand why she was so anxious to see him after only four days apart. it dawned on her that their mutual attachment issues were likely to blame for the countless "i miss you’s" in every message they had exchanged.

she collected her belongings into the small bag she had initially been advised not to bring, but found it impractical to manage everything with just her hands. as the Uber arrived at the big red barn that was slowly fading in the sunlight, she bid farewell and thanked the driver, who had pulled up next to matt’s truck. she gave the old man a gentle wave as he backed out and drove away.

y/n’s ears were greeted with a chorus of sounds, from the soft hum of cicadas to the gentle moos that echoed from the cattle. with each step, the crunch of pebbles beneath her feet created a rhythmic melody. as she approached the big barn door, slightly open, the scent of animals engulfed her, causing her nose to twitch softly.

inside the barn, the atmosphere was filled with various sounds, from the soft neighing of horses to the gentle background music playing. y/n couldn't immediately spot matt but followed his voice to the back of the barn. as she turned the corner, she caught him gently resting his head against the most beautiful horse she had ever seen, whispering tender words to the animal.

“hi baby” she speaks softly, making sure not to startle the horse or matt.

matt's face immediately lit up with a bright smile as he noticed her approaching. he felt a warm rush of emotions - a mixture of happiness, relief, and excitement. he straightened up from the horse, his eyes locked on her as he took a few steps forward, his heart racing with joy.

"y/n," he called out her name, his voice filled with affection. "you're finally here."

he walked towards her, his stride quickened by his eagerness to be close to her. he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a tight embrace, and breathed in her scent. "i missed you so much," he murmured, his voice muffled by her hair.

as y/n was wrapped in his warm embrace, a wave of comfort and happiness washed over her. she felt safe and protected in his arms, her heart beating a little faster as she drank in his familiar scent. her arms laced around his waist, and she buried her face against his chest, feeling contentment.

"i missed you," she mumbled, her voice slightly muffled by his shirt. "so much."

she pulled back just enough to look up at him, her eyes meeting his gaze. a soft smile tugged at the corners of her lips, and she gently ran her hands up his arms, relishing the feel of his skin beneath her fingertips.

"i can't believe we went four days without seeing each other," she joked, faking a pout. "i’m not sure i could ever do it again."

matt chuckled at her feigned pout, his expression softening. he moved one hand to gently caress her cheek, his touch tender and affectionate.

"oh, don’t worry," he teased back with a smile, "it’s not like I was counting down the days or anything."

he tugged her a little closer, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her flush against him. "but seriously," he continued, his voice growing quieter, "i did miss you. a lot."

upon hearing his honest words, y/n felt her heart skip a beat. she wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers tangling in the soft strands of his hair.

"i missed you too, more than i thought i would," she confessed, a small blush creeping up her cheeks.

pulling herself closer to him, if that was even possible, y/n felt a pang of longing mixed with excitement. "so," she murmured, her voice playful, "what do we do now?"

matt smiles down at her softly before leaning in, his lips molding against hers perfectly. as their lips met, a wave of electricity shot through y/n's body. she melted into the kiss, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on the nape of matt’s neck.

the world around them faded away, leaving only the sensations of their touch. his lips were warm, his breath was against her skin, and his scent enveloped her. it felt like coming home.

their kiss deepened, with matt gently tugging her impossibly closer. his hands roamed over her body, seemingly desperate to touch and feel every part of her. he savored the taste and feel of her kisses, his mind a blissful haze of desire and love.

y/n gently drew back, her soft giggle filling the air as she broke their passionate kiss. seizing this opportunity, matt allowed his gaze to unabashedly roam over her figure, taking in every captivating detail of her outfit. the vibrant red and white plaid print of her baby doll dress harmonized beautifully with her delicate brown cowboy boots. the lace ruffles of her socks peeked out subtly from the boot's edge, adding a touch of charming playfulness. the contrast between the scarlet ribbons and her milky skin, dotted with those adorable freckles that matt knew by heart, created an undeniably alluring spectacle.

matt began to gently tease her as he observed her outfit. "you know," he remarked with a grin, "i think you bought out the entire stock of horse riding attire but still ended up in one of your baby doll dresses."

he reached out, gently tugging on one of the ribbons tied in her braids. "which i love you in but i gotta ask, are you planning to ride the horses or just turn some heads in town?"

as matt teased her, y/n couldn't help but giggle at his playful remarks. she feigned annoyance as he tugged on the ribbon in her braid, but the smile on her lips betrayed her true feelings of amusement.

"oh, shut up," she said with a mock pout. "i'll have you know, this is the perfect horse riding outfit."

her expression turning slightly sheepish as matt fiddles with the hem of her dress. "actually," she began, "i did buy the proper riding clothes, but they didn't fit quite right. so i’m having them altered."

she glanced down at her current outfit, a hint of disappointment in her eyes. "but i couldn't wait to see you. i missed you too much," she continued, her voice soft and honest.

matt’s expression softened as he listened to y/n's words. a wave of affection washed over him, knowing how eager she was to see him.

"you know you didn't have to rush," he said gently, a warm smile on his lips. "your comfort and safety on the horse are more important than anything else."

he reached out to take her hand, gently intertwining his fingers with hers. "but i totally understand the missing me part, who wouldn’t? "

y/n feigned a mock offended gasp as matt made his playful remark. "oh, please," she playfully retorted with a roll of her eyes. "of course, you'd say that. i bet you've started a fan club for yourself in town with the old ladies."

her expression softened as she teased him back, her grip on his hand tightening slightly.

matt laughed at y/n's comment, enjoying the banter between them. he led her over to the white horse he had been talking to earlier and gently ran his hand over its side.

"alright baby, since you’re here, i’d like you to meet luna," he said, a hint of excitement in his voice. "she’s our eldest mare and one of my favorite horses here."

as matt introduced y/n to luna, her eyes widened in awe, immediately captivated by the beauty of the white horse. a soft gasp escaped her lips as she gently reached out a hand to touch the mare's velvety snout.

"she’s absolutely gorgeous," y/n breathed, her voice filled with wonder. her fingers stroked the horse's soft fur, a genuine smile on her face. as y/n gently stroked luna’s snout, the horse seemed to respond positively, nuzzling into her hand and whinnying softly. it seemed as though the two had instantly formed a connection.

matt watched fondly, a small smile tugging at his lips. "looks like she likes you," he observed, clearly pleased with the interaction between y/n and the horse.

y/n’s face lit up with a wide grin as luna nuzzled her hand. she felt a rush of happiness and connection, thrilled that the horse seemed to like her.

"really?" she asked, her voice filled with excitement. "she’s so beautiful. i think I'm in love." she continued stroking the horse's fur, watching in awe as luna responded with another soft whine.

“ready to ride her?” matt ask softly, smiling at his girlfriend.

y/n turned to matt, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "absolutely," she replied, her voice filled with enthusiasm. she looked back at the horse, her heart filled with anticipation. "lead the way," she added, a small smile playing on her lips.

matt chuckled at her eagerness, his own excitement mirrored in his eyes. "alright then," he said, taking a step back. "you can mount her here."

he extended his joined hands, offering a supportive boost for y/n to climb onto the saddle.

with matt’s help, y/n smoothly mounted luna, settling comfortably on the saddle. she adjusted herself, feeling a mixture of anticipation and a hint of nervousness. she took a moment to feel the movement of the horse beneath her, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves.

as y/n settled on the saddle, her dress rode up slowly, revealing more of her smooth skin. matt couldn't help but observe the subtle movement, his thoughts growing a little less chaste.

but he gathered himself, pushing aside the temptation. instead, he focused on explaining how to hold the reins, showing her the proper grip and balance needed for control.

"here," he said, his voice a little hoarser than usual, "hold the reins in your dominant hand like this."

he carefully adjusted her grip, his touch gentle yet firm. he tried to ignore the way her skin felt beneath his fingers but found it increasingly challenging.

"make sure you have a gentle but firm grip," he continued, his gaze lingering on her hand a moment longer before looking up to meet her eyes. "luna will respond better if you're in control, but not too firm."

matt stood back a step, watching intently as y/n followed his instructions, her slender fingers adjusting to the reins in her hand. he was struck again by the way her dress had ridden up, the sight sending a wave of heat through his body. It took all his willpower to maintain his focus on the lesson.

"good," he managed to say, clearing his throat to hide the huskiness in his voice. "now, you'll want to use your legs and thighs to guide and communicate with luna, rather than just pulling on the reins."

matt moved to the side of the horse, his gaze traveling over her body once more before he could stop himself. he tried to keep his mind strictly on the task at hand as he continued explaining.

"think of your legs as a way to communicate with her. a gentle squeeze or shift can tell her what you want, no need to tug harshly."

matt moved behind the horse, taking a moment to take in the view. the way her dress clung to her body, revealing more of her toned thighs, was incredibly distracting. his knuckles turned white as he clenched his fists, struggling to maintain his composure.

y/n nodded, listening intently to matt’s instructions, yet somehow completely oblivious to the effect she was having on him. she focused on the feel of the horse beneath her, the softness of the reins in her hands, and the steady rhythm of luna’s breathing.

"got it," she replied, her voice soft but determined. "so it's more about subtlety and communication, not brute force, right?"

matt swallowed hard, his eyes glued to the expanse of her exposed thighs. he knew he should be focusing on the lesson, but the sight of her in that dress, sitting on the horse, was making it nearly impossible.

"exactly ," he said, his voice a tad strained. "less is more. it’s about working with luna, not against her."

"alright," matt said, taking a moment to compose himself. "i’ll walk next to you at first. just get comfortable with luna and the reins. once you feel more confident, i’ll mount my own horse and we can head on a trail."

y/n smiled, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. "sounds good," she replied, her voice slightly shaky. "i’ll just take it slow and get the hang of things first.

she gently squeezed her thighs against luna’s sides, taking matt’s cue to start walking.

matt set off at a slow pace, his eyes constantly flitting between y/n and the scenery surrounding them. every now and then, his gaze would drop to her thighs, the way the reins were threaded through her hands, the soft sway of her body as she moved with luna.

as y/n settled into the rhythm of moving with luna, matt’s thoughts began to drift towards less chaste territory. the natural sway of her hips, each movement bringing back vivid memories of their intimate moments together, sent a wave of heat through his body.

he tried to keep his mind focused on walking, taking deep breaths to control his own body's reaction to her subtle movements. he couldn't deny the effect she had on him.

while the sight of her was stirring his desire, the part of him that had been missing her greatly also felt a wave of affection. he found it endearing, this innocent but unknowingly seductive display from his girlfriend.

he continued to walk beside her, forcing his gaze away from her thighs and back to the path ahead, counting the moments till he could mount his own horse and regain some control.

y/nwas blissfully unaware of the effect she was having on matt, focusing solely on getting used to riding luna. she gently guided the horse, occasionally looking down at the reins in her hands and the way her thighs squeezed against the horse's sides.

"i think i’m getting the hang of this," she said, her voice filled with a mix of pride and wonder. "she moves so effortlessly."

matt cleared his throat, trying to distract himself from his increasingly amorous thoughts. "yeah, she's well-trained," he said, his voice still carrying a hint of huskiness. "just keep doing what you're doing. you’re doing great."

the rhythmic motion of luna’s stride didn't help his situation, each movement bringing back memories that only heightened his desire. he took a deep breath, forcing himself to look at the scenery around them rather than at her.

after a couple of rounds of practice, y/n started to feel more confident on luna. matt led them back to the barn, a smirk on his face. he quickly mounted his own horse, a black gelding named newt.

"ready?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder at y/n with a challenging gleam in his eye.

y/n smiled back, her eyes filled with determination. "definitely," she responded, her voice steady. she adjusted her grip on the reins, her thighs once again drawing matt’s gaze.

matt tore his eyes away, his mind once again filled with inappropriate thoughts. he needed to focus, both for the ride and to keep his desires in check.

"alright," he said, his voice strained. "just follow me, and keep up the communication with luna."

as they rode down the trail, the peaceful ambiance of nature surrounded them. the soft chatter between them was punctuated by the gentle buzz of insects and the steady rhythm of the horses' hoofs hitting the ground. the ride brought a sense of comfort and familiarity to matt, and he stole glances back at y/n every now and then, admiring the way she moved with luna.

the ride was a mix of breathtaking views, quiet contemplation, and a hint of lingering tension. matt would point out little things he found beautiful or interesting, while y/n took everything in, her eyes filled with wonder. the longer they rode, the more difficult it became for matt to ignore the way y/n's thighs gripped the horse, her body moving in time with the animal.

each dip and curve in the trail seemed to only highlight the way she sat on luna, each motion sending a wave of desire through matt's body. he fought to maintain his composure, trying to focus on the landscape around them and not the sight he was becoming increasingly tempted to indulge in.

as they continued down the path, the trees began to thin out, revealing a clearing with a small, shimmering pond behind a fence. matt slowed his horse to a halt, a small smile on his face.

"we’ll stop here," he said, dismounting from his horse.

matt grips both hands on the fence as he climbs over it, a chuckle falling from his lips as he landed on the other side of the fence, watching as y/n seemed to be stuck trying to figure out how to dismount.

he leaned against the fence, waiting for her to join him. "having trouble there?" he teased, a playful smile on his lips.

y/n huffed, her face a mix of frustration and determination. she tried to swing her leg over the horse's flank, but it got a bit tangled in her dress, causing her to lose her balance and almost fall.

she eventually managed to dismount luna, although a bit less gracefully than she would have liked. she shot a glare at matt as she approached the fence.

matt chuckled again, enjoying her determination. "see baby? you got it," he joked, holding out a hand to help her climb over the fence. y/n stuck her tongue out at him in response, climbing over the fence with his help. she landed on the other side, her cheeks flushed with a mix of exertion and embarrassment.

“did you do that?” y/n ask shyly about the picnic basket and blanket set up. matt chuckled at y/n's question, the shyness in her voice making his heart skip a beat. he nodded, gesturing towards the picnic area.

"yeah, i set this up for us," he admitted, a small hint of pride in his voice. "i thought we could have a little picnic lunch here, take a break from riding before we head back."

y/n smiles widely as matt led her over to the blanket spread out on the grass, the soft fabric contrasting with the rough texture of the grass. he motioned for her to sit down, his eyes fixed on her.

y/n took a seat on the blanket, the grass still dewy beneath her legs. she looked around at the peaceful surroundings, the pond in the background shimmering in the morning light.

"it’s beautiful here," she said, her voice filled with wonder. "how’d you get the food here?” she giggles, opening the picnic basket.

matt smiled widely at her question, the sound of her giggling making his heart skip a beat. "well," he said, feigning offense, "i didn't carry it all myself, if that's what you're asking."

be settled down beside her, a playful glint in his eye. "i had some help from my trusty horse, of course."

y/n rolls her eyes playfully, “so you came out here earlier?”

matt nodded, his smile still in place. "yeah, i came out here earlier this morning to set everything up."

he looked over at the picnic basket, a small sense of pride in his eyes. "had to make sure everything was perfect for my girl."

y/n’s heart fluttered at his words. "aww," she said, her voice filled with genuine sweetness. "you didn't have to do all this for me, but i really appreciate it."

she leaned over and gently bumped her shoulder against his, her eyes filled with affection.

matt smiled again, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer to him. "of course i did," he said, his voice low and sincere. "you’re worth every bit of effort, and i wanted to do something special for you."

he let his gaze travel over her face, studying her features as if committing them to memory. "besides," he continued, a hint of teasing in his voice, "i have a feeling you'll enjoy what i packed for lunch."

y/n raised an eyebrow in curiosity, turning to look at the picnic basket again. "oh really?" she said, her voice a mix of anticipation and skepticism. "and what's in here that you think i'll love so much?"

matt chuckled, clearly enjoying the suspense he was creating. he reached into the basket, pulling out a container filled with a variety of fruits, cheese, and crackers.

"here," he said, placing the container into her hands. "take a look." he watched as she opened the container, a gasp escaping her lips at the sight of the fresh, colorful fruits arranged inside.

y/n's eyes widened as she took in the array of fruits – sweet strawberries, ripe grapes, and perfectly ripened kiwi. she looked up at matt, her eyebrows raised in surprise. "oh so you do know me” she teases.

matt chuckled, his expression shifting to one of mock offense. "of course I know you," he said, feigning annoyance. "do you think so little of me that you'd think i just randomly picked fresh fruits for a picnic?”

he bumped her shoulder again, his hand still resting on her back. "i know you like berries and juicy fruits," he said, "so of course i made sure to find the freshest ones i could."

y/n laughed, shoving him playfully. "okay, okay, you get points for knowing me," she admitted, a smile on her face. "you really went all out for this picnic, didn't you?"

matt rolls his eyes playfully, nodding his head. after their little banter, matt and y/n settled in to enjoy their picnic, chatting and catching up as they consumed the food. they talked about everything that had happened in the four days they were apart - stories from work, friends' news, and even simple observations about their surroundings.

while they talked, the horses grazed in the background, occasionally neighing softly as if joining in on the conversation. the sun was warm, its light filtering through the trees and casting dappled patterns on their faces.

after a while, matt surveyed their surroundings, noting the sun's position in the sky. he cleared his throat, catching y/n's attention.

"hey," he said, his voice soft. "i think it's about time we head back. the sun will start setting soon."

he stood up, offering a hand to help her up from the ground. "we don't want to be out here in the dark," he said, a hint of concern in his voice. "plus, i have something else planned for us once we get back."

y/n took his offered hand, standing up next to him and brushing off her dress. she glanced up at him, curiosity piqued by his words. "something else planned?" she asked, a small smile on her face.

matt smirked, the mystery evident in his expression. "you'll see," he said cryptically, gathering up their picnic supplies and returning them to the basket.

y/n's curiosity grew as she watched him pack up, her mind racing with possibilities of what he could have up his sleeve. she tried to ask a few times, but matt only teased her with vague hints and promises that she would see soon enough.

after everything was packed up, matt picked up the basket and slung it over his arm, taking her hand and leading her back to the horses. he helped her mount luna, making sure she was comfortable before mounting his own horse.

"ready to go?" he asked, glancing back at her with a smirk on his face. he already knew the answer, but he liked playing coy. y/n chuckled, rolling her eyes at his behavior. "yes, I'm ready," she replied, a hint of feigned annoyance in her voice.

“can you please tell me what this 'surprise' is already?"

matt laughed, enjoying the fact that he was keeping her in suspense. "patience, my dear," he said, exaggerating his tone. "all will be revealed in good time."

with that, he clicked his tongue softly, the horse setting off at a steady pace. y/n followed behind, still a little frustrated by his refusal to give any details, but also intrigued by his air of secrecy.

once they reached the barn, matt helped y/n dismount this time. showing her how to take the saddles and equipment off the horse and where to put it in the barn. y/n huffs as she realizes just how heavy the saddle really is, dropping it on the rack with a huff.

matt chuckled at y/n's huff of frustration, watching as she dropped the saddle on the rack with a thud. "don’t worry," he said, reassuringly. "you'll get used to it after a while."

he helped her with the rest of the equipment, showing her where to hang the bridles and put the grooming supplies away. once everything was put away, he turned to her with a smile.

“you did great, by the way," he said, his voice sincere. "i’m glad you decided to do this with me baby.”

"now," he continued, gesturing for her to follow him. "ready to see this 'surprise' i’ve been hinting at?"

y/n took a deep breath, her curiosity getting the better of her. she nodded, following him towards the barn door. "yes, i'm ready," she said, a mix of anticipation and hesitation in her voice.

matt led her out of the barn and towards the back where a small cabin was hidden in the trees. their shoes crunching softly on the gravel path. the sun was setting, casting long shadows across the landscape, and the air had cooled down a bit, with a hint of a breeze.

"just a little further," he said, his voice sounding a bit mischievous.

as they approached the cabin, y/n couldn't help but wonder what surprise matt had in store for her. she glanced at his profile, the excitement and nervousness mixing inside her.

they reached the cabin deck, and matt turned to face her, his expression enigmatic. "close your eyes," he said, his voice soft.

y/n's heart skipped a beat at his words. she hesitated for a moment, then closed her eyes, her other senses heightened in anticipation. matt guided her gently up the steps and onto the deck.

"just a few more steps," he whispered, his hand on her back. then, suddenly, he stopped her, his body close to hers.

y/n's heart raced in her chest. the closeness of matt’s body and the anticipation of what was to come made her skin tingle. she resisted the urge to peek, keeping her eyes tightly shut as instructed.

matt took a moment to admire the look on her face—her eyelashes fluttering, her cheeks flushed pink, her lips slightly parted in anticipation. he gently took her hand and positioned her so that she was facing something inside the cabin.

“okay," he whispered, his breath warm on her ear, "you can open your eyes now."

y/n slowly opened her eyes, her breath catching in her throat as she took in the sight in front of her. inside the cabin, the lights were dimmed, and the space was filled with the soft glow of candlelight. the furniture had been rearranged to create a cozy sitting area, and there was a small table set with with plates full of different snacks.

"oh, matt," she breathed, her voice filled with surprise and delight. "it’s beautiful..."

matt smiled, his gaze flicking from her face to the room and back. "i thought you'd like it," he said, his voice soft. "i wanted to create a nice atmosphere for our little reunion.”

he led her into the cabin, gesturing for her to take a seat on the small couch. he sat down beside her, his body still close enough to hers to send shivers down her spine.

y/n took a moment to really look at matt - the way the soft candlelight played over his features, making his eyes twinkle and casting shadows across his cheeks. his presence was magnetic, drawing her in like a moth to a flame. she couldn't help but notice the way his shoulders filled out his shirt, and her thighs clenched involuntarily as she sat next to him on the small couch.

she tried to maintain her composure, feeling a little overwhelmed by the combination of the romantic atmosphere and being in such close proximity to matt. the butterflies in her stomach fluttered like mad as she took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing heart.

matt leaned back against the couch, shifting a little to face her. "so," he said, a hint of excitement in his voice. "what movie do you want to watch?"

y/n couldn't help but feel a little flustered as Matt casually draped his arm over the back of the couch, his hand mere inches from her shoulder. she mentally chided herself, asking why her boyfriend of many years could still send her butterflies reeling with such small actions. it was like she was back in school again, experiencing a crush for the very first time.

she tried to play it cool, shifting her position a little and focusing on the task at hand - picking a movie to watch. but she couldn't help the way her heart quickened as she caught a whiff of his cologne, or the way her fingers itched to reach out and touch his hand.

she cleared her throat, hoping her voice wouldn't betray the sudden wave of nervousness she felt. "i’m not picky," she said, her voice a little huskier than she'd intended. "you can pick whichever you want."

matt grinned at her response, sensing her nervousness. he liked that despite being together for a long time, he still had this effect on her. he shifted his arm a little, his hand now lightly resting against her shoulder, his fingertips grazing the bare skin just above the collar of her shirt.

matt chuckled at her response, his fingers tracing small circles on her shoulder. "this night is all about you," he said, his voice low and smooth. "i know we already did the horse riding for me today, but that doesn't mean i can't pamper my girl a little bit."

he gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, his touch firm and reassuring. "so tell me what you want. do you want to watch a movie, listen to music, or just sit and talk?"

y/n's breath hitched in her throat as she watched matt's tongue dart out to moisten his bottom lip, her gaze fixated on the simple, but erotic gesture. her mind flitted between making a smart-alec remark and just leaning over to kiss him senseless. she swallowed, trying to gather her thoughts, but her voice came out a little breathier than she intended.

"I...I don't mind," she said, her voice betraying a bit of her inner turbulence.

she shifted uncomfortably on the couch, her body heating up from his proximity and the anticipation of what might happen next. she was torn between wanting to keep things light and platonic, and the growing desire to just throw caution to the wind and act on the need she felt pooling in her core.

matt seemed to sense her internal struggle, and a small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. he leaned in a little closer, his hand moving to rest on her thigh, his warm touch sending shivers down her spine.

"you okay baby?" he teased, his voice dropping a half octave. "is everything alright?"

y/n gave a small, nervous laugh, trying to ignore the shivers his touch was sending through her system. "yeah, I'm fine," she said, her voice a little shaky. "just...a little distracted, i guess."

she swallowed, her eyes flicking up to meet his gaze, the desire to lean into his touch almost overwhelming.

y/n was feeling a myriad of emotions. there was the ever-present fondness and comfort that she normally felt around matt, but now there was a new layer of tension and desire. his proximity, his touch, his voice - it all served to send her system into overdrive.

she was trying to act cool and nonchalant, but it was difficult when all she wanted to do was crawl into his lap and show him how much she missed him. y/n was fighting a losing battle. the desire to close the small gap between them and show him just how much she missed him was getting stronger with each passing moment. she could feel her body reacting to his every small movement, her skin sensitive to the slightest brush of his fingertips on her thigh.

she took a deep, shaky breath, her eyes locking with his. "i...i've missed you," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"it's been a long week..." she continued, her voice getting huskier with each word. "i've been thinking about you non-stop. and now...now that you're here, i just--"

she trailed off, her words cut short as she felt his thumb gently stroke her thigh, the simple touch sending a wave of heat through her body.

matt listened intently, his smile growing slightly as he sensed her growing need. he could feel the heat of her skin on his hand, the softness of her thighs as he gently stroked them. her familiar scent, a mix of her perfume and the unique, personal scent that was inherently her, sent his hormones into overdrive.

he could tell she was struggling to maintain her composure, and part of him wanted to press further, to tease and push and see how much she could take. but another part of him wanted to stay in this moment, to savor the tension between them.

he kept his voice calm and casual, disguising the storm of desire brewing inside. "Is that so?" he asked, his voice a little raspier than he'd intended. "what exactly have you been thinking, hmm?"

his hand continued to move slowly over her thigh, his touch gentle but firm, the heat from her skin through the thin fabric of her pants driving him wild.

she looked up him, her eyes wide and a little vulnerable. he could see the mix emotions in them, her desire warring with her usual hesitations. "i’ve just...," she started, her voice trailing off as his fingers moved a little higher up her leg.

"i’ve just been thinking...about you," she continued, her words coming out in a whisper. "about us. about how much i've missed being with you like this."

matt's hand continued to move, his touch growing a little more possessive as he shifted on the sofa, bringing himself closer to her. "i’ve missed you too," he said, his voice a low grumble. "you have no idea how hard it's been this week."

matt laughed, a little huskily, his hand inching higher on her thigh. "let’s just say i didn't mind watching you ride the horse earlier," he said, his voice a low rumble. "especially when i got to watch that pretty little dress ride up your thighs every time you moved.

y/n's eyes widened at his confession, her cheeks flushing a pretty pink. she was caught somewhere between surprise, embarrassment, and...desire. she hadn't realized her dress had been riding up as she rode the horse earlier, and the thought of matt watching her without her knowing sent a thrill through her.

"you saw that?" she asked, her voice a little hoarse.

matt chuckled, clearly enjoying her reaction. "oh, i saw it," he said, his hand continuing to make small, slow circles on her thigh. "how could i not? you were moving your hips in just the right way."

y/n laughed nervously, her mind immediately flicking back to their earlier ride. she hadn't been thinking about her movements, just focusing on staying balanced on the horse. to know that Matt had been watching her, noticing every little movement, was both humiliating and strangely arousing.

she looked at him, her gaze a mix of sheepishness and amusement. "i didn't mean to give you a show," she teased, her voice a little wobbly. "i was just trying to stay on the horse."

matt’s smile widened at her response, clearly enjoying her reaction. "and you did great," he murmured, his hand now gently squeezing her thigh.

"you looked...amazing."

his voice was low, filled with a mixture of appreciation and desire. "you always look amazing," he clarified, his tone growing a little huskier. "but there was something about watching you on that horse...it was like every movement you made was a tease."

y/n's head was swimming, her body responding to his words in a way she wasn't prepared for. "a tease, huh?" she said, trying to keep her voice light despite the desire coursing through her.

she shifted a little on the couch, her body unconsciously moving closer to his, the heat between them growing palpable.

her voice was a little breathless, betraying the effect his words were having on her. "well...i guess i can't help it if i have a certain effect on you," she said, a hint of a flirt in her voice. "especially if you're watching me so closely."

he leaned in a little closer, his face now just inches from hers. "and i’m going to keep watching," he continued, his voice a rumbling whisper. "so don't be surprised if your every move starts to feel like a teaser."

his hand moved higher up her leg, his fingers skimming over the edge of her panties, a thrill shooting through her body at the contact.

"especially if you keep moving like that," he mumbled, his breath hot against her ear.

y/n shivered at the sensation, her body hyper-sensitive to his touch. "you...you're enjoying this a little too much," she said, her voice a little shaky.

matt's fingers continued to tease at the edge of her panties waistband, his pointer finger slipping under slowly. y/n gasped quietly, her knees widening involuntarily, allowing his hand to explore further. He chuckled, enjoying the effect he was having on her.

his hand then moved out of the waistband, but not before gently caressing her skin with his finger. "don’t worry," he murmured, his voice a low grumble. "i’m going to enjoy this a lot more soon enough."

his hand slid back up her thigh, his touch possessive. "but for now, i think i'm going to keep touching you, just to see how many more pretty noises i can get out of you."

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#matthew sturniolo fluff #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo smut #nicolas sturniolo #fluff #cowboy #fanfic #blurb #romance #date

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 8 months

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Napoleonville [Chapter 5: The Haunted House]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, smoking, drinking, drugs, infidelity, kids, parenthood, Adventures With Aegon, Targ family dysfunction, bodily injury, no Willis this time yay!!! 🥳

Word Count: 7.3k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

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Every house is haunted, not just by phantoms of the past but by the ghosts of what could have been. They live in shadows, in doorways, in the periphery of your vision; you walk through them like smoke or mist. Their blood—pooled and pulseless—is a cold spot in a sweltering room, their fingerprints are the woodgrain swirls of floorboards. If you listen closely, you can hear them at night in the chorus of the cicadas and the owls and the wet westbound wind. They whisper questions you’ve never been able to answer: Have I made the right choices? Have I done the best I could? Is love a myth or does it only exist for other people? Am I a prisoner of the past or the future or myself? Why have I never been chosen?

In the bathtub, you stare at the pale blue walls veined with cracks like the legs of a spider. On the tree swing in the front yard—here long before you moved in, inherited from the effort and care of another family’s hands—you skim your bare feet over emerald blades of grass and watch the lightning bugs appear at dusk. In Cadi’s room, you play the Nintendo when she asks and try to forget who gave it to her; and when she asks about Aemond, you say he’s busy with work, because how else can you explain his absence to a child? In the kitchen, you break eggs into glass bowls of vanilla, sugar, flour, butter, baking powder, but you keep getting pieces of shell in the mix, something that almost never happens anymore. You snap, grab an egg, pitch it against the refrigerator where it explodes into calcium carbonate shrapnel and sterile yellow gore.

Amir looks up, startled. Behind his rectangular tortoiseshell glasses, his eyes dart between you and the viscera that stains the refrigerator door. At last he says softly, seriously: “What is it you liked so much about him?” Implicit in this statement are others: You’ve never liked a man this much. You’ll never see Aemond again.

You study your palms, tools of creation, tools that destroy. “I spend every second of my life consumed by responsibilities. The house, the car, the bakery, the bills, Cadi, Willis, myself, even you. There’s no one to tell me what the right thing to do is. There’s no one who can carry the weight for me. I can’t show it when I’m tired or frustrated or scared. And so to have someone who—even for an hour, even for fifteen minutes—could take care of me, and make all the decisions, and convince me to trust him…it’s the closest I ever get to being at peace.”

Amir gives you a sad, vanishingly small smile. “I’m so sorry.”

“Me too.” And you wet a dishcloth so you can begin to clean up your mess.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Thursday, and you’re coming home after delivering cakes for a birthday party down in Thibodaux. Your car radio is blaring Message In A Bottle by The Police. When you roll into the gravel driveway, the red Audi Quattro is waiting for you: parked right beside the house, like he belongs here, like he owns it. You throw open the door of your Chevy Celebrity and rage up the sloping, groaning steps of the front porch.

The first thing that hits you is the cold. There is an ambient humming, a chill that raises goosebumps on your bare arms. When you rush to the kitchen, you find an air conditioning unit in one of the windows, a metal box that turns the Fall-Down House into a tundra. They’re sitting at the hastily-cleared counter: Aemond leafing through the ledger book containing the financial records for the bakery, Amir beside him sipping a glass of sweet tea. Aemond glances up at you and then back down at the pale green pages, the lines of his face intense, focused. Amir greets you with a nervous titter, hiding behind his sweet tea. Ice jangles in the glass.

“What the fuck is that?”

“Our new air conditioner!” Amir says, overjoyed. “The customers are going to love it. No more waiting around in a stifling kitchen. You know how miserable it gets in here during the summer. We won’t be able to get rid of them! They’ll be purchasing cupcakes by the dozen just to have an excuse to get out of the heat!”

Aemond is still scrutinizing the ledger. “Why aren’t you buying in bulk?” he asks Amir. “The shelf life on things like sugar and flour has got to be six months at least.”

“We don’t have the liquid capital. We can’t spend cash if we don’t have cash.”

“And all these business expenses—mixers, coolers, pans, blenders, knives, the gas you burn when you make deliveries, the water you use to wash dishes—those are all tax write-offs, right?”

Amir hesitates. Aemond is aghast, his eyebrows shooting up into the blonde hair that shags over his forehead. The strands are damp with sweat and curling at the edges; he’s been working hard. He’s the one who heaved the air conditioner up onto the window ledge. His Marlboro jacket is draped over the back of his barstool. He’s wearing jeans, a black MTV t-shirt, and his Adidas sneakers.

“Please tell me you haven’t been paying income tax on money you aren’t actually keeping.”

“I didn’t know what we were allowed to write off, I was petrified to make a mistake! I don’t want to end up in Rikers!”

“They don’t put people in Rikers for tax evasion. You’d only go to minimum security.”

Amir rolls his eyes. “Well now you’ve convinced me.”

You are betrayed, furious. “You’re showing him the book?”

“He’s very bossy,” Amir says, slurping his sweet tea. “As you know.”

Aemond asks you, making notes on a legal pad he’s commandeered: “Do you have an IRA?”

“A what?”

“An IRA,” Aemond repeats slowly, emphasizing every syllable. “An individual retirement account.”

Should I? Could I? What the hell is that? “Um. I don’t think so.”

Aemond sighs, exasperated. He jots down another bullet point on his legal pad. “You need one.”

“I need you to get out of my house.”

“Shh!” Amir pleads. “He bought us an air conditioner!”

“Do you know how much that’s going to cost us in electricity? The bill is going to go through the roof. We’re not going to be able to afford this. And he doesn’t care, because he hasn’t even thought of it. Drop an oil rig into a lake and solve the unemployment crisis. Throw an air conditioner in a window and buy someone’s loyalty. He doesn’t understand us. He doesn’t care about us. He’s not capable of it.”

“I’ll pay for the electricity,” Aemond says. Now he’s looking at you.

“Get out,” you demand.

He seems—perplexingly—to be genuinely wounded. “I’m trying to help you.”

“Get out!”

Aemond stands, walks to you, backs you up until your shoulder blades hit the refrigerator. The metal door is cluttered with Cadi’s drawings, secured there with multicolored alphabet magnets: dinosaurs eating people, Rambo, astronauts rocketing to the moon, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Aemond is so close you can smell the cigarette smoke and cologne and sweat on him, see the smudges of ink on his fingers. His right eye travels all over you, defiant and hungry. His left eye—and you only notice when there’s no space left between you—is an impassive, glassy, not-quite-identical blue that never moves. It’s an imposter, and a very good one; but it’s not him. You think, unable to say it: What happened to your face? Who hurt you? Instead you strike out to shove Aemond away with both hands.

“Get out of my house—!”

“You want to get rough with me? Will that make you feel better?” he murmurs darkly, ignoring your palms when they collide with his chest, his collarbones, his jaw. Your flesh can’t hurt him, it can only graze his skin like stray bullets. “You want to hit me? Go ahead. I’ve had worse. I promise you I have.”

“I hate you!”

But you haven’t said the right word, and you both know it. He grabs your wrists, holds them still, whispers low and menacing into your ear as you struggle to rip your hands out of his grasp. “I dreamed about you all night. Tying you down, stretching you open. I want that. I think you do too.”

“I don’t want it,” you hiss; but already you’re imagining him on top of you, inside you, in control of you, and to resist that is like trying to fight the instinct to seek water, sleep, sunlight.

“Then tell me to stop.”

You glare up at Aemond, raging, burning. His gaze locks with yours and stays there. You are suddenly aware of the heat of his fingers linked around your wrists, of the pressure of his hips against yours as he pins you to the refrigerator. You can’t say it. I don’t want him to stop touching me. I don’t want him to leave and never come back.

Again, Aemond dares you: “Tell me to stop.”

From the kitchen counter, Amir is gawking at you both, his eyes huge, stunned, painfully uncomfortable. Nonetheless, he doesn’t look away. “I’m not leaving,” he informs Aemond. Just in case you’re weak enough to agree to something you’ll regret later; just in case you need a friend.

The spell breaks, the curse lifts. Aemond releases you and takes several steps back. He breathes deeply, running his fingers through his damp hair, composing himself. “You’re a good person,” he says to Amir.

“Thanks. I’m afraid I can’t return the compliment.”

Aemond turns back to you. Now he’s penitent, measured. Already, a part of you misses the weight of his bones on yours. But that’s not why Aemond is here. “Let me talk. Let me explain.”

No, you almost say. I’m not interested. I don’t want you anymore. There’s nothing you can tell me that will make me feel at peace with you again.

Instead, after long moments colored by waning sunlight and the whirring of the new air conditioner in the window: “Okay.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re on the tree swing, gripping the ropes and swaying slightly back and forth as you push off with your bare feet, rocking from your heels to your toes and then back again. Aemond lights a cigarette and takes a drag as he sits cross-legged on the grass in front of you. Amir keeps peeking out from between the blinds of the living room windows. Aemond glances around the yard, and you realize he’s searching for the alligator. His Marlboro jacket is folded neatly on the ground next to him.

“The gator’s not here right now, Aemond. She’s probably over in the trees. She’s not going to hurt you.”

He nods, but he doesn’t seem convinced. He fidgets restlessly with his cigarette.

All that money, all that power, all that ecological ruin, and he’s petrified of a five-foot gator that’s probably never eaten anything bigger than a pelican. It’s ridiculous. You smile weakly. “I think you have a phobia.”

He gestures to his scar, to his ruined left eye. “I’m afraid one will sneak up on me and I won’t be able to see it.”

He’s never spoken like this to you before, acknowledging his limitations, his impairment. He’s trying to be honest. He really is. “Where’s Christabel?”

“Back in the U.K.”

“When are you getting married?”

He shrugs, uninterested. “A few months from now, I guess. July. August. It doesn’t matter. I’m not really involved in the planning.”

“You’re a cheater,” you say. It comes out less accusatory than mournful. Why did you have to disappoint me? Why did you have to ruin this?

Aemond is dismissive. He puffs on his cigarette. “Everyone cheats.”

“No they don’t.”

“Everyone from my world cheats,” Aemond amends. “You marry for money or status or land or whatever, to prove you can snag someone who should be above you, to make your parents proud of you, to make sure your children have the right last name and titles. Then when the novelty fades—and it does, it always does—you find passion elsewhere.”

“That’s barbaric.”

“That’s aristocratic. Poor people get divorced two or three times. They have public brawls and call the cops on each other. We just have a different solution to life’s inevitabilities. My mother cheats with Criston, Daemon and Rhaenyra cheated with each other, I cheat with you, Aegon cheats with…I couldn’t even list them. A lot of people.”

Aegon. So that’s the debaucherous brother’s name. “Not all fancy rich people cheat. Prince Charles doesn’t cheat.”

Aemond bursts out laughing. “Of course he does! He’s been fucking Camilla Parker Bowles since like 1970!”

Your stomach sinks. Poor Diana. “I thought they were just friends now.”

“Yeah, sure, that’s what the tabloids say.” He inhales smoke—cancerous, lethal—and then exhales it in a grey gale like fog. “I think they stopped for a few years after he got married. But presently they spend as much time as they possibly can rendezvousing at all their friends’ country estates. Charles and Diana are miserable, but they’ll never split up. She’s entertaining herself with a cavalry officer named James Hewitt. Who looks suspiciously like Prince Harry, by the way.”

“And who does your father fuck on the side? Nancy Reagan?”

“He prefers the memory of a dead woman to my living mother. I’d say that counts as infidelity.”

The photograph Aegon showed me on the Targaryens’ refrigerator. Rhaenyra’s mother. And what else had been on that refrigerator? Pictures of the rest of the family? Old sketches and report cards? Souvenirs? A calendar with upcoming birthdays circled or starred? No. There was nothing. You consider Aemond with a disorienting blend of pity and barbed, venomous frustration. “I’m sorry Viserys has never been a good father to you. But that’s not an excuse to ruin other people’s lives.”

“Look, what you did…” Aemond begins with sizable effort. He puts the end of his cigarette out on the sole of one of his Adidas sneakers. “To walk away from something you believe isn’t right when everyone else is telling you to stay…that’s not easy. And maybe for you it didn’t feel so insurmountable because you’ve had to learn how to survive painful things on your own before. But all I’ve ever done was break my own bones so my father would notice me. I don’t mean that as a metaphor. I’ve fractured my ribs, my hands, my skull. And it’s still not enough. Love isn’t given in my family. I have to earn it. It’s all I know.”

“You could learn something new.”

He shakes his head. “I can’t. I won’t. That’s not a language I speak.”

Exactly how bad of a father was Viserys Targaryen? “Aemond, what happened to your face?”

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

You study him. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to be my Camilla,” Aemond says.

“No. No way.” But you’re amazed by how badly you want to say yes. One word and he’ll touch me again? One word and I can have him back the way we were before? It doesn’t seem possible to resist that. It’s not something that should be expected of any mortal.

“I want to be around you. I want you to keep making me feel the way you do, because it’s…it’s…it’s not something I get from anyone else. And I want to make your life better. I have the ability to do that.”

“Because you’re an oil tycoon.”

“Yes,” Aemond agrees. “I was born to be one, and so I am. But even if I wasn’t—if I refused, if I died—it’s not like the trillion-dollar industry would just disappear. There’s Jade Dragon, sure, but there’s also ExxonMobil, Shell, British Petroleum, Chevron, Valero, Marathon, a hundred others. Someone would be drilling on Lake Verret regardless. But the person in charge might be less scrupulous than I am. I’m doing the best I can here.”

“Were you in Ketchikan when the spill happened there?”

“No. I’ve never been to Alaska. That was someone else’s project. It was a fuckup, it was Jade Dragon’s fault. But my father is the one fighting it in court. I have no control over that.”

Someone else’s project…

“Come to my house tonight,” he says.

“No, Aemond.”

“Then come over on Saturday.” And you think: He remembered which days Cadi is usually with Willis.

“I don’t want to be your mistress.” I want to be more than that, oh God, I want so much more. You think of Christabel touching him and wrenching nausea cuts through you like a blade. You imagine Aemond’s hands taking off her clothes—zippers, buttons, ribbons, belts—and you feel like there’s almost nothing you wouldn’t do to stop it from happening.

“We’re from two very different words,” Aemond says calmly, sensibly. “And it’s going to be impossible for us to understand each other unless we make an effort to learn about where we’ve come from. You’ve invited me into your home, your business, your family, and I’m very grateful for that. Now I need to do the same. And I think if you see more of my life, you’ll realize why I make the decisions I do and what it would mean for us to be together. Because in my experience, husbands and wives aren’t soulmates like they are in books or movies. It’s someone else who you actually…” He breaks off, then continues once he’s decided on the phrasing. “Spend most of your time with.”

Part of you knows that this arrangement would be hopelessly inadequate; you would feel like you were settling for less than you want, you would feel unchosen. But the louder part of you is clinging to it like a life raft. I want him to touch me again. I want him to make me forget about everything else. “I’ll think about it. Visiting the house, I mean.”

“Please do,” Aemond says. “How was Cadi’s weekend fishing?”

He really does listen to you; he remembers things. Even things you mention once and then never again. “She loved it. Willis knows more about the bayou than I’ll ever know about baking. They caught three catfish, four breams, and a bass, and then they made them into fish sticks. Thank God she has one parent who can cook. Even if Willis thinks Hungry Jack mashed potatoes are a vegetable. You know what he puts in the pot instead of milk? Coffee creamer. Cups of it.”

Aemond doesn’t seem pleased to be reminded of Willis’ existence. He says, rather mechanically: “I’m really glad Cadi enjoyed herself.” He grabs his Marlboro jacket, rises to his feet, scans the yard for the alligator. She’s made an appearance at last: she’s sunbathing about ten yards away, nowhere near close enough to be a nuisance. Still, Aemond frowns. Then he clears his face and looks back to you one last time as he strides towards his Audi Quattro. “And Cupcake?”

You peer up at him, shielding your eyes from the late-afternoon sun. “Yeah?”

“When you come to the house…” He grins. Not if. When. “Bring your swimsuit.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You cut the engine and survey the grand entranceway of the house that the Targaryens call The Last Desire, words in Greek that you couldn’t pronounce. The blue merle Great Dane—Vhagar, you recall, yet another bizarre foreign name—is lurking between the towering white columns of the wraparound porch. “Fantastic,” you mutter, stepping out of the car. It’s Saturday, 2 p.m., hot and muggy and cicadas screeching in the southern live oaks. Green anoles dart across the cobblestones and freshly-painted white wood of the porch. Whooping cranes, haughty and fragile, ogle you with reptilian yellow eyes.

You pause when you reach the bottom step of the porch. The Great Dane growls at you, her lips curling up to show long fanglike teeth. You’re carrying two bakery boxes stacked on top of each other: one contains a dozen blueberry pie cupcakes, the second filled with fresh Cap’n Crunch Treats. You glance around for someone to assist you with the hostile dog situation. You have no interest in attempting to shove her away like Alicent did on the day of the engagement party.

Blessedly, the head butler materializes in the doorway and beckons you inside. When Vhagar snarls as you approach, the butler pulls a small plastic water gun from the pocket of his black dress pants. “I’m terribly sorry for the inconvenience,” he tells you, and then squirts the dog several times. Vhagar reluctantly lopes away. “Please allow me to escort you to the pool. Mr. Targaryen instructed us to be on the lookout for you.” Then he breezes into the house without checking to make sure you’re following him.

You trot after the butler through the white-and-gold foyer, the deep red living room, and then out into the garden. There is a long row of neon green lounge chairs on the side of the pool opposite of the water slide. Three of the chairs are occupied. Helaena is stretched across one wearing a frilly one-piece, floral with ladybugs; her chameleon is perched on the top of the adjustable backrest. Alicent is in the chair beside her, dressed in a turquoise blue coverup that matches the pool water and reading The Silence of the Lambs. They both wave nonchalantly, seemingly unsurprised by your presence. And then there’s Aegon. He’s smoking a joint as a black boombox beside him plays The Cure’s Why Can’t I Be You? You place both bakery boxes on a table shielded from the sun by a large green umbrella.

“What’s in there?” Aegon asks. He’s wearing pink plastic sunglasses, a radiant fuchsia sunburn, and a Speedo patterned with pineapples. His ferret is curled up in his lap and napping.

“Blueberry pie cupcakes and Cap’n Crunch Treats.”

“Yes! Pass me one of each.”

“Don’t be rude, Aegon,” Alicent says dully, turning a page of her book. “She’s not a servant.”

“She’s a literal baker. I’m asking for baked goods.”

“Dear, I’ve been singing your praises to every single person I cross paths with in this jungle of a town,” Alicent tells you, ignoring him. “Have you noticed yet?”

You hand Aegon his treats; he marvels at the miniature blueberry pie placed atop the cupcake frosting before scarfing it down. “I think we’ve had more customers than usual this week, now that you mention it. Thank you so much! Amir and I are more grateful than we could ever express.”

“Oh, it’s the least I could do, love,” Alicent says. Criston appears with a strawberry daiquiri and gives it to her, complete with a swirl of whipped cream and a little pink toothpick umbrella pierced through a wedge of lime. Criston wears a pair of roomy Hawaiian board shorts and his single gold earring. Alicent takes a sip. “Heavenly! I am completely revived.”

“Helaena, would you like one?” Criston asks.

“Yes please.”

“And one for Aemond’s friend too, please,” Alicent says. Criston nods and hurries off again. Nobody asks if Aegon wants a strawberry daiquiri. He gnaws moodily at his cupcake and then when it’s gone moves on to the Cap’n Crunch Treat. Helaena’s chameleon snatches a dragonfly out of the air with its tongue. Alicent shudders.

Aemond’s friend? Friend?? You sit down on the lounge chair next to Aegon, still wearing your pale pink coverup. He tells you: “Aemond should be back soon. He got a phone call and had to swing by the rigs after lunch but he didn’t think it would take long.” Then Aegon smiles toothily, and you notice he has residual white powder around the corners of his lips and just inside his nostrils. “It’s good to meet you properly this time, now that I’m aware of all your talents.”

“You know about Aemond’s…uh…preferences?”

“Oh yeah, and I knew he had a girl. He always has to have a girl. I just didn’t know it was you. He doesn’t usually bring them around the family.”

You steal a glimpse of Alicent and Helaena. If they’re listening in, they’re doing an excellent job of not acting like they are.

“I think we should address this,” Aegon says.

You are stymied. “Address what?”

“It would never work, me and you.”

“I hadn’t even thought of it.”

“Sure you haven’t,” Aegon says. He flourishes a hand melodramatically. “You need a dom. I am, lamentably, an irredeemable sub. I’m a sheep in wolf’s clothing.”

“Okay, Aegon.”

“I just needed to break the tension.”

“I think you’re imagining that.”

There are footsteps, the slapping of flip flops against the cobblestones, and then someone who looks like a younger, more cheerful, more sober Aegon arrives at the pool. He is dressed in royal blue swim trunks that stop at his mid-thigh; his wavy blond hair is down to his shoulders. Like his family members, he also does not seem at all surprised to see you. “Hi,” he says, shaking your hand. “I’m Daeron. I didn’t get to introduce myself at the engagement party. I’m sorry about that. I was entangled in a very competitive tennis match on the courts out back for most of the day.”

Alicent asks: “Daeron, love, would you like a strawberry daiquiri when Criston reappears?”

“Yeah, Mum, that would be great.” He parks himself on the available chair beside her and begins asking about her book. As they chat, a blue macaw flaps through the garden and uses its long, leathery talons to claim the backrest of Daeron’s lounge chair.

“It’s so sweet of you to take an interest in my reading, Daeron,” Alicent gushes. “None of my other children ever do…”

Aegon groans loudly. Everyone ignores him. Criston arrives with two strawberry daiquiris, one for you and one for Helaena. You take a sip through a plastic straw with several loops in it: icy cold and jarringly sweet.

“And one for Daeron too please, Criston,” Alicent requests. “Did you hear that he just got another article published? It’s about evaluating rock wettability.” Her tone suggests that she has no idea what this means; nonetheless, she is ardently enthusiastic.

“That kid is going places,” Criston says admiringly.

Aegon counters: “That kid’s had phone sex with Michelle Pfeiffer.”

You laugh, thinking that it’s a joke. Daeron just gives you a sheepish smile. Oh, you think. Not a joke.

Criston hustles back inside the house. An old man passes Criston as he strolls out to the pool. He looks around blearily, like he’s hungover or has just woken up from a nap or both. His bloodshot eyes skate over you without much interest. He squints at the pool floats that bob in the rippling, crystalline water, sparkly rings and an assortment of foam noodles and a giant cartoonish alligator.

“How was Kiribati?” Aegon says.

“Much better than here. This goddamn humidity!”

“I can’t believe you missed the engagement party, Father,” Alicent says glumly.

“Oh no, how could I! I’ll never have any way of knowing what transpired!” He plops down onto a chair near the end of the row. His bare feet are gnarled, his toenails long and yellowed. “Let me guess. Cake was served, champagne was toasted, people bragged about their stupid hobbies and their ugly children, that girl scuttled about with her perpetually-startled eyes and asinine comments. Do you remember when she tried to give me her condolences when she learned your mother passed away years ago? Why would I want some moonstruck idiot’s condolences? She didn’t know your mother. She doesn’t know anything.”

“Christabel is very young,” Alicent offers gently.

“She’s very something, that’s for sure. Very useless. Very irritating. This family would be in a much better state if Viserys wasn’t the one making all the decisions. His judgment has declined precipitously.” He casts a poisonous glare at Aegon. Aegon pretends not to notice.

“I like Christabel,” Helaena says. Her chameleon gobbles up a butterfly that ventures too close.

“Yes, I’m sure you do.” The old man’s voice is kinder now. “You see the best in everyone. But dear Helaena, we are in for a lifetime of insipid simpers and vapid conversations.”

“A lifetime?” Aegon says. “So not much longer for you, Grandfather. What a comfort.”

The old man glowers at Aegon. “We should have left you in Alaska to have your throat slit by those animals.” And you hear Aemond’s words reverberating in your skull: I’ve never been to Alaska. That was someone else’s project.

Aegon is rolling himself a fresh joint, accidentally spilling sprinkles of weed on his slumbering ferret. He snorts. “I don’t care what Alaskans think of me.”

Daeron says: “Aegon, you poisoned 1,000 square miles of the ocean.”

“The fucking ocean,” Aegon mutters. “What do we even need the ocean for?”

“Vacations,” Otto says.

Helaena adds: “Sushi.”

Daeron is distressed. “Actually, the ocean is super important.”

“Why are we talking about the ocean?” Aemond asks as he strolls through the garden and pauses by the edge of the pool to dip a foot in to test the temperature. He’s wearing black swim trunks and nothing else, just his skin, just his scar and his glass left eye. He sees you, smiles, goes to the bakery boxes and lifts out a cupcake. He sits down on the edge of your lounge chair as he licks off the wave-blue frosting. No one makes any comment, and no one brings up Aegon’s role in the Ketchikan oil spill again.

Criston returns once more with a strawberry daiquiri for Daeron. “Well, I’ve just about killed the blender, so hopefully we don’t need any more—”

“But Criston!” Alicent cries. “What about Aemond and my father? Perhaps they are in need of refreshments.”

Criston sighs. Crestfallen, he looks at Aemond. “Do you want a strawberry daiquiri?”

“No, that’s okay. I’ll just have a few sips of hers.”

Aegon says: “Can I get a pina colada?”

Criston turns towards the old man. “Otto? Daiquiri?”

“No, but if you could immediately teleport me back to the South Pacific, I would greatly appreciate it.”

“Pina colada??” Aegon says again.

“Okay, Aegon,” Criston snaps. “Calm down. Let me figure out if we have any more coconut cream.” Alicent’s part-time bodyguard and personal assistant, part-time babysitter, part-time affair partner vanishes into the house yet again.

Aegon lurches to his feet. “No one listens to me,” he tells you morosely. “You see that? No one remembers. That’s how you know they don’t care.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Alicent tells Aegon, not looking up from her book.

“Wait, someone is missing…” Otto muses, stroking his beard.

Aegon staggers to the edge of the pool, drags over a sparkly turquoise inflatable ring, and flops onto it. He paddles himself out towards the center of the pool. His ferret bounds after him, leaps into the water, and swims until it reaches Aegon, wriggling through the blue like a golden-furred snake. “Hey Sunfyre, you wanted to come too?” Aegon lifts the soaked ferret from the water and places it on his chest, soft and sunburned. “My bad. I assumed you’d prefer dry land.”

Otto—cantankerous and grating—looks around, baffled. “Wait, where’s Viserys?”

“He’s inspecting some of the rigs out in the Gulf of Mexico,” Aemond says as he finishes the cupcake and takes a slurp of your daiquiri. “He won’t be back until the end of the week.”

“Thank God,” Aegon exclaims from the middle of the pool.

Alicent changes the subject. “How long have you been baking, dear?” she asks you.

“Forever, basically. But I started getting serious about making it a business when my daughter was really young, about nine years ago. Now Amir and I sell hundreds of items a week, sometimes thousands.”

Daeron is nodding along, but he appears a little confused. He has gotten himself a Cap’n Crunch Treat and is feeding pieces of it to his blue macaw. “And you do that because…you want to?”

“Well I have to pay rent.”

“Oh. Right. Of course.”

“And I could have been a checkout girl at the Doller General, or worked seasonally harvesting soybeans or sugarcane, or begged my ex-husband to get me a job in the Assumption Parish Sheriff’s Office…but I wanted to do something that didn’t make me miserable. And something that was really mine, that I chose.” Aemond is watching you thoughtfully. The other Targaryens are a tad interested but far more perplexed. They can’t understand work the way you do. They can’t understand money as something that must be counted.

“Brilliant!” Alicent declares at last. “Well, maybe one day we’ll have you making six cakes for Helaena’s engagement party, who knows!”

“It would be my absolute pleasure. Do you have a potential husband hanging around, Helaena?”

She giggles, covering her blushing face with both hands. Her chameleon creeps down to cling to her shoulder, as if to make sure she’s alright. Its conical eyes flit in random directions, an unmitigated freak of nature. You should have more compassion for it.

Aemond grins. “Helaena is responsible for no less than three broken engagements. She can’t commit.”

“And she’s only into guys who look like Aegon,” Daeron adds.

“No!” Helaena objects. “That is such a lie, that’s not true!”

“Evander?” Daeron says.

Helaena pauses to think. “Okay, yes, he looked kind of like Aegon.”

“He did, didn’t he?” Alicent frets, nibbling at the fingernail of her pinky.

“Dimitri?” Aemond says.

“Oh no,” Helaena moans; but she’s laughing too. “Oh no.”

“Sebastian?” Aegon says, and now they’re all howling.

Otto shakes his head. “Freud would definitely have some thoughts about this.”

“Bloody hell,” Helaena whimpers, swiping tears from her face. Her chameleon nudges her jaw with its shimmering, blue-green muzzle. “I totally only date guys who look like Aegon.”

Aegon shrugs from where he’s floating in the pool with Sunfyre. “Good taste, I’d say. Fuck them all, homegirl.”

“Aegon!” Alicent shouts, scandalized.

Criston dashes out of the house and to the edge of the pool, clutching a pina colada that is swiftly melting. “You better paddle yourself over here, kid. I don’t offer in-water delivery.”

“You’d do it for my mother.”

“Probably. But you’re not her.”

Aegon groans as he splashes around without making much progress. “Okay, okay, give me a second…”

Aemond turns to you. “How do you like the house? I realized I never got the chance to ask last weekend.”

“I like all the stained glass, and I like that every room is a different color. The living room is red, the dining room is yellow, the kitchen is teal, Aegon’s bedroom is black—”

“Wait, how do you know?” Aemond is alarmed.

You chuckle. “No, no, not like that. I was lost and looking for a bathroom.”

“Didn’t do anything,” Aegon announces from his pool float. “Didn’t do it, didn’t try it, didn’t even think about it. Well…maybe I thought about it. But I definitely did not do anything.”

“Okay.” Aemond exhales, relived. “Close call.”

“What color is your room?”

He’s not going to waste the opportunity to extend an invitation. “Let me show you.”

On the same floor as Aegon’s punk rock bedroom and the lilac bathroom, you trail Aemond to the end of the hallway. At last he opens a door to reveal a room that is a deep, vivid blue like sapphires. The bookshelves that touch the ceiling are filled not with texts on engineering or the energy industry but histories of people whose names you don’t recognize. He has a massive wooden canopy bed swathed in dark blue velvet patterned with circling koi fish made of stars. He has a writing desk, a wardrobe full of suits, a television with an extensive VHS collection. The stained glass windows are a whirlpool of cerulean, navy, aquamarine, indigo, steel, azure. When you peer through the glass, you can see the gleaming currents of Lake Verret and the twisted dead ends of the bayou that forms at its edges, treacherous and untamed.

And when you start to feel that if Aemond tried to grab you, undress you, tie knots around your wrists you wouldn’t stop him, you tell him that you want to go back outside to the pool; and Aemond listens, and he doesn’t try to touch you even once.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Monday, two days later, and Aemond calls to ask if he can bring you and Cadi dinner. He shows up with all the trappings of what he insists is real Italian food, doubtlessly prepared by his family’s private chefs: focaccia, caprese salad, ossobuco, risotto, Bolognese, panna cotta. He forgets the red wine, so you drink sweet tea instead, the three of you crowded around the kitchen counter, ceaselessly passing dishes back and forth while the little pink Panasonic boombox plays You Spin Me Round by Dead Or Alive.

“Hey Mom?” Cadi says as she chomps on a hunk of focaccia.

“Yeah?”

“Why don’t you ever cook dinners like this?”

There’s a tiny little gut punch, something you’re used to swallowing down even if it bruises you to the heart, to the bones. She doesn’t know any better. You can’t cry, you can’t get mad. You shrug, dispassionate. Aemond glances over at you, abruptly tense but not saying anything. “Well honey, it’s probably because my job can be really busy sometimes, and I spend most of the day in the kitchen, so when dinner time comes around the last thing I want to do is cook. But we always have food to eat, right?”

“Yeah. Like Amir’s leftovers or frozen pizza or something. But all my friends’ moms cook nice dinners most nights. Can’t you do that? When I go to Michelle or Erica’s house for dinner their moms make barbeque ribs, gumbo, seafood boils, etouffee, tasso ham, homemade macaroni and cheese, like real dinners. I want us to have that too. What if my friends want to eat dinner here sometime? I can’t bring them over and then just throw some Swanson’s meals at them.”

Aemond has put his fork down on his plate and is clasping his hands together, trying to figure out what to say. But he shouldn’t say anything. It’s not his place.

You tell Cadi, as calmly as you can: “Different families have different kinds of dinners, and that’s okay. I bet your friends’ moms don’t have cakes and cookies around all the time, but you always have tons of dessert options. Our situation looks different than theirs, but there’s nothing wrong with either one.”

“But desserts aren’t even good for kids. Dinner is way more important. You can’t say I get cakes instead of dinner, too much cake will give me diseases or something.”

“Okay, Cadi. That’s enough. Let’s talk about this later.”

“I’m just saying it seems totally unfair that my friends get real dinners and I almost never do.”

Michelle and Erica’s moms don’t work. They have husbands to support them. So they can spend all day babying a fucking tasso ham, but I don’t have that luxury. And I don’t want to be chained to a man. I don’t want to trade having a say in how my life turns out for being able to slave away over dinner for four or five hours. “I regret to inform you that I’m not like Michelle and Erica’s moms.”

“I wish you were,” Cadi murmurs, entirely unaware of what she’s done. You bite your lower lip so you don’t snap at her, or try to explain, or break down sobbing. You taste blood, hot sharp copper that blooms like wildflowers.

Aemond stands up. His barstool squeals against the sloping wooden floor. “Hey, can I talk to you outside for a minute?” he asks Cadi.

“Aemond, what…?” you begin, but he’s already headed for the front door.

Cadi blinks up at him, horrified. “Why?”

“You’re not in trouble or anything. I just want to show you something. Come on. It’ll be quick.”

“Okay,” Cadi says doubtfully, looking at you. You give her your best reassuring smile, and she slides off her barstool and follows after Aemond. The front door opens and shuts. You don’t hear shouting, you don’t hear much of anything except the air conditioner and the boombox and the mourning doves, the long-eared owl, the cicadas, the bayou, the universe. You go to one of the living room windows and part the blinds to peek outside.

What you see is strange. Cadi is sitting on the swing, and Aemond is kneeling in front of her so they’re just about at the same eye level. You can see half of Aemond’s face; Cadi is blocking the rest. He’s explaining something to her with patient yet insistent gestures of his hands. Cadi says something, and Aemond nods and replies. He points to his scar, his glass eye, and says something else. Cadi asks a question, and Aemond hesitates. Then he acquiesces and moves closer to where she is perched on the tree swing. He reaches up towards the scarred side of his face, but you can’t see his eye. When he lowers his palm, there’s a small piece of curved, oval-shaped glass that glints in the dying sunlight.

“Cool!” you can hear Cadi exclaim, muffled through the windows that are now closed on account of the new air conditioning unit. She says something else, and Aemond agrees. You watch her hand extending towards his face, towards the injury he has revealed to her for reasons you can’t comprehend. You rush to other windows, trying to get a better view, but there’s no way for you to get a clear line of sight. Before you know it, your hear their footsteps drumming up the porch steps. The front door opens just as you’re scrambling back onto your barstool.

“Everything alright?” you say, more nervously than you intend to.

“Yup,” Cadi replies. She climbs into her seat and resumes wolfing down focaccia and Bolognese.

You look over at Aemond, bewildered. His glass eye is back in its socket. He appears composed, but you notice the fresh sheen of sweat on his forehead, at his temples, at the nape of his neck. He gives you a casual little smirk and then returns to his barstool. He picks up his full glass of sweet tea and drains it in three massive gulps.

“Hey Mom,” Cadi says, and your throat is suddenly full of embers.

“Yeah, honey?”

“Tonight is really fun,” she says. She twirls her fork in the pappardelle pasta of the Bolognese, splattering red sauce over her cheeks. “This is great. I want to do this more often.”

And the embers in your throat cool, vanish, are replaced by something vast and free.

“You really do need a new house,” Aemond says as he helps you clean up after dinner; Cadi has already abandoned you both for her Nintendo. “There are new constructions a little further down Route 401, between here and Lake Verret. Three bedrooms, two baths. Not a castle or anything, just the right size for you and Cadi. We can go look at them sometime.”

“I don’t need a whole new house. There are midcentury homes all over the place down here. They’re small, and they might need fixing up, but they’re a lot cheaper.” Then you add, because it sounds less pathetic: “And maybe it’s nice to have a house with some history, some character.”

“Old can be charming and quaint, sure. But brand new is better.”

“Why’s that?”

He smiles. “No ghosts.”

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond #aemond x you #aemond x y/n

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ddarker-dreams · 2 years

Text

By The Fractured Altar.

Yan Scaramouche x F Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, codependency dialed up to the MAX setting, and Dottore shows up for a second so sorry about that in advance. Word count: 4.6k.

The first time the Wanderer thinks he’s lost you, he learns that every moment of fear he ever experienced before paled in comparison.

He awakes with a start. Lying beneath a blanket of gleaming stars, his eyes are slow to adjust to the low lighting, the once roaring campfire calmed to a hush. Its surviving embers nearly rival the magnificence of the welkin above in their glow. An empty pail sits beside the concaving wood that once stood so proudly. From this, he assumes he fell asleep before you. You always made it a point to put out the campfire before you both turned in for the night. In the warmer seasons, the Wanderer didn’t mind; it wasn’t until autumn’s chill nipped at his cheeks that he questioned your reasoning.

“The forest provides blessings for us,” you had told him. “Clean water from the stream, plentiful fruits that’ll always grow back no matter how many we pluck, and shade to protect us by day. In return for the forest’s generosity, we must keep it safe. Ours is a mutual relationship. All it takes is a single gust of wind to disturb this balance. Still… it’s not good to be cold either. I know! Come, lay down next to me, and we’ll keep each other warm.”

So he did — and continues to, religiously at that, regardless of if the cicadas thrum their wings to a deafening hymn in the scorching summer, or if all is silent in a desolate winter. For the warmth you provided was unlike anything else he’d ever experienced.

The Wanderer takes note of your absence with frenzied glances and wide, doe-like eyes. It was here that a few hours ago you lulled him to sleep, his head resting on your lap, and your magical fingers threading through his fine hair. You whispered stories that, while intriguing, were not the primary subject of his adoration. He was far more preoccupied with savoring the sound of your voice to pay much mind to the rabbit who apparently takes residence on the moon. Hmph, what a silly notion! He hopes you don’t think he believes in such childish drivel. He only stilled his insolent tongue so that you might speak uninterrupted.

Still, he couldn’t help but draw a comparison between you and the rabbit this story centers around. Have you not, in your own way, offered yourself to him, a God? This is the last sentiment he focused on while drifting in and out of consciousness. How lovely it’d be if you both could reenact the tale. He, too, would like to take you someplace far away, where no one else could dare reach.

Whether it be the moon or anywhere else.

He calls out your name, gently at first, so as not to betray his inner panic. If you happened to be around the corner and overheard him crying out for you as a baby bird stuck in a nest would, you’d torment him for days with your teasing. He quiets himself and awaits your reply. Every second that follows stretches out for an abject eternity.

The Wanderer resolves himself to find you, standing on shaking legs, so absorbed with his mission that he forgets to don his hat woven of straw. His garments catch on low-hanging branches, tearing the fabric and scratching at his skin, yet he pays it no mind. He uses the sparse moonlight that sneaks past layers of thick leaves overhead as his guide. Navigating the verdure feels different compared to when you’re present, he no longer cares to behold its beauty. How could he, when his mind is in such disarray?

He searches and searches, longing to quiet the still little voice in his head that seeks to smother the fledgling hope you’ve nurtured in him.

The rest betrayed and abandoned you, it gleefully reminds. Why should she be any different?

The Wanderer shakes his head. That can’t be true. You’ve been with him the longest, contented yourself in his company, and welcomed him to do the same with you. Wherever you went, he went. Wherever he went, you went. It was a simple yet effective dichotomy that he derived great pleasure from. For all his suffering, all his humiliation, you have what it takes to be an antidote to his many woes. What patient diagnosed with a terminal illness would let such a panacea slip through their fingers?

Humans are not to be trusted, the sinister voice reiterates. You said so yourself. Now, you’ve gone back on your word, and look at the consequence: you’ve been tossed aside like dross yet again. When will you ever learn?

Up ahead lies a clearing in the woods. The Wanderer hasn’t stilled for a minute, though his construct of a body longs for rest and respite. It will receive nothing until his current mission draws to a close. You couldn’t have made it far, he’s sure of it. The past few days entailed traveling from dawn to dusk for reasons unbeknownst to him. You said the destination behind your journey would remain a secret until you both arrived. As always, he was inclined to snuff his curiosity out if it meant entertaining your many whims, he had hardly cared for the end result anyhow. So long as he had you, he cared little about anything else to the point of negligence.

She was hinting at her treachery, the voice hisses once more. It sounds more like his own with every passing word. You were willfully blinded by sentimentality, is it any surprise your creator foresaw this weakness and chose another to fulfill your purpose?

Upon emerging from the forest’s treeline, he is nearly blinded by how bright the moonlight shines when unobscured.

Burn the forest down as you did the child’s home. Let flames consume all and incinerate her with it. Level the world until nothing remains, for if there is no one left, never can another being leave you behind again.

When his eyes finally adjust to the bright assault, what he sees nearly has him dropping to his knees in relief. You sit on the ground a few paces ahead, your back to him, gazing up at the night sky. Silvery hues surround your person, bathing you in an iridescent glow that both hypnotizes and lures him in. A branch crackling beneath his feet warns you of his oncoming approach. You turn your head in his direction, your countenance melting from uncertainty to recognition. Gentle lines form beneath your eyes as you smile, beckoning him closer.

“It’s a full moon tonight. The view from here makes all the walking we did worth it. I thought about waking you so you could join me, but you looked so peaceful,” you tell him. The shaky sigh he lets out is one of unparalleled relief. There was no nefarious scheme at play here — you were just being yourself. The damning voice echoing in his head falls silent. “What is it you were dreaming about for that infamous scowl of yours to depart, Wanderer?”

You. He never dreams about anything else. If he did, he’d consider it a nightmare.

“Wake me up next time,” he grumbles, despising how pouty he sounds. You must think so too, because you laugh, your voice light and airy. What he intends to be an order comes out more like a plea.

“Okay, okay, I will, don’t look at me like that.”

You then tilt your head, your eyes narrowing so that you can see him better. “Hm…? Wait, Wanderer, are you…?”

He freezes in place upon feeling deplorable wetness slide down his cheeks. Cruel, mocking. A testament to his shortcomings. For an instant, all is still, aside from the trembling of his hands and lower lip. He longs to hide the unsightly expression with the brim of his hat. The emotions that flicker over your face are unidentifiable, or rather, he’s too afraid to try and decipher them. Despondency latches itself around him like heavy chains. No, no, no, you weren’t supposed to see him like this, you can’t ever see him like this, weak and vulnerable and undivine.

His mother cast him off for his tears; it’s only safe to assume you would do the same.

He’s so lost in the twisting labyrinth of his decaying mind that he doesn’t register your footsteps padding his way. Soft hands press against his damp cheeks, gently wiping his tears away, your face mere inches from his. He observes with awe and wonder as you treat him with the utmost tenderness. There’s no furrow of your brow that hints at irritation or impatience behind your touch. When he finally finds the strength to make eye contact with you, he witnesses depths of benevolence unlike anything he’s ever witnessed before. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly. No bottomless bottle of sake could delight or inebriate him more than the look you’re giving him now.

“Hey, do you want to tell me about what’s wr— mmph!”

He covers your lips with his own, inexperienced and hasty, driven by nothing but a desire to permanently connect your bodies together. Throughout his travels, he learned that humans did this to express fondness for one another. Following this reasoning, there was nothing that felt more appropriate to him at that moment, when his mind and soul and whatever false mockery of a heart he has yearned for you to the point he aches. This hot, searing pain you inflict is a paradox of extremes. He should detest it, run from it, yet he cannot imagine a life without it. You make him feel. Undoubtedly, it could be a curse at times. And still, the potential blessings urged him to persevere through all the muck and mire.

The Wanderer tastes the saltiness of his tears on your lips. For once, he is too absorbed to pay it any mind. Your initial confusion fades into gentle reciprocation, pleasing him greatly. He barely knows what he’s doing, or why he’s doing it, but it seems right. As if everything was falling into place. You taught him the importance of balance, didn’t you? He thinks the two of you could encompass the belief perfectly. For all the bitterness that festered in his being, your sweetness could envelop and drown it out.

When he begrudgingly parts from you, sensing you need air to sate your mortal body, he presents you with a sacred covenant.

“Promise me that I’ll always have you,” he implores. Even he is almost embarrassed by the unexpected boldness, his fair skin turning red. “You have to promise. I’ll do anything, agree to any condition… so long as I have your word.”

You consider him, weighing his words on your mind’s youthful scale. He gnaws impatiently on his lower lip while you contemplate your response. You have to accept, don’t you? You must enjoy traveling with him, or else you wouldn’t do it. There’s a home tucked away in a little village for you to return to if that were the case. The insecurity he must often fight when considering this reality is nowhere to be seen. The Wanderer feels as if a fog has been lifted from his mind, a clearer path lying ahead. You’ve sung him to sleep, wiped away his tears, and returned his kiss; that has to mean something. He knows it.

“I want to see the world past this archipelago. If I can do that with you, then you have my word. I promise to always be with you.”

He smiles at you. Such a pure expression, devoid of any underlying scheme, hasn’t graced his face in some time. You return the gesture in kind. His hands fall so that they might intertwine with yours. He swings his arms ever so slightly, basking in your ethereal presence, content that he’ll never have to know loneliness again. Those painful days and boring emotions could be put behind him, never to be spared another glance.

“We don’t have to stop at just seeing the world,” he hums, something akin to pride swelling in his chest. His eyes radiate a violet hue. “I could give it to you in its entirety, should you ask.”

You giggle at what you presume to be a joke and shake your head. “Always aiming for the stars, are we, my Wanderer? I’m not nearly as ambitious as you. Seeing it is enough to satisfy me.”

“Then it’s a promise.”

ii.

The second time Kunikuzushi thinks he’s lost you, he learns madness will be his companion until you return to your rightful place by his side.

Presently, you lay down on a crude examination table. Your vibrant gaze is hidden beneath closed eyelids, your lips downcast in a permanent frown, and your hair loose beside your stationary form. The blankness of your physiognomy is unbecoming of one as lively as you. Kunikuzushi considers running his fingers over the softness of your cheeks, but ultimately decides against it. With that charlatan lurking about, he can’t risk displaying his affection so blatantly. He stands by your side, faithful as a bridegroom, never quitting the room for an instant. The absence of sound torments him.

“It won’t be much longer,” he whispers, unsure if the reassurance is for you or himself. The latter is more likely. “I’ll see those pretty eyes staring back at me again soon enough.”

Every trace of delicacy on his features evaporates the instant the door opens. Kunikuzushi meets his new colleague with a look of barely suppressed impatience, whereas The Doctor presents himself in an amicable fashion. He extends his hand for Kunikuzushi to shake, a gesture which has the latter scoffing and rolling his eyes. The Doctor plays off the blatant disrespect without a care, choosing instead to focus on the main reason for his being here today. Kunikuzushi tenses when his fellow Harbinger strides past him, toward your vulnerable form, an inquisitive air encouraging the bold act.

Under normal circumstances, Kunikuzushi would obliterate anyone who dared approach you without his express permission. Fortunately for this copy of The Doctor, his potential benefits override Kunikuzushi’s proprietorial behavior. He is the one who called upon the heretic, after all.

“So this must be my patient,” The Doctor gives you a perfunctory glance, which Kunikuzushi assumes is more for show than anything else. Your condition had been painstakingly relayed through numerous written correspondences. “What an interesting solution you’ve arrived at, temporary as it may be. To prevent the spread of madness associated with prolonged tatarigami exposure, you’ve placed her into a stasis-like slumber. Would I be correct in assuming the knowledge of this technique is owed to your unique background?”

“Is my answer necessary in aiding you with your job?”

“No,” The Doctor replies, his tone facetious. He examines the sheen of arcane energy that engulfs your form closer, then gives an off-putting smile. “It’s for curiosity’s sake that I ask, since I am a researcher, first and foremost. And this level of perfection transcends human capability.”

It is immaculately applied, as The Doctor surmised — (naturally, since Kunikuzushi is the one who applied it) — the very same technique his creator used on him once he was deemed worthless. In recognizing your rapidly deteriorating state, he didn’t know what else to do. He fed you his divine energy to keep your life force from succumbing entirely to tatarigami’s malaise; it just wasn’t enough. Your feeble human constitution could only handle so much, you weren’t made to withstand such extremes.

One night, he promised in a cryptic manner to fix this malady, no matter what. You have yet to regain consciousness after hearing his solemn vow. With Kunikuzushi’s newfound Fatui connections, he came to hear of a certain madman capable of performing feats that spat in the face of Teyvat’s ‘laws’. It was desperation that drove him to swallow his pride and ask The Doctor for help.

“Then I’ll leave my answer to your twisted imagination.”

The Doctor chuckles at that, his chest rumbling. “You’re as temperamental as they say.”

Kunikuzushi’s face almost splits in two from how wide he grins. “And you’re every bit as insufferable, wasting my time with all this idle chit-chat. I held up my end of the bargain and procured the materials you need for your heretical ends. Now do your part.”

“Gladly! It isn’t every day I get to tinker with assistance from the divine. I hope to learn much from your tutelage. Although…”

The Doctor places a hand on his chin. “While I can guarantee her physical condition’s improvement, her mental state is beyond my purview. Forgive me, if it isn’t my place to say this, but… waking to the news she’s now immortal will serve as quite the shock. What contingencies have you set into place for this?”

It takes all of Kunikuzushi’s self-restraint to prevent himself from calling down lightning from the heavens to smite this audacious quack. The Doctor might be feigning compassion, yet given his bloody track record, Kunikuzushi doubts he cares in the slightest. He’s trying to wring reactions out to delight his sadistic machinations. There’s an underlying malignant current to The Doctor’s inquiry that threatens to spark electricity in Kunikuzushi’s clenched fists, a test of sorts. The Doctor must be wondering how far his care for you extends. Kunikuzushi would rather no one knew about this exploitable weakness of his.

It’s for your sake — and your sake alone — that he manages to reel himself in. He won’t jeopardize your well-being due to some provocative statements. He would endure anything, do anything, so long as he could have you to himself again. The wait is almost over. A few low blows to his ego is the least he could sustain for your recovery.

“Whoever said anything about telling her?” Kunikuzushi returns The Doctor’s question with a question of his own. This should serve to put the dog off his trail, Kunikuzushi isn’t technically lying, yet the callous delivery belies his inner feelings. The less The Doctor knew about his attachment toward you, the better.

At this, the reprobate breaks into a fit of laughter, as if he’d been graced with the funniest joke ever told. His fangs gleam beneath the sparse lighting in the room, bemusement radiating from his being. “So that’s how you intend to handle things. Very good, very good.”

The Doctor straightens out the recently sterilized tools on a nearby table. “I’ll delay the procedure no longer. Shall we get to work, Balladeer?”

It won’t be much longer, [First], he thinks, the desperate thirst for your presence soon to be quenched. I’ve seen to it that you could keep your promise.

“Just tell me what you need me to do.”

“With pleasure.”

Kunikuzushi is so caught up in his own designs, he fails to notice a single tear that drips down the expanse of your otherwise serene face.

iii.

The third time Scaramouche thinks he’s lost you, he learns that his patience is not what it used to be.

There were certain parameters you were to adhere to — he’s remiss to call them rules, but he supposes the word fits — all for your safety and his peace of mind. The Fatui lackeys that trail after him like a dog are useless in everything besides your surveillance. They hide in the shadows, observing you from afar, dutifully reporting every change down to the slightest fluctuation in mood. From his vantage point, you’ve adapted well. He’s gently guided you, covering your eyes when necessary and encouraging you to look at what he thinks you should see.

Still, you had your rowdy bouts. This particular episode just happened to necessitate his involvement.

“Not intending to come back in for the night, [First]?”

Your legs dangle over the edge of the dilapidated castle the Fatui happened to be inhabiting for the moment. You keep your back to him, despite undoubtedly hearing his approach, your gaze locked on the heavens hidden behind a curtain of thick clouds. Your hair billows in the unforgiving Schenzayan breeze, some strands occasionally getting caught on the fluffy fur of your winter coat. He bends over to free what got caught on your collar. Your prolonged silence is unusual and unwelcome, he hoped that the open-ended question would serve to stoke the flames of conversation, even if it meant getting burnt. He’d rather you incinerated him to the bone than leave him to waste away in bitter-cold silence.

When he moves to pull away, only for you to stop him, twisting your torso around and catching his hand in yours. His breath lodges itself in his throat the moment your eyes finally meet. Though it appears to be the same hue as always, when the light hits it a certain way, there’s the faintest trace of violet. A testimony to the deep connection that binds you to him forevermore. Your beauty is so awe-inspiring, that at that instant, if you asked him to lay down his life for you, he wouldn’t hesitate to concede.

You whisper a name he forgot he ever went by, the very first of the identities he assumed when traversing this world. After gaining his devout attention, you go on to say, “I need to ask you something. May I?”

He breaks himself from his reverie long enough to reply in the affirmative.

“What… what am I, exactly?”

He is quick to school his expression, ensuring that his countenance gives away nothing just yet. “What do you mean by that?”

You pause as if you weren’t entirely sure yourself.

“Ever since I’ve woken up, something… no, everything… feels slightly… off. As if every piece of furniture in my home that I’d been familiar with my entire life was moved an inch to the side. The change is so subtle, so elusive from my understanding, that I can’t tell if it’s real or a product of my overactive imagination.”

Your grip on his hand tightens. “I think I should’ve died, but I didn't. I've seen the tall stone peaks of Liyue, traversed the vineyards of Mondstadt, and slept beneath the canopies of Sumeru’s rainforests. You’ve held your promise to me and mine to you. So why does my existence feel so wrong? So unnatural? I know you must’ve done something to me. Please, tell me what it is. I don’t think I can know peace until I know why it feels wrong to live.”

“It isn’t wrong,” he’s quick to interject, too quick, likely far from the placating comfort he intended it to be. You’re gracious enough to allow him time to recollect himself, precious being that you are. “If any tongue dared to claim otherwise, I’d cut it out and throw it at the dirt by your feet, where it belongs.”

“Even if it’s mine?”

“Of course not,” he scoffs, made incredulous by the notion. “Similar to myself, you have surpassed god and man alike. You are above them both. If the false heavens look down on you, I’ll gouge out their eyes; and if man voices complaints, I’ll slit their throats. There is no one who can judge us. Don’t worry your pretty little head over it.”

What he intends to be a plea comes out more like an order.

You heave a heavy sigh. “Thinking that way must make you awfully lonely.”

His fingers twitch against your skin. “... Not anymore.”

Your arms fall limp by your side and your body relaxes. Much to his chagrin, you turn back around, facing any direction but his own. A frown carves itself onto his face. From this vantage point, he is a hawk, and you, his little mouse who tires from trying to scurry away in vain. He thinks to sit beside you or pull you up to his level yet decides against it. He rests his hands on your shoulders, giving them a squeeze, reminding you of his presence.

As if you could ever forget.

“I thought I’d hate you when you confirmed what I already knew, deep inside,” if you feel how his body goes tense at the word hate, you don’t mention it. “For some reason, that doesn’t feel right either. If what you said is true… and I am like you now… then I think it might be for the best.”

“You do?”

He is unable to mask his surprise by how easily you acquiesce. He anticipated a myriad of issues upon the day you learned the truth, everything from shrieking to denouncement and even violence. His mind kicks into overdrive, raking through every word that left your lips for inconsistencies or potential falsehoods. Deception was never your strong suit, you wore your heart and your sleeve. He was dutiful in studying it and committing the various nuances to memory. Even the slightest hint of falsehood wouldn’t slip past his radar undetected.

A sliver of the moon peeks out past the tightly knit together clouds, encasing you both in its glory.

“Though you speak of your loathing for the gods, you’re set on becoming one yourself.”

This comes out as more of a state than a fact.

“No matter the outcome of this goal, I have a premonition that many will be hurt in your path to glory,” your voice is firm, albeit tinged with melancholy. “I will stay by your side, as promised. I will love you more dutifully than a wife would her husband. You will love me back, and in doing so…”

Finally, you rise to meet his astonished stare, pressing your forehead against his. His lips are slightly agape, eyes as wide as saucers. He thinks you might be more of a deity than him, and for that, he deems it sacrilegious not to worship you. Your warmth has never failed to pacify him. His rage born from innumerable betrayals burns hotter than the sun, yet your willingness to reach out and become ash eclipses it all. You lightly press your palm over the left side of his chest, where nothing beats.

“I will never let you forget that you have a heart, no matter how hard you try to scrub the knowledge away. I’ll write it down over and over, carving it into your skin if that’s what it takes to immortalize the truth.”

He’d gladly hand you the blade if it meant prolonging the ecstasy of experiencing your touch.

“You’re sacrificing yourself to me, then? Your happiness, your dreams, your future… if you make such a tempting offering, I’ll have no choice but to accept. I’ll take them all and demand more. I won’t be a merciful god, not even for you. Knowing how bitter it’ll taste, you’ll still accept my love without spitting it out?”

“I’ve always found it to be bitter,” you confess. An expression of wistful nostalgia settles on your face. “When you were a nameless traveler, the Wanderer, Kunikuzushi, and now, the iteration others refer to as ‘Scaramouche’. I’ve tasted the bitterness so frequently that my tongue is now numb to its flavor. If anything… having subsisted on it for so long… I might not have an appetite for anything else.”

The puppet of many names smiles at that from ear to ear. How lovely, that a millennia of wretchedness could be mended so easily when you held the needle?

All along, he thought that whenever you were lost, departing from the path he so meticulously laid out for you, he’d need to redirect your course. What an unnecessary overexertion! He sees it now, a reality that he thought was too good to be true. An oasis in the desert is not always a mirage — this serves as proof.

For no matter how far from the main road you deviated, you’d inevitably always return to him.

#scaramouche x reader #yandere scaramouche x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #yandere kunikuzushi x reader #wanderer x reader #yandere wanderer x reader #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #scaramouche brainrot #my stuff

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criticallyacclaimedstranger · 5 months

Text

Sprout [Pero Tovar x f!reader]

Read on AO3

Sequel to Seed.

Fandom: The Great Wall

Ships: Pero Tovar x f!reader

Tags/warnings: Pregnancy, pregnancy kink, pregnant sex, dirty talk, some angst and fighting but also making up with more sex, labor, you get it. Soft Pero!

Words: 5,999

Summary: After trying long and hard, you are finally pregnant. Pero is delighted, but now begins a time of waiting and fussing and, well, lots of sex. That's the plot.

When you finally become pregnant, you know it immediately.

It is eerie, almost magical, the way you just feel something take root in your womb. Not the presence of a person, but just something new, something growing. It is early morning, you awake before Pero, last night’s coupling still a warm, sticky memory on your skin along with his breath, his limbs so tightly wound around yours. You mean to rouse him with kisses and caresses, but then you feel it, and you just know. A blissful smile spreading on your face, you decide to relish this feeling for as long as you can, and so you just stay still and quiet, one hand on your lower abdomen. When Pero eventually stirs, hands and lips starting to claim you, you gently peel them off of you.

“I’m sore,” you whisper to him, accepting a chaste kiss on your lips.

“I’m sorry, my love.”

“Don’t be. I just need a rest.”

He pecks your lips again before releasing you to start the day. You hear him use the chamber pot, and when he comes back into the bedroom, he stops and looks at you, brows drawn together.

"What?" you ask.

"You look different."

"Do I?" You can feel heat rise to your cheeks, but in the same moment you decide not to tell him, not just yet. You want to be sure, live with this new presence by yourself for a couple of days.

"Yes."

He grabs his shirt and trousers, pulling them on while regarding you. You shrug innocently.

"Don't know what it would be."

That was all for that morning.

You tell him about a week later. The feeling of attachment deep within you had not diminished, and you have become more confident that it is real. During the entire week, you have gently turned down Pero's advances, citing tiredness and aches. Pero may be a loving husband, but he does not keep track of your monthly bleeding, and so he seems to have accepted that it's your time of the month, and been content with sweet caresses and kisses.

It's evening when you tell him. You're sitting together outside the house, facing the back garden. Surrounded by fragrance in the dying light, listening the first cicadas of the night starting the concertos, you feel that it is the right time to tell him.

"Husband," you start, lifting your head from his shoulder and facing him. "There is something I need to tell you."

His features are immediately painted with a wariness, like he is expecting bad news. Your sweet warrior husband, always ready for life to be full of hardships. You give him a reassuring smile.

"It's nothing bad, I promise."

"Then what is it?" he barks, hand squeezing yours like he's afraid you are going to get up and leave.

"I'm with child."

His eyebrows shoot up, leaving his eyes round and wide open, just like his mouth.

"Are you?"

"Yes."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes," you giggle now, his reaction too amusing not to cause you mirth. "I am certain, Pero, that you are going to be a father."

His face is as raw as it was on your wedding day, the joy shaving years off his scarred features. He raises your hand to his lips and kisses your knuckles before pressing your hand to his heart, and then his lips are on yours. You feel him tremble a little, from nerves, happiness, or excitement you don't know, but you pull him in for the kiss, and he relaxes in your arms.

He carries you inside and lays you on the bed, never stopping to kiss you until he has to, in order to pose a question.

"Can we...?"

"I think we can," you answer breathlessly before pulling him in for more kisses. Pero needs no further permission: he lays down over you, stealing your breath away with him kisses before sitting up to get you undressed. When you're naked before him, he leans down to trail soft kisses over your belly.

"My child," he murmurs, looking up at you, eyes shining. "You will take care of my child, won't you?"

"You know I will," you promise, shivering from the goosebumps of pleasure induced by Pero's bristly skin.

"And I will take care of you, wife," he vows, trailing light kisses down between your legs, which fall open to accommodate him.

He’s more gentle than usual, more perceptive of your mewls, the way your legs twitch, your grip on the sheets. It may not be his intention, but he ends up tormenting you even more with his slowness. It is a stark contrast to the frantic fucking of the past few weeks. His seed, shot inside you on a daily basis, has finally taken root, and he seems determined to nourish that little sapling as best he can. Even if that means teasing you at the brink of release until you’re sobbing.

“Pero…!” You’re writhing, trying to push yourself against his mouth for the relief you need, but his arms tighten around your thighs, rendering your lower body immovable.

“Hush,” he admonishes you in a thick whisper. “You have to relax, my darling, you can’t get overexcited.”

You press the back of your head into the pillow and run your fingers through your hair.

“Please,” you whisper desperately, “please, Pero, I can’t bear it any longer.”

You know he’s smiling from the curve of his lips against your sensitive inner thighs, and then he finally takes mercy on you. The orgasm feels stronger than usual, maybe due to the prolonged, sweet torture, or because of your condition. When Pero presses a kiss to your inner thigh, you almost kick him, your legs coming together to seal in the pulses in your pussy, and you turn over onto your side to get away. He lets you be for a moment, hearing from your breathy moans that you are unharmed, but he soon takes a gentle grip of your arm, and makes you roll onto your back again.

“My love,” he hums, dipping down to brush his lips over yours. “Are you well?”

“Yes,” you manage, and that works as enough of a reassurance for him to press his lips to yours. The kiss is sweet enough, but you sense the urgency in him, and his cock is hard and leaking against your thigh.

“Come to me, husband,” you mumble, opening your legs anew. Pero is instantly between them, guiding his cock into you. He slides in easily enough as he lays down over you, and you brace yourself for his usual brand of frenzy. He does, however, stay still, sheathed deeply inside you, as he cradles your face and kisses you. You are full of him, so full, and yet you want more, so you raise your hips to urge him to move.

“Patience, my love,” he reprimands you gently, kissing your forehead before moving his hips only enough to be able to push them into your again. “We have time.”

“I need you,” you pout, happy with how it makes him swallow hard.

“I know, wife, and you shall have me every single day, but we need to be careful. “ Another thrust, slow but so deep, makes you whimper. “We will make sure that the baby grows big and strong.” He thrusts again and your nails press into his back. “I will make sure that you are satisfied, my love, and that our baby is happy as it grows inside you.” One more thrust has you running your nails down his back. Hissing, he punishes you with a stab of his cock right up against your womb, and when you bare your throat to him, he dives down to suck his love marks into your skin. His hips move with more insistence now as he fucks you bruising deep, and when he releases his seed into you, he whimpers in a way you have never heard before. Your arms wrapped around him, you pull him down over you, forcing him to stay inside of you for as long as he’s hard. When he finally rolls off of you, he whispers his I love you first into your ear, then to your belly.

A couple of weeks later, you have your first morning of being sick. Pero had taken to a morning routine of greeting both you and your belly with kisses and caresses, but he barely touched you before you fly out of bed, barely making it to the slop bucket in the kitchen before your stomach turns inside out.

Pero hovers behind you, unsure how to help you as you retch into the bucket, but when you rise and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, he’s there to embrace you, combing your hair away from your face.

“Are you done?”

“I think so,” you tell him weakly, and he carries you back to bed and tucks you in before bringing you water. He then proceeds to building a fire, and making breakfast that he brings in to you.

“You don’t have to fuss,” you tell him, a little embarrassed at his extreme measures. “I’m perfectly capable of making us breakfast.”

“You need rest,” he tells you with a finality that you have never heard from him before. “Take it easy. You work so hard already.”

“No harder than you.”

“When I’m not escorting caravans, I don’t do much. Now eat, if you can stomach it.”

You can, and you’re suddenly ravenous.

After breakfast, you take your basket and go down to the marketplace to do your daily shopping, and when you return to find Pero outside the house, brushing down the horse, you sigh deeply as you put down the basket.

“Well, everybody knows now.”

“Knows what?” Pero asks, resting one hand on the horse’s strong neck. The warm sun has already turned his hairline damp, and he’s squinting against the light. You give him a what do you think? look, and he nods.

“I threw up the second I smelled fish,” you tell him, the sour taste still fresh in your mouth. “We’re having meat for the time being, husband.”

He shrugs, not having a preference one way or the other.

“Suits me fine. Are you well?”

“I’m fine.” You pick up the basket again and kiss his cheek, careful not to exhale what with your breath being so foul. “I’ll go in, put all this away.

“Leave the basket, I’ll carry it inside when I’m done with the horse.”

“I can do it, it’s not heavy.”

He glares at you then, clearly unhappy, but you kiss his cheek again.

“Don’t worry, Pero.”

But he does worry. And his worry grows with each day that starts with you throwing up. You are not showing, and the only sign of your condition, to him, is you being sick. He can’t feel what you feel, the presence inside you, although he tries every night, digging deep and slow into you until you’re begging him to cum because you can’t take it anymore.

That worry culminates one afternoon when he catches you carrying water from the well in your garden.

“Just what the hell do you think you are doing?” he glowers at you as you step in, burdened with one bucket in each hand. You stare at him, not even understanding what he’s talking about.

“What do you mean?”

“You shouldn’t be carrying something so heavy!”

“Pero – “

“You need to be more careful.” He makes it sound like you have been living irresponsibly, and it makes you furious because he has never spoken to you like this before. That scowl of his would scare anyone else in the village, but not you. You simply put down the buckets, your hands coming to your hips as you scowl right back.

“Now you listen to me, Pero Tovar! I am not frail, I am not ill, I am able to perform my chores! I may be pregnant, I may not be able to keep my breakfast, but there is nothing about my state that is abnormal!”

He seems a little taken back with your response but collects himself quickly.

“You should be resting more,” he insists, “and you getting this upset isn’t good for you, either.”

“I am not getting upset, you are making me upset!” you snap, heat rising to your cheeks. “I am doing fine and I would be doing even better if you weren’t so hell-bent on making me feel like I was dying!”

“It is precisely to stop you from dying that I am being so protective!” he bites back. You clearly hit a nerve there, and you’re angry enough to keep pinching it.

“So I cannot carry water during the day, but you can nail me to our bed every night?” you spit. “That’s a very strange way of protecting me, is it not?”

His jaws move, like he’s screaming something new at you, but then he casts down his eyes, his frown still prominent and neck muscles bulging. You cross your arms in front of your chest, waiting for his next move, but he just mutters something before storming out. You stare at the closed door, not expecting his departure. Pero has not survived by backing away from a fight.

You go on doing your chores, your blood coming down from its boil, and by the time supper is on the table, Pero returns. He stands by the door, leaning against it like he’s unsure that he’s welcome, but you gesture silently at his customary seat at the table, so he comes and sits down. You serve the food, you both eat it, and not until your plates are empty does Pero clear his throat.

“I’m sorry for earlier.”

You meet his soft gaze, seeing the regret – but also fear.

“Husband,” you whisper, but he shakes his head.

“I’m so afraid of losing you, my love.”

“I know.”

“I have never had anything as… good, and beautiful, as you, and the thought of losing you…”

“I know, my love,” you nod. You know this fear, but you have not known the same hard life as Pero has, and that helps you in not being ruled by that fear.

“Losing both you and our baby…”

“But you won’t,” you cut him off, softly but with conviction.

“You don’t know that. There is so much that can go wrong.”

“I don’t know that, no. I just believe it. I believe we will be okay in the end.” You reach your hand across the table, and Pero takes it. “Can’t you believe with me?”

A small, hopeful smile lights up his face. “I’ll try.”

Leaving everything on the table, you take him to bed. As you undo his belt, the belt pouch falls to the floor, and you hear the clinking of glass.

“Fuck,” Pero grunts. “I forgot.”

He bends down to pick up the pouch, pulling two bottles from it. He exhales in relief when discovering that they’re not broken.

“What are those?” you want to know, eyeing the two bottles, one larger, the other no bigger than Pero’s thumb.

“I went to the midwife,” he tells you, rolling the small bottle between his fingers. “She says that a couple of drops of this on your tongue every morning will help with your vomiting.”

You pick up the bottle and pull out the cork. The sunny, sweet smell of oranges wafts out. You quirk a brow and look at Pero, who shrugs.

“It’s worth trying, don’t you think?”

“It is.” You put the cork back and close your fingers over the bottle. “Thank you. That’s very thoughtful of you.”

“It’s been hard for me to see you be so sick,” he confesses, hand coming to a soft rest on your waist. “It doesn’t seem fair.”

“It’s not so bad, husband,” you assure him. “It’s just in the mornings, and it’s not going to last.”

“I hope the tincture will help.”

“If not, you have another bottle?”

“Oh.” Pero holds up the bigger bottle, as if he had forgotten about it. “This is not medicine.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s oil for your belly,” he explains, and now his gaze turns soft. “The midwife said that as your belly begins to grow, the skin often turns dry. This is to help with that.”

You smile, your hand coming up to his bristly cheek.

“That’s so sweet of you, Pero.”

“I promise I’ll rub it onto you every night, starting now,” he vows with a mischievous little smile, and you giggle.

“I’m not showing yet!”

“The midwife said it’s important to start before the skin begins to stretch, so would you please take your clothes off, wife, and lie down on the bed.”

You laugh, but it’s not you who ends up lying on the bed, it’s Pero.

“You’ve been so good to me,” you purr, sitting astride him and teasing his cock hard by rubbing your cunt against it. “Let me take care of you now, husband.”

“Yes,” he swallows hard, “my love, please.”

You kiss the wet tip of his cock, nip at the head, trail the veins down his length with your tongue, make him whine and writhe and come apart for you. You give him only a moment to catch his breath before you take his cock in your hand and stroke it to keep it hard. Pero inhales with a hiss.

“Oh, fuck, careful…!”

“I am being careful,” you promise as you keep your touch light. “I just need to make sure that you are able to service me, husband.”

“Always,” he chokes as you sit astride him.

“My cunt is hungry for your big cock, my love.”

“Oh, please… please… ahhh!” You sink down on him, your wet cunt splitting open but taking all of him, your lower lip caught between your teeth as you exhale in a loud moan. Your eyes have closed involuntarily, and when you open them, you see Pero looking up at you with awe in his eyes.

“I love you,” he whispers, and you bend down to kiss him.

“I love you, too.”

His hands splay over your lower abdomen. “And I love you.”

You kiss him again and start to move your hips. Your love life has been less frantic since you became pregnant, but it is not lacking in passion. Your slow, meticulous grind reflects that, and when Pero reaches for the oil bottle next to him on the bed, you sit up straight and let him rub the oil onto your skin.

“You are so beautiful,” he sighs as he circles his rough hand over your soft stomach. “And you will be even more beautiful when you start to show.”

“Will I”? you coax him, and he nods.

“I want you to ride me like this when you’re big and round, wife.” His voice drops, and the way it drips hot honey down your spine makes you clench. “I want you to take your pleasure from me likes this when you’re so big that you can hardly move, and your tits are leaking milk.”

“And if I can’t?” you breathe. His eyes are molten coal when he stares at you.

“Then I will help you.”

With that, he slides hand to where your bodies come together. His oiled fingers dance easily on your nub, and with his help, you ride him home, taking his load deep into your slick, warm cunt.

Your nausea does not bother you as much the following morning. Pero credits it to the tincture but you know that something has shifted in your relationship, become easier and more earnest.

“Maybe I shouldn’t go.”

You squeeze Pero’s arm against your side. “It’s a little too late for that now.”

“I can still tell them – “

“They need you,” you remind him. “So many people depend on you.”

“You are the most important one of all of them,” he points out, stopping in the middle of the street and turning to you. His free hand, the one that’s not holding the reigns of the horse, comes to rest on your slightly rounded belly. “You, and the little one.”

“It’s only a week.” You cup his cheek, stroke your thumb over his lips. “It’s not a long time. You’ll make good money, and I promise that I’ll rest.”

He raises his brows, and you laugh at his skepticism.

“I promise!” you hold up your hand to your chest. “I promise, Pero, you know you can trust my word, right?”

“I know,” he nods, now smiling, before dipping down to kiss you softly. The horse snorts, and Pero ends the kiss with a quick peck on your lips, before you once again take his arm, and walk to the town square where the caravan is getting ready to leave. Pero was early on asked to provide security for it, and even though he was loathe to leave you for an entire week, both of you knew he would. Winter is on its way, trading will come to a stop, and he will be free to spend the rest of your time at home.

You nod at familiar faces when you reach the square, but soon have only eyes for Pero as he takes you in his arms. You expect admonition and reprobation, but only receive whispered assurances of his love for you.

“You will take care of yourself, won’t you?” he finally asks, when the caravan leader is announcing departure. You give him a naughty smile.

“Take care of myself how…?”

He grins back. “You know how. I left you the oil, and the memory of me.”

“My own fingers are nothing compared to you, my love.”

“As my hand is a meagre substitute for your warm, wet cunt,” he breathes against your ear. There is time for a hot yet subdued kiss, and a quick caress of your belly, before Pero has to mount his horse. He blows you a kiss and is off.

The week passes slowly and uneventfully. It rains a lot, which means you keep mostly indoors, and it makes you a little restless. The baby is restless as well; you feel it twitching and floundering almost every hour that you are awake. It is a comfort, knowing that you are not alone, but you still miss Pero.

It is late night when he returns. You are already in bed but the sounds of the wagons returning to the village draws you out of bed. You pull a shawl around your shoulders, but don’t get dressed, loath to leave the warmth of the house to go out into the late autumn chill. It does not take long before Pero rides into the yard, dismounting midstride when you come out onto the doorstep. He rushes to you, lips on yours before he’s even wrapped his arms around you. His lips are cold but his breath is warm, and his body fits to yours perfectly, shielding you from the cold.

“Are you well?” are his first words to you.

“We are both well, husband. How about you? How was the journey?”

“Uneventful. I am unharmed.”

He falls to his knees, hands tracing the roundness of your stomach through the nightgown before pressing a kiss to it.

“Hello, little one.”

You feel the baby move, and then a powerful jerk. Pero flinches, then looks up at you, mouth open.

“Was that…?”

“Yes,” you smile, hand coming to cup the top of his head. “That was our baby, my love, saying welcome home.”

“Was it really?”

You nod, your smile growing wider as you watch Pero stare at your clothed belly, hand circling it in search of another kick. A light breeze sweeps across the yard, and you shudder.

“Let’s go inside, husband.”

He has to put away the horse first, so you prepare a small supper while you wait for him to come in. When he finally does, he forgoes any food, instead taking you to bed. Balls deep in you and kissing your breath away, he tells you over and over again how much he loves you.

Winter slows down the entire village, although you feel slower than ever before with each passing week. Your belly grows, and with it your tiredness. Your feet hurt, your hips hurt, you back hurts, you feel clumsy, and you're hungry all the time. Pero takes all your griping in stride, helping you with your heavier chores that you finally relinquish to him. He rubs your belly and breasts with oil every night, and pleasures you with his mouth, fingers, and cock every time you ask for it – which varies from day to day. Some days you cannot have enough of him, others you can barely stand the thought of sleeping with him. Your patient husband takes no offense at your ever-changing mood.

You realize very soon that you have been incredibly lucky in your choice of husband – not that you didn’t know that before, of course. When going to the marketplace and meeting the village women, your growing belly gives you a new role in the group. The younger women titter, the older give advice or tell crude jokes that make you blush.

“Glowing skin, hazy eyes,” one comments one morning by the vegetable stand, “and him looking like the king of the world. Neither one of you goes wanting, that’s for sure.”

Your cheeks heat up. The comment is spoken without malice, and in a pleased tone, but it feels like the speaker had direct access to your bedroom that morning, seen you come apart on Pero’s cock, witnessed him fuck his cum deep inside you.

You mumble something, and the older woman chuckles.

“I’ve had five, and my husband serviced me with all five of them. A father’s seed will make the baby grow strong. Your child will be born big and healthy, I can see that.”

The baby moves in your belly, bringing a smile to your face. You look up at the woman, see her friendly face, and thank her, before slinking away and finding Pero at another stand. He takes the basket from you, offers you his arm, and you walk home together. As you put away your purchases in the kitchen, Pero breathes life back into the fire, and you sink down onto a chair with a sigh. He runs his gaze over you, a frown on his face.

“Are you okay, my love?”

“Just a little tired,” you promise as you rub your belly. The baby kicks against your hand before settling down, maybe to sleep. You look at your husband, crouching by he fire, and clear your throat.

“Pero?”

“Yes?”

“Do the men in the village talk about… pregnancy?”

He looks up at you again. “What do you mean?”

“The women – “

“Women talk a lot of rubbish,” he scoffs, and you grimace at his dismissal of your sex.

“Sorry,” he immediately apologizes, and you glare at him to let him know that he is only barely being let off the hook. “Tell me, my love, what do they say?”

“They talk about pregnancy, how the baby is carried, what sex it probably is, cravings, pains, aches… and intimacy. And I was wondering if men do the same.”

Pero directs his attention to the fire for a moment.

“They do speak of the pregnancy, but more of the children once they are born,” he tells you softly. “They speak of what it is to watch a child grow, how to provide for it, the way you worry about it all the time.”

“But nothing of the pregnancy?” you press, and he shoots you a teasing smile.

“A little, but only things I will not repeat to you.”

“Pero, I am no dainty little thing that you have to protect!” you roll your eyes, and Pero laughs before putting another log on the growing fire, then closing the hatch.

“I do know that, wife,” he acknowledges. Coming to his feet, he walks over to you, and sinks to his knees before you.

“I will tell you what they say,” he rumbles, his deep voice making your heart skip a beat. “Many of them speak of wives who become voracious when heavy with child.”

His hands, warm and large, rest softly on your knees, and start to carefully separate your thighs. You lick your lips quickly, leaving your mouth open as your breath turns heavier.

“They speak of wives who crave cock every single day.” Pero lifts your skirt up, leaning in to kiss the inside of your thigh. “They say that fucking a pregnant wife is the best feeling in the world.” He presses another bristly kiss to your sensitive skin. “To fill her already full womb even more…” Another kiss. “To have her sensitive cunt wrapped around your cock… how she mewls underneath you as you fuck your seed into her… it is heaven.”

He looks up at you, eyes dark, a smug smirk on his lips. “And they are right.”

“Pero,” you beg breathlessly, your cunt dripping from his words, your body ablaze for his touch.

“Come here, my love.”

He pulls you down on the floor, and you help him undo his trousers to get his cock out. Crouching astride him, feet firmly planted on the floor, you sink down his length, Pero supporting you with strong arms, even he can no longer reach around you. You ride him with impatience, one hand on his shoulder, the other gripping his leg behind you, your lips on his lips, his neck, his shoulder.

“My love,” he gasps, “take what you need from me, use me, just like that, use my cock…”

You whine before baring your throat and hanging your head back, chest out, Pero dipping down to suck a leaking nipple into his mouth. You moan as your body is in spasms from the sweet release, and Pero plants a hand on the floor behind him, and thrusts up into you, grunting with effort as he seeks his own climax. You encourage him with moaned filthy words of your own, choked out as he slams into you, again and again, until he grips your buttock hard to keep you still on his cock, and you feel him fill up your core.

He lays down on the floor after, pulling you down next to him to give you a sweet kiss.

“My darling wife,” he sighs before kissing you again.

“My darling husband,” you smile, a satisfied shudder running through you as his seed oozes out between your swollen lips. “I am utterly disheveled. I won’t be able to show myself at the sewing circle later today.”

“Good,” he yawns, pulling you closer. “It is a husband’s duty to keep his wife disheveled with his love.”

“I cannot argue with that,” you giggle, and he kisses you yet again.

It starts in the early hours of the darkest winter morning. You wake up from a sharp pain, and before you’re properly awake, you realize that your nightgown is soaking wet. As you sit up to light a candle, another stab of pain makes you whimper, and you drop the fire striker. Pero stirs and reaches for you, only to be awake and sitting straight almost immediately.

“It has started,” you whisper. “I’m all wet. Pero, light a candle.”

He does as he’s told, and you throw the covers to the side, finding that your water has broken. No blood, as you secretly feared, but only water.

“I’ll get the midwife,” Pero tells you resolutely, but you can hear the worry in his voice. “My love, are you in very much pain?”

“Not too much,” you reassure him, getting out of the bed as he springs up to get dressed. You pull your shawl over your shoulders and start walking around, as the women of the village have told you to do. The pains come in sharp stabs, but they’re manageable.

Pero looks desolate to leave you, but you wave him off with a smile and a kiss.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, just go get her.”

When the midwife arrives, she gives you a quick examination before shaking her head.

“Go back to bed,” she tells both of you. “It’s going to be another day or even two before it starts, so get all the rest you can.”

“Are you sure?” Pero demands in his most imposing voice. The midwife does not even blink as she collects her things.

“Make her as comfortable as you can.” She turns to you. “Rest but walk around every chance you get. And if something seems amiss, come get me again.”

She takes her leave, and Pero grumbles about the lack of sympathy. You, however, have heard a lot more about labor, so you just shake your head at him.

“Help me change the sheets, husband, and come to bed. You heard what she said.”

“You are in pain!”

“It’s not so bad anymore,” you tell him truthfully, and start to strip the wet sheets from the bed. Loath to have you do it by yourself, Pero comes to help you, giving him something else to think about. When you’re back in bed, embraced and sleepy yet too nervous to rest, he caresses the roundness of your belly.

“I can’t wait to meet our baby,” he whispers to you.

“I feel the same.”

“What are you hoping for? A boy or a girl?”

“I don’t care,” you yawn, “as long as it’s healthy. Any child that is half you is going to be perfect.”

“I love you.”

“And I love you.”

Late in the following night, the contractions change, become more intense and frequent. You send Pero to the midwife again, and this time she stays. You have prepared during the day so there are linens and boiled water to be had. Pero is dismissed from the bedchamber, and you see that he wants to fight the midwife on that decision, but you just shake your head at him, and he heeds your wish. But when the midwife tells you that you are crowning, that the baby is coming, and the contractions are sucking all the strength from your muscles, you scream for your husband. He nearly takes the door off its hinges as he barges in, all but brandishing the sword he has not touched since his last caravan. He takes your hand between his and kisses it.

“My love,” he breathes, “my strong, beautiful wife. You can do it, I know you can.”

Your baby is born with a few pushes, and the first scream that cuts through the night makes your tears fall.

“You have a son,” the midwife announces as she wraps up the baby and puts it on your chest.

“A son,” you repeat, not really understanding the words.

“I have a son,” Pero mumbles, his voice thick. You glance up at him, but he is only looking at the baby.

“Pero…”

“I have a son.”

Suddenly, he spurts out of the room, leaving you to stare after him, mouth agape. You hear the front door slam open, and then Pero bellowing into the night:

“I have a son!”

You chuckle, tears streaming down your cheeks, and when Pero returns, his eyes are shining as well.

“My love,” he whispers. “My love. My life. I love you so much.”

You can’t speak, this is all too much, you are exhausted and hurting and happy and sweaty and bursting with joy. As the midwife retires to the kitchen, Pero lays down next to you, cradling the baby in your arms.

“My son,” he whispers, his voice thick. “We have a son, my love.”

“We do.”

“I will always take care of him, and of you, this I promise you.”

“You already do, my love,” you smile, and Pero kisses first your forehead, then the baby’s.

#the great wall fanfic #pero tovar fanfic #pero tovar x you #pero tovar x reader #my fic

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obsolescent · 1 year

Note

For the writing prompt, 14 with Leon?

14. Playing with their wedding band when they’re thinking about the other.

Author’s Note: I’m so sorry. I have no idea when this came in. Apparently I am bad at noticing when I have asks. I hope you enjoy, and once again my apologies about missing this!

Content Warnings: None, no gendered language for the reader, just giving Leon a happy ending to his hard life ♡

The sun casts a glint off the platinum band on Leon’s ring finger. He wasn’t one for anything flashy, and you picked out a simple ring for him. 950 grade, a moissanite stone inlays the band, the prism like colors gleamed throughout the gemstone. You picked a good, sturdy material with an equally sturdy, yet unique, stone.

Often he finds himself caressing the ring, fiddling with it throughout the day. Thinking about you, how much thought you had put into it. Not going the standard route most do with men’s rings, like a simple band. No, you picked something special, wanting it to have that touch of individuality that Leon always carried with him. He thought the same for you, it’s why he took a long time himself picking out a ring for you. Going through your jewelry you had when you were preoccupied, seeing which colors, materials, and shapes you liked for yourself. He ended up picking the same material and stone you had chosen for him, since you proposed first, he was able to get them close to matching each other.

“Porch light’s on, but no one is home, it seems.” You pull him from his thoughts, realizing he had been staring absentmindedly off the back porch into the backyard. Chuckling, he turns his full attention to you, studying him with a smirk on your face. “What are you thinking about, honey?” You asked, cocking your head. He smiles, reaching over and grabbing your left hand, beginning to play with your own ring sitting on your finger. “Thinkin’ about you, how happy, how lucky I am to be your husband.” He responds, bringing your hand up to kiss the band and your knuckles.

You beam at him, a grin that lights up your whole face, made even better by the setting sun, bathing you in hues of gold and orange. “It’s me who’s the lucky one, Leon. You make my days brighter and fuller. I’m so glad you came into my life. No one else I’d rather spend my time with.” You begin to choke up near the end, opting to lean over what little space remains on the wicker sofa, your free hand cupping his face, enveloping him with a kiss. He reciprocates, himself becoming overwhelmed with emotions.

Never did he think he would have this in his life, this tranquility you bring him. A quiet he never thought he’d get to experience, at least not until his untimely death. These days he thinks more about his mortality, now that you’re in his life. It’s why he savors these moments with you. The stillness that surrounds you two while the cicadas and crickets create a symphony of sounds, while the sun sets lower in the sky.

#o asks #o writing prompts #resident evil #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x gn!reader #leon s kennedy x gn!reader #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fanfic #resident evil fanfiction #resident evil x reader #resident evil x you

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olives-and-sunshine · 10 months

Text

"Would you still love me if I was a worm?"

Eddie Munson x GN!Reader

Word Count: 725

Summary: While high, you ask Eddie if he would still love you if you were a worm.

Warnings and Content: Tooth-rotting fluff and silliness, mentions of both Eddie and the reader being high, GN!Reader, relationship is fairly ambiguous and could be read as anything (platonic, queerplatonic, romantic)

A/N: This was written in the middle of the night and originally was about my OC and Eddie, who are in a queerplatonic relationship (which I also posted, if you wanna read it click here ). Hope that explains this.

You were lying on Eddie’s bed, staring at the ceiling. The room vibrated with the noise of Judas Priest playing through the speakers of his cassette player. Eddie was laying his head on your stomach, his eyes closed as he hummed along. You played with his hair as you closed your eyes. Judas Priest was interesting music to listen to when high, and you were fairly high. You both were, although Eddie was higher than you were. “Would you still love me if I was a worm?” You asked, breaking the silence.

Eddie stayed silent for a minute before bursting out laughing. “What?”

You tried to not laugh, but you eventually caved, joining him. “You heard me. Would you still love me if I was a worm?” You asked between giggles.

He got up off your stomach and turned so he could look at you, leaning over you. His eyes scanned your face. “Who says I love you?”

You gently shoved him with her foot in the stomach. “Dick.”

He dramatically fell back, sprawling over the bed. He laid there for a second before he broke out in giggles again. He got back up, leaning over you again. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t mean it,” he whined, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. You jokingly pouted and looked away. In response, he leaned down and kissed your forehead. “You’re high as shit,” he started giggling again. When you looked back over and your eyes met, so did you.

Midst their fit of giggles, breathlessly he said, “But of course, I’d still love you if you were a worm. What kind of fucking question is that?” You laughed harder, but he continued. “That being said, we all know you’d be something more metal like a cicada, or a mean beetle. Or ooo, something that bites.”

“Hey, I don’t bite!”

“The bite marks that currently litter my body beg to differ.”

“...Okay that’s fair, but worms are hella metal! Some are both male and female and can impregnate themselves. And they decompose things! Nothing is more metal than composure and death.”

“You have a good point. But still. So you would be a decomposer, you’d still be a beetle or something. My point is…” he trailed off for a second, poking you in the cheek. You grabbed his finger and interlocked your hands, letting them settle on your stomach. “I’d love you no matter what creepy crawly bug or creature you were. I’d go to the library, research what you’d need to thrive, and then put you in a little enclosure I made for you. I’d feed you whatever you’d want, even if that means catching other tinier bugs for you. And I’d take you out occasionally so you could get sunshine. And if you were really unhappy, I’d let you be free to live out your little bug life, so you can go fuck another bug, have kids, and go decompose things, and continue the cycle of life. If not, you could just live here with me, in your little bug enclosure.”

Eddie was staring out the window as he said all this, but you just stared up at him, in awe at the way he turned a silly joke into the sweetest monologue ever. You sat up and tackled him into a hug, knocking you both over on the bed, till you were on top of him. He laughed, wrapping his arms around you and kissing your head, “What?”

You pulled away to look at him. “That was the sweetest, cheesiest, monologue I’ve ever heard about me or bugs. You’re the best.”

“Of course, sweetheart. And, if we were both bugs, no matter the type of bug we were, even if we were different bugs, we’d live together in bug harmony. We’d find a way.”

“Dawwww, how sweet. We could live out our little bug lives together and decompose stuff. How adorable of us.”

“Of course. We’re the most adorable duo ever,” he pulled you close to him, your head resting on his chest. He kissed the crown of your head again, and you both closed your eyes, just resting and enjoying each other’s presence. “We should probably move at some point, though. We are lying on my bed diagonally.”

You nuzzled your face into his chest, sighing contently. “Shhhh later. I’m comfy.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson ficlet #eddie munson x reader ficlet #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things #stranger things ficlet #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fluff

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hiebies · 1 year

Text

the scent of flowers (still in bloom from morning shower)

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ | desc; what is youth, really, except for a simple memory?

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ | pairings; geto -> x gn!reader

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ | mlist

the sun in the sky is a falsehood. it flashes by in flickers of light, memories of a day fulfilled and the settling of dancing stars that bid it goodnight as it hovers on the horizon. the fading light of a golden celestial body reflects as it fades beyond the horizon, illuminating two figures stood in a cluster of citrus trees in full bloom.

a hand against your cheek, its thumb trailing behind to press against your jaw, “stay still.”

the hand— his hand, the hand that is warm. the hand that is soft in its every touch, at least with you. that same hand that is so strong and safe— reaches back ever so slightly, cupping your cheek to nudge your head to the side.

he hums, in that same little way he does after a good night’s rest; in the way he does when a meal tastes particularly good.

suguru is happy. sated. content.

his other hand rustles into a nearby tree— citrus, by the smell alone, you think it might be an orange tree— for a few moments, until there’s an abrupt snap that separates the choral serenade of the cicadas and wind, to the introduced sounds of his breathing and yours. it’s peaceful.

you feel that same hand moments later, smelling of fresh grass and citrus, warm and gentle. he tucks the sprig of orange blossom behind your ear, that same humming still sounding from his direction.

he pokes his fingers at your cheek, laughter flowing to interrupt the steady hum of his voice when your face scrunches and you automatically turn your head, “see? wasn’t that worth it?”

he looks pretty, ethereal in the way that only he can be. wispy strands of hair that fall out of his bun on one side of his face, brushing at the swell of his cheek when he cracks a grin.

pretty.

“did you check to see if this one had any bugs on the stem this time?” your voice echos towards him, cuts through the air in a pleasant way that makes him think of a shooting star, such brilliance that remains ever ephemeral, yet never looses its impact. his lips curl up into a smile.

he shrugs his shoulders, too innocent look on his face as his hand seeks to find its way back against your cheek again, “that wasn’t my fault, remember. do you not want me to tuck flowers behind your ears anymore?”

another smile from you, one that returns his, as it always had, “not any that have ants on them- hey! don’t laugh!”

the sun on the horizon, warm and golden, drifts lower on the horizon, until it dips so low that it simply disappears.

“—want this tree? it won’t fruit for a few years yet.” the voice interrupts, silent soliloquy ended in favour of focussing on something that isn’t the false sky of memories that continue their barrage.

your eyes snap up to the cashier, someone younger— as you had been, when it was a familiarity for suguru to tuck fruit blossoms behind your ears and cradle your heart in his hands— who appears confused, when you don’t respond to the question.

“oh- sorry, yes. it’s fine- i’ve wanted a tree for a while, and i’m finally at a point where i can have one.” a smile on your face, quick, only the flash of something sincere.

the cashier smiles again and says something else, proceeding to organise with you over payment and if you’re really sure you want this one and not a more mature tree- again, you answer the same. the cashier— hair long enough to tie up into a bun, with wisps of hair that fall out on one side to hug the shape of their face; perhaps the real reason the memory had hit in the first place— is polite, though still confused on your vacancy in the conversation.

as you find yourself leaving the store, accompanied with your cart carrying the small citrus tree already flowering little white blossom, the sky is real, blue; most of all, it is mocking you.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ | notes; this!! was not planned but happened anyways. not proofread we die like- well,, practically jjk’s whole cast. i think of fruit & springtime when i think of suguru because of a character study i read abt him one time so mayb that’s what’s influencing this jus a smidge.

#i hope to all within me that i can find that character stufy again because #MAN ITVWAS SOSOSOSOSO GOOD #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x gn!reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk geto #geto suguru #jjk geto suguru #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x gn!reader #geto suguru x you #geto suguru x y/n

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archiveikemen · 1 year

Text

Harrison Gray Main Story: Chapter 1

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection. I do not own any of the original content. Please support CYBIRD by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

❥･• Warnings and FAQ

[Harrison’s POV]

— Your memories will always be more peaceful than reality.

Cicadas were buzzing, and the paddy fields resembling a huge golden carpet swayed in the end-summer breeze.

The shadows of a father piggybacking a little boy and the mother chasing after them stretched long on the ground.

Mother With Gentle Smile: Come on, stop running, the two of you. You’ll trip and fall.

Father and Son With Mint-Coloured Eyes: Okay, sorry.

Mother With Gentle Smile: Seriously, you boys have so much energy.

Mother With Gentle Smile: You should help me out more around the house with that energy.

The little boy, laughing while on his father’s back, suddenly thought of something and spoke,

Little Boy With Mint-Coloured Eyes: Hey, Father. It’s bad to tell lies, right?

Father With Mint-Coloured Eyes: Hm? Why the sudden question?

Little Boy With Mint-Coloured Eyes: When you and Mother are at work, I spend my time reading picture books.

Little Boy With Mint-Coloured Eyes: I’ve read lots of them and in every story, the fox is always telling lies.

Father With Mint-Coloured Eyes: Lies…?

Little Boy With Mint-Coloured Eyes: Mm, they lie and hurt people. That’s a bad thing to do, right?

Little Boy With Mint-Coloured Eyes: That’s why I hope a hero like Father will catch all those bad foxes that lie to people!

Mother With Gentle Smile: Oh, are you leaving everything up to your father, Harry?

Little Boy With Mint-Coloured Eyes: Nope! When I grow up, I’ll become a policeman like Father. Then I’ll arrest all the bad guys!

Father With Mint-Coloured Eyes: That sounds very interesting. However, Harry…

Hey, Father. I have a feeling you said something “important” to me after I innocently told you about my dreams.

I can no longer recall what you said. Recently, it also feels as if your face is fading from my memories.

Right now, I’m somewhere pitch-dark where the sun doesn't shine, and the smell of blood lingers in the air around me.

There’s no turning back for me.

In this darkness… I continue to lie.

… Even the things I just said might've been lies.

…

[Kate’s POV]

Kate: … Haa.

I sat up in my bed, woken up from my shallow sleep.

(... It's still night time. I feel like I just had a terrifying nightmare.)

Even though I was awake, my surroundings were unfamiliar to me.

(Right. I…)

– Flashback Start –

William: There is an imperial organisation under direct command of Her Majesty Queen Victoria, all of its members are “cursed ones”.

William: — And that’s us, “Crown”.

William: We take on shady tasks ranging from spying to assassinations. In other words, the dirty work that the police or military can’t do.

– Flashback End –

Kate: … “Fighting evil with evil” for the sake of England’s prosperity— that’s the duty of “Crown”.

(While delivering mail, I accidentally came across a forbidden secret.)

(It was as if I had fallen into a pitch dark hole that appeared out of nowhere.)

If only I could cover my ears and close my eyes, and ignore everything.

However, that wasn't possible. There was no way for me to turn back time to when I knew nothing about all this. Therefore…

(I’ll earn their trust by fulfilling my duties as a “fairytale writer”, and make them believe that I won’t reveal their secret.)

(After that, I can safely return to where I came from… and have my ordinary life back.)

Just as I was mentally preparing myself to stay strong and not let my anxiety overwhelm me, I heard some noise coming from outside my room.

(...?)

…

When I went downstairs to find out the cause of the noise, William noticed my presence and turned around.

William: My, it’s already so late at night and the little robin is still awake.

Liam: Oh, it’s Kate. Did the noise wake you up?

Liam: Sorry for the disturbance, we’re about to leave for a mission under Her Majesty’s orders.

Harrison: …

Kate: A mission… this late at night?

Liam: Yeah, villains prefer to work in the dark. Besides, it’d be nonsensical to commit evil deeds in broad daylight, right?

(Is that so?)

William: It’s good you’re awake.

William: If you want, we can escort you to the criminals’ stronghold. Miss fairytale writer?

I was told that my job as a fairytale writer was to write about the activities of Crown. Those documents would then be used as reference material for research being conducted on “curses”, and as reports to Her Majesty.

At the same time, Crown would keep their eyes on me for a month to make sure I don’t leak their secret.

… That’s the situation I was in.

William: — But considering that you’ve only just arrived, we could save this for another day…

Kate: If it won’t be too much of a bother to all of you, please allow me to accompany you on the mission.

William: Oh, gladly.

Liam: It’s going to be so exciting to have Kate come with us.

Liam: Now that it’s been decided, let’s go. We should get a carriage so that Kate won’t have to walk too much.

With that, Liam dashed out of the castle.

William went after him with graceful steps, like an owner chasing his pet cat.

Harrison and I were the only ones left.

Harrison: …

(Why is he being silent? This is kind of awkward.)

Harrison: … Hey.

Kate: Y-Yes?

Harrison stood in front of me.

Harrison: Did you ask to come along, thinking that would help you earn our trust?

Harrison: Or was it because you feel that you’re obligated to do so as a fairytale writer?

His mint-coloured eyes were as clear as a puddle after rain, they seemed to be staring straight into the depths of my heart. It felt impossible to lie to him.

I nervously met his gaze.

Kate: I think it's both of those reasons, and also self-interest.

Harrison: Self-interest?

Kate: If I don’t earn your trust, I can’t return to where I was before this happened.

Kate: Therefore, I will do my job well and prove that I’m worthy of your trust.

Kate: That is what I have to do right now.

Harrison: Hm.

Harrison: You’re surprisingly honest.

Whenever someone says that I’m honest, it doesn't quite click for me.

Kate: Is that so…?

Harrison: No idea. At least, that’s my impression of you.

Harrison: Anyway, it’s up to you whether you want to have some kind of sense of responsibility or be naive. However…

Kate: …?

He leaned in closer and stared into my face, so close that our breaths nearly touched.

Harrison: Such noble intentions make you easy to kill.

Paying no attention to how shocked I was, Harrison gave me an aloof smile and walked out into the darkness.

(What on earth was that? Was he warning me? Or…)

Still puzzled by his words, I rushed outside as well.

…

The carriage brought us to what appeared to be an abandoned circus tent.

Liam: Kate, shh… quiet. See those guys over there? They’re our targets for tonight.

We peeked at them from the shadows. Two men were counting large sums of cash with sinister smiles on their faces.

Man 1: One bill, two bills, three bills… haha! We made so much money selling those orphaned brats from the East End to other countries.

Man 1: A truly profitable business. There are people who want those starving brats, and even their corpses.

Man 2: As long as people like them continue to exist, our pockets will never be empty. Haha, this is great!

(T-They’re taking children from the slums and selling them…? How… How could they…)

I was fuming as I heard them talking about their heinous acts, so much that my body temperature dropped.

(But this is a cruel reality that “I didn't know about”.)

England often boasted about being the most prosperous country in the world, and yet the dark world of poverty caused by inequality was hidden within.

(But that doesn't justify treating the lives of innocent children like disposable objects.)

William: They look like they’re having a good time. Let’s join them, shall we?

With graceful steps, William approached the man.

Kate: W-William…?

Liam: Kate, I’ll use my curse’s ability to become your invisible human shield and protect you if anything dangerous happens.

Liam: Look, I’m invisible now.

(!?)

Liam’s physical body vanished like he had put on an invisibility cloak, and only his voice could be heard.

Harrison: Don’t get too carried away, Liam. We’re not here to play.

Liam: I know. Come on, Kate. You should get front-row seats for your very first mission.

Kate: Wahh…!

William: Hello, gentlemen.

Man 1: … Who the heck are you?

William: You don’t need to know my name. I'm just someone very interested in the kind of fun you’re having.

Man 2: I have no idea who you are. But now that you've seen something you shouldn't have, you won’t be leaving this place alive. … Get him.

Before the men could charge at him with their knives, William spoke with his shapely lips.

William: “— All of you drop your knives, get on your knees, and behave yourselves.”

Men: !?

*clang* Their knives fell to the ground, and the two men kneeled in a strangely obedient manner.

(“Making people do as he says”... that’s William’s “King of Self-Righteousness” curse.)

It would’ve sounded outrageous if he were an ordinary man, but I knew it was true because I had experienced firsthand this ability of his.

Men: I… I can’t move! W-What the heck is this guy…!?

William: Now that you’re more well-behaved, let us commence with the trial. The judge for tonight is you— Kate.

Kate: What?

William: You’re our special guest tonight. You should state your opinion. Now, Kate.

William: The accused are these two men in front of us. They desecrated the lives of innocent young children, ruining them to fill their own pockets.

William: Should we get rid of them right here and now, or give them an alternative form of punishment to taking their lives?

William: What's your decision, Miss Judge?

Looking into William’s eyes, I could see that he had already decided since the start what the verdict would be.

Kate: … William, you used your curse’s ability in front of them.

Kate: They know your secret now. That means it has already been decided, hasn’t it?

Kate: Although there’s the option to make them fairytale writers like me… that’s highly unlikely.

William’s beautiful smile sent a chill down my spine — it was like he was telling me that I was right.

William: I admire your ability to stay calm and assess the situation, Kate. Now…

(... The atmosphere has changed.)

He was still smiling elegantly, but there was an air of tension rising around me.

William: It’s up to you whether you want to close your eyes or leave them open from this point forward. You have the freedom to decide.

Liam: Hey, Will. I really want to satisfy my curiosity tonight, can you let me handle it?

Liam: You stay right here, Kate. … Fufu, ahaha. I’ll do my best…

Kate: … Liam?

As I was feeling puzzled by the unsettling tone in Liam’s voice, the atmosphere grew even more tense.

William: — Time for the final judgement.

Men: AAAAH…

Patches of red bloomed before my eyes like licorice flowers.

The sound of the men’s ear-piercing screams, their bodies falling to the ground lifelessly, and Liam’s unhinged laughter filled my ears.

Even though Liam was invisible, I could visualise him swinging a knife around as he killed them.

(... I mustn't look away. Why… why did I come here?)

(... For… what…?)

My heart beat louder in my chest.

Staring at the blood spilling out everywhere, my legs felt weak and eventually gave way.

30 seconds later— it was all over.

A low sound of footsteps echoed, and someone sat down in front of me.

Harrison: … Hey, are you alright?

(... Harrison.)

I sighed, almost relieved to hear a familiar voice of concern.

Kate: … I am.

Harrison: I see. Because if anything happened to you, I—

Right at that moment, I heard a metallic clicking sound next to my ear.

(What?)

In the corner of my eye, I saw something unexpected—

Harrison: Bang. You’ve been deceived.

(...)

(A gun…?)

A gun was pointed to my head.

Harrison: I could kill you right this instant if I wanted to.

Kate: Why…

Harrison: “Why”? We’ve only just met a few hours ago. What made you think you could trust me?

Harrison: You could've been used as a decoy, or a human shield. And at this very moment—

Harrison: A bullet might get shot right through your skull. Did any of that ever cross your mind even once?

My life was in Harrison’s hands.

That overwhelming fact had me rendered speechless.

The pair of mint-coloured eyes staring at me caught my racing heart.

I caught a waft of a refreshing minty smell that didn't suit the current situation.

Harrison: Kate.

Harrison: This is the kind of evil world you walked into.

#ikemen villains #ikemen series #cybird ikemen #cybird otome #otome #ikevil main story #harrison main story #niki translates

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