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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 1 month

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we can dip if you’re ready ; satoru gojo

synopsis; your dreams of a peaceful summer are rudely shattered by the presence of your best friend’s older brother; the same brother who rejected you five years ago. the same brother you’re still hopelessly, uselessly in love with.

word count; 7.4k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, best friend’s brother!gojo (he’s the hottest man in the stratosphere), mild age gap (four years!), unrequited love, but with a hopeful ending kind of, bittersweet fluff, mostly summer shenanigans and pining, riko is satoru’s younger sister and i would give her the stars, sugu makes a guest appearance, (they’re both just there to bully gojo), he’s fairly mature in this i think, reader is very stubborn and very down bad, [name] is used exactly once

a/n; personally i would let him use me as workout gear (tagging @teddybeartoji @dollsuguru @hayakawalove @stellamancer @vagabond-umlaut !! tysm for the help and encouragement ily 🥺🥺)

one mellow summer morning, over a breakfast of pancake and toast, the puppy-love you’ve nurtured for the past three years finally reaches its conclusion.

you’re seventeen years old. in three months you’ll be eighteen, standing on your own two feet, headed in a new direction — the whole world within your reach. but right now you’re still only seventeen, and lovesick, and sleeping on a mattress in your best friend’s room. listening to the sound of the nearby sea.

you’re seventeen, and dreaming about things you can’t have. you’re seventeen, and foolishly wearing your heart on your sleeve.

you’re seventeen, and hopelessly, uselessly in love with a certain satoru gojo.

it’s early. your veins are sleepy and your heart is heavy, and you wake up at the crack of dawn just to catch a glimpse of him before he leaves for work. he’s leaning against the kitchen island when you trot down the stairs, and the smell of syrupy pancakes hangs heavy in the air; his bare chest is exposed, pajama pants clinging to the curve of his hips, and he rejects you with an easygoing kindness you wish he wouldn’t grant you.

”you’re more like a younger sibling to me. you understand, right?”

(suddenly, without mercy; a finality to his voice.)

he ruffles your hair, and you’re still sleepy, and you wish you could grasp the strings of your heartbeat to stop it from fluttering like this. wish you could pull yourself out of whatever trance he put you in, all those years ago, when you stumbled over the threshold to your best friend’s house and crashed headfirst into his chest.

”you’re a good kid,” he says, and his smile teeters on the edge of something apologetic. mostly, it’s pitying. ”there are lots of people out there for you.”

he ruffles your hair, as affectionate as ever, the same as it’s always been. not a trace of any romantic intent. the weight of his palm on your head is usually a comfort, but like this?

it’s a specific kind of torture.

there are lots of people out there for you.

(i know, you want to tell him, but your voice is raspy and your throat feels sort of dry. i know.

but i want you.)

“don’t get hung up on a schoolgirl crush, hm?”

when you finally raise your head, satoru is looking right at you. kindly, patiently, like a benevolent god. his blue eyes flecked with dots of white, like fluffy clouds on a summer sky. tilting his head to the right, as if searching for confirmation, waiting for your response. you muster up the will to nod; smiling in a way that must seem pitiful.

but he just pinches your cheek, throws a backpack over his broad shoulders, and asks you to let his sister know he’ll be home later than usual today.

then he leaves. he leaves you alone with two plates of sugary pancakes on the kitchen table, one for you and one for riko. he put whipped cream on top, and chocolate chips in the batter. it smells good. it smells like an apology.

and that’s how it ends.

there’s no great climax, no real resolution. you bite down on your lip, and spend about an hour pitifully sniffling into a fluffy pillow, even though none of it comes as a surprise. it still hurts, though. your best friend comforts you, tells you that at least you have some kind of closure now — an absolute rejection to make your feelings go away. about time, she thinks, though she’s far too kind to say it outloud.

except they don’t.

the moral of the story is: satoru gojo doesn’t love you back. he’s known you since you were fourteen, since he was eighteen, and he could never see you as anything more than a little kid. you’re his sister’s best friend, and he loves you, but not in the way you love him. it’s not surprising, or shocking. it’s exactly how it should be.

satoru gojo doesn’t love you back. he never will.

(you really, really wish your stupid heartbeat cared.)

one breezy summer evening, five years later, you step onto a bustling train platform — dragging your luggage behind you, and breathing in the scent of a familiar seaside.

above you, seagulls chatter and cry. you look around, and everything feels familiar, despite the time that’s passed since the last summer you visited. the same flowers, peach blossoms and hydrangeas and tulips in all kinds of shades, the same street vendors and aroma of freshly grilled fish. the same cute and quaint port town, quiet during winter and autumn, pleasantly noisy during the warmer seasons. right now, on the cusp of june, there are enough tourists around to make finding the right face in the crowd a difficult task.

luckily, she’s quick to find you.

with her long, dark locks of hair, neatly braided, her yellow sundress and matching headband; sunflowers embroidered into the fabric. barreling towards you with a speed that would scare you a little if you weren’t so used to it, so used to her.

riko. your one and only best friend.

she’s nestled into your embrace before you can get any greetings out, and squeezing you so tightly that you have no choice but to let her beat you to it. she’s warm, like a bundle of sunshine. the same as always.

with a low whine of your name, she nuzzles into your chest. “i missed youuuu…”

a chuckle bubbles up in your throat. and even though it hasn’t been very long at all, even though you talk on the phone almost every day and saw each other in person just about a month ago, you indulge her.

“i missed you too, riko.”

another whine, and then she’s pulling back. squishing your cheeks together and pouting petulantly. “you better have! don’t ever make me spend summer all alone again, okay?”

”you’re still mad about that?” you match her expression, eager to protest. “it’s not my fault i got sick.”

“too sick to see your best friend? too sick to continue our most important tradition?” she shakes her head, letting go of you. struggling not to smile. “awful. just awful!”

“drama queen.” her lips break out into a grin, and yours follow. “i’m here now, aren’t i?”

“you are,” she agrees, quick to link her arm with yours. you follow her steps, leading you towards that familiar house. you can see it from here, a roof burdened with morning glories, those expensive white walls. “no, but seriously. i’m really happy to see you.” her voice drips with joy, giddy and sweet. “i don’t think i’d survive two months alone with that old man.”

ah. right.

your lips curl up into a smile, albeit a little uncertain. giddy, maybe. nervous? you aren’t sure. something swirls around in your stomach, little butterflies. tickling the ridges of your ribs, all those fluttering heartstrings. it’s been a while since you felt like this. all your summers are spent here, and all of riko’s, but he’s usually too busy.

the girl on your right chatters on and on, clinging to you, gradually melting away your skittish nerves. she tells you about her morning, what she ate for breakfast, the new show she’s been binging — it’s just as familiar as the house that soon comes fully into view. big and expensive, but still cozy, overgrown with flora. you don’t think either of the siblings really bother to take care of it, but it’s a pretty kind of neglect. a cute veranda, a beautiful garden. the apple tree you used to climb. the buzz of an old radio spills out from an opened window, translucent curtains swaying with the breeze. when you strain your eyes you think you hear humming.

riko grins, dragging you with her through the opened gate. the yellow paint on the fence is starting to peel, and someone from inside has started pushing the door open, and the butterflies in your stomach can do nothing but sputter and squirm.

it’s summer, and you're back. back in that cute, quaint port town.

(and so is he.)

“why, hello there! if it isn’t my cute little [name].”

time stills, for just a single moment.

he looks the same as you remember. a little taller, you think, but he was always tall enough to tower over you; broad shoulders and long legs, sharp blue eyes gazing down at you. he’s wearing black shades, but you can still feel the weight of his pupils, crumble under the knowledge that his attention is entirely on you. wearing a pair of sweatpants and a tight black shirt, showing off every dip and ridge of his chest.

a pleasantly cool breeze ruffles his white hair, short and trimmed, healthy locks to match his bright and sunny grin.

he looks happy to see you.

“don’t be weird,” comes riko’s voice, breaking you out of your little spell. all while she’s ushering you both towards the door, beyond the threshold, into the hallway. satoru clicks his tongue.

“so hostile today. shouldn't you be in a good mood?”

then he’s turning towards you, again, tilting his head just enough for his eyes to peek out. they’re crinkled at the edges, and his smile is fond. “how was your trip?”

more butterflies. his voice flows from his glossy lips, smooth and melted, pleasantly deep. you can only hang on to riko’s arm, mustering a small smile of your own.

“good,” you chirp. a little stiff, but polite, like you’re greeting an old friend; it’s been so long since you last spoke to him. ”i’m tired, though.”

your reply is met with a chuckle, a raspy tremor of his vocal cords. it sends a shiver down your spine. the weight on your arm disappears, as riko stumbles forward and kicks her sandals off. muttering something about gum getting stuck on the sole. you’re left standing right across from satoru, suddenly very aware of how much space he takes up all on his own. leaning against the wall, making himself comfortable. and chuckling, with that stupidly sexy voice. “i bet. take a nap if you need to, yeah?”

a moment of silence. riko curses in the background, and you shift from foot to foot. unable to properly look into his eyes.

for a second, his smile drops — eyes obscured by the black glass of his frames, betraying no emotion. it only lasts a second.

then he’s moving forward, one large stride towards you, leaning down to wrap his big arms around your waist. bringing you into a hug, not as tight as you remember them being. you wonder if he’s holding back.

(his touch burns your skin, all the same.)

one of his palms finds solace on the top of your head, ruffling your hair. you can hear the smile in his voice when he speaks, terribly sincere.

“i missed you, kiddo.”

a quiet squeak tumbles from your lips, and you pray to every god you can think of that he doesn’t hear it. his chest is pressed right against you, firm, radiating body heat. his limbs wrap you up in it, a cocoon of warmth that makes it hard to breathe. you can smell his cologne from where your cheek meets his collarbone; sandalwood invading your senses.

“i m-missed you too,” is all you can croak out, voice breaking pitifully. at this rate you might actually faint.

just out of view, riko narrows her eyes. before you can plead for help, she’s tugging you away from the embrace, pushing her brother away, and you inhale as much of the fresh summer air as you can.

“alright, that’s enough,” she huffs, pulling you closer. “c’mon! we should unpack your stuff right away!”

“want me to carry it?” satoru asks, already eyeing your luggage like a predator about to lunge at his prey. even if you say no, you know he’s not going to listen.

so you let him. and within the next few minutes, you’re seated on riko’s bed, suitcase on the floor, a glass of lemonade in your hand. blinking sluggishly.

“are you sure you’ll be alright?”

you raise your head. your best friend is looking at you with a questioning glance, head tilted and brows furrowed. now you’re all alone, and it’s quiet, peaceful. her brother went out to buy snacks for you. all you can hear is the low buzz of the radio downstairs, and faraway waves.

“huh?”

“i mean, with, y’know…” she moves her hands haphazardly, making some kind of gesture you don’t understand. “with my brother. and your… condition.”

you blink.

“… did you just refer to my crush as a condition?”

“well, it might as well be!” she groans, muffled, faceplanting onto the mattress. “don’t think i didn’t see you checking out his biceps just now. you’re so obvious.”

heat rushes to your cheeks. you try to shoo it away with a furrow of your brows and a loud exhale, but it lingers underneath your skin. “look — i —“ you scramble for words, brain tied up in fatigued knots. “did you see that shirt? is he buying them a size too small, or what?”

“oh, come on! that’s all it takes?”

another pair of exhales. you cross your legs, and she rolls onto her back. the silence is comfortable, and you gnaw at your bottom lip until she speaks up again.

“you could really, really do better, you know?”

her voice is quiet. soft, sincere, delicate as a sheet of glass. you know she’s just looking out for you, that she doesn’t want you pining for a guy who’ll never return those feelings — she’s kind like that, always has been. but…

“… i just like him.”

you take a tentative sip of your lemonade. sour and sweet. the cubes of ice clink against the glass, fresh condensation cooling down the tips of your fingers. her gaze lingers on your skin. it’s heavy, just like his.

you meet it with a sheepish smile, a little self-deprecating, but not embarrassed. she already knows all about your predicament.

(you just like him. that’s all there is to it.)

and she pulls herself into a sitting position.

“i know, i know,” she finally sighs, slumping against you, cheek smushed over your shoulder. “just don’t give him more attention than me, ‘kay?”

you let out giggle. “well, duh.”

she gives you a sunny grin.

“okay, good.”

you put the glass down on the windowsill beside you. just so you can stretch your arms out, falling backwards; a mountain of pillows cushioning your fall. a yawn spills past your lips, and riko sits up.

“wanna take a nap?” she tilts her head, dark locks framing her pretty blue eyes, deep as the sea. “that’s probably good. we’re going straight to the beach tomorrow, you know!”

“mm…” your eyes flutter shut, and you focus on that faraway sound. waves crashing against sand, the whistling of seagulls, the salty scent of the ocean. “that sounds nice.”

despite your exhaustion, you end up tossing and turning that night. not because of your best friend’s snores, or the feeling of a mattress you haven’t slept on in two years — but from the quiet sounds downstairs. glasses clinking, a chuckle here and there. the tv being turned on. tossing and turning from the knowledge that your childhood heartthrob, current heartthrob, is in the same house as you. a little older, a little less childish, even more charming than you remember him being.

you’re older, too. more mature, you like to think, even if the gain is small.

(maybe there’s a chance?)

shaking the thoughts from your head, mind still spinning along to the tune of his humming, you squeeze your eyes shut and try to fall asleep.

you’ll be okay.

okay, nevermind. you’re completely screwed.

“oh, there you are!”

satoru is already waiting up ahead when you step onto the beach, feeling the sand between your toes, a pleasantly cool breeze giving you respite from the sweltering heat.

the sun beats down on you, fervent sunlight warming the water up ahead, calm waves and a sparkling blue to match the hue of the sky; cobalts and ceruleans, melting together like watercolour on a canvas. people crowd around the food stands, shaved ice and churros and grilled fish, scents mingling together with the joyous chatter all around you. vibrant sensations, enough to excite but not to overwhelm.

a picture-perfect summer day.

your heart tingles with something giddy, skipping happily as you follow riko’s lead; she’s wearing a cute bikini set, frilly and floral, hair styled into a pair of braided pigtails, kept together by her favorite scrunchies. leading you towards her older brother, waiting patiently, having already grabbed a nice spot for you. a parasol, a blanket, a picnic basket. you see bottles of pink lemonade, wrapped sandwiches, strawberries in a plastic container.

more than anything, you see him. you see him, and realize just how screwed you are.

he’s smiling, when you approach. as always. hair tousled by the ocean breeze, blue eyes gleaming with mirth, exposed by the sunglasses close to slipping down the bridge of his nose. he’s wearing a hawaiian shirt, black in colour, white floral patterns to tie it all together. just unbuttoned enough to show off his collarbone, a sliver of his chest, the short sleeves exposing his biceps; patches of pale skin, shining with the beginnings of sweat.

(you’re about to fucking explode.)

as soon as you’re in sight, satoru lights up, aiming the flash of his phone in your direction. his other hand stays tucked into the pocket of his shorts. “aw, look at you two!” he coos, grinning brightly, teasing and sweet. “pose for the camera, okay?”

you’re still too hypnotized to react, but riko scurries ahead, ready to steal it from his grasp.

“no pictures!”

“oh, don’t be like that!” he takes a step back, dodging her attack by a hair, still wearing the same grin. “you’re gonna thank me ten years from now, trust me. it’s for the memories!”

a new voice spills into the air, suddenly, and you’re brought back into reality. it’s silky and low, smooth and nice, honeysuckle nectar turned into sound. interrupting the siblings.

“it’s been ten seconds. how are you already bickering?”

you turn towards its source, and spot a familiar face — right next to satoru. were you seriously too mesmerized to notice him? black hair, another hawaiian shirt, slightly lidded eyes…

suguru.

he meets your surprised stare with a relaxed smile, and takes a step forward; meeting you for a quick hug. he looks the same as he did when you were younger, odd bangs, hair tied up into a bun.

“hi there,” he hums, right by your ear, a light squeeze before he lets go. “it’s been a while.”

you part your lips, smiling through your words. a little stunned. “i didn’t know you’d be here too!”

he chuckles, a light shrug of his shoulders. “me neither. satoru called me last night and asked me to drop by. i had time to kill.”

“you missed me.”

a dubious look. suguru gives a lazy roll of his eyes, avoiding the smug voice to his right. “i saw you last week,” he tuts, an unimpressed expression on his face. “how could i miss you?”

“do you need a reason to miss your best friend?” he shakes his head, slowly, side to side. white locks swaying back and forth. “awful. just awful.”

you stifle a smile, completely unsuccessful. the sun feels nice on your skin, and the scent of the sea is nostalgic, and they’re all the same as ever. it’s like you can feel your nerves melting away, slowly but surely, like grains of sand slipping through the gaps between your fingers.

“the matching shirts are cute,” you point out, wanting to partake in the conversation, only to be met with a pair of furrowed brows.

suguru sighs. “that…” he mutters, massaging his temple, not before shooting satoru a dirty glance. “wasn't planned.”

said man only grins, unperturbed, tucking his phone back into his pocket. thoroughly amused. “he’s mad that i stole his fit,” he chirps, stretching his arms idly. it makes his shirt ride up, ever so slightly, and you swallow a gulp.

“well… you look good in it.”

at that, satoru stills. gazing at you, silently, before breaking out into another grin. self-satisfied, a smooth curve, sunlight against the white of his teeth. you glance away, suddenly a little shy.

“does he?” the other two deadpan, completely in sync. it shoos away the smile on his lips, making way for a displeased frown.

“oh, come on. would it kill you to call me handsome now and then?”

“handsome?” riko places her hands on her hips, raising an unimpressed brow, a sassy lilt to her voice. “you look like a single father down on his luck.”

“seconded,” suguru quips, hiding the beginnings of a smirk. picking at a piece of lint on his shirt. “honestly, i’m surprised you’re wearing any layers at all. not gonna flaunt your abs this time?”

satoru brightens, suddenly. wiggling his brows, a sweet coo on the tip of his tongue. “oh? want me to loosen up a couple buttons?” he purrs, and you hate yourself a little for the instant yes that resounds through your mind. “you know you can always just ask, suguru.”

his teasing goes ignored, but you don’t miss the amusement that flits through the scope of suguru’s eyes, even as he tries to maintain that deadpan expression.

finally, he exhales. “well, see you later,” he hums, directed to you and riko, checking the time on his wristwatch. “i should probably get going.”

“you’re not staying?” you ask, lashes fluttering with a confused blink. he smiles.

“i am,” he reassures you. “just gonna go fishing for a while. i thought i’d give it a try.”

“fishing?” riko exclaims, covering her amused grin with the palm of her hand. stifling laughter, you can tell, a bout of giggles begging to push past her lips. “what are you, fifty?”

satoru lets out a snort. to his left, suguru goes eerily silent — ominous, staring into your best friend’s eyes with no visible emotion. enough to make her smile fall. you feel a sense of deja vu.

“wait, i’m just kidding!” she suddenly squeaks, clinging to your arm and hiding behind you. she’s always had good survival instincts. ”don’t put me in a headlock!”

(they’re so stupid.

gosh, you missed them.)

“oh, by the way — do you want some shaved ice?” she turns to you, eyes crinkled at the edges, voice syrupy and sweet. “i can go get us some. what flavour do you want?”

“ah, great idea!” satoru matches her tone, tongue flitting out to lick his lips, glossy with chapstick. “i was just craving something sweet.”

“you’re paying, by the way.”

“…”

“so? any preference?” she tilts her head, waiting patiently for your reply. smiling once she gets it. “alright, got it. you, suguru?”

“i’m good. thanks, though.”

“okie-dokie,” she puts her palm out, facing satoru. “money, please.”

he only tuts, digging through his pocket and pulling out a black wallet. you think you spot a photocard, but he’s pulled out a credit card and tucked it back into his pocket before you can get a closer look.

“get me watermelon, okay? strawberry is fine too. if push comes to shove, go for anything other than lemon.” he hands her the card with a click of his tongue. “and watch out for creeps. if anyone hits on you, you know where to aim.”

she pockets it with a huff, exasperation on her features. “i’m twenty-three, toru. i can take care of myself.”

“aww, don’t be like that,” he coos, hands reaching out to squish her cheeks. she tries to squirm away, to no avail. “you’ll always be my little baby sister, you know. and, as your dependable big bro, i —“

“ugh, whatever.” she shoots him an unimpressed glance, finally escaping his hold. ”are you gonna go all men are wolves on us, or something?”

”they are! just look at suguru.”

”hey.”

you hide a growing smile behind your hand, watching them bicker and banter, feeling that sense of peace again. the summer day feels a little like a hazy daydream, a heavy nostalgia that sticks to your bones like gum on the sole of your shoe.

and, once again — you end up alone with a certain someone. suguru walks towards the faraway pier, riko strolls up to the stand selling shaved ice, and satoru lingers behind. you think he looks relaxed, at ease, but you can’t really look at him for too long without feeling nervous. without feeling as if you’re both ignoring the elephant in the room.

it still feels a little like there’s an invisible wall between you.

he’s the first to speak up, craning his neck and stretching like a big cat, a tiny groan escaping him. “well, there they go,” he hums. “what do you feel like doing first?”

“ummm…” you rack your brain for ideas, coming up empty. a little fried by his presence. you could go into the water, and escape the heat — sunbathing with him doesn’t sound so bad, though…

lost deep in thought, you barely notice him inching closer. still weighing your options, water or land, a relaxing nap or a splash war. you don’t notice until you feel his arm sneaking around your waist, pulling you closer, just by a hair. stealing all the oxygen from your lungs.

(you think your brain shuts down a little.)

his touch burns, as always. bare skin on bare skin. electric, a trail of sparks rushing through your veins. he’s warm, and solid, effortlessly composed — guiding you right where he wants you, which is by his chest, where you can practically hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat —

and then he’s pulling away.

you raise your head to meet his gaze, completely flushed, unsure if you were hallucinating or not. he’s looking somewhere behind you, with a distinctly cold gaze. you follow his stare, craning your neck, catching a glimpse of a man turning his back on you both before walking away.

… was he staring at you, or what?

when you search for satoru’s eyes again, they’re already on you. he’s smiling, a little sheepish, scratching at the back of his neck.

“sorry,” he chuckles. “i got paranoid.”

oh.

your skin still feels like it’s on fire. a lingering heat, blossoming where his skin touched yours, rendering you speechless. embarrassing, embarrassing, embarrassing. he was just looking out for you.

finally, you gain control over your vocal chords, dry and charred. just enough to croak out a response.

“i — it’s fine.”

your eyes stay glued to the sand beneath you, staring at a crushed seashell, unable to look him in the eye. feeling the back of your neck grow hotter. you miss the dirty glance riko sends his way, having just returned with the shaved ice, and the way satoru mouths out a silent what?

it’s easier after that. she grounds you, a little, leading you out into the sea. the water is pleasantly mild, licking at your ankles, coaxing you further, until it’s reaching up to your waist. it cools you down considerably, and before you know it you’re splashing her with all you’ve got, giggles filling the salty air — seagull cries above you and wet sand beneath your feet, a glimmer or two of tiny fish, loud laughter. sensations all around you. satoru watches you with a smile, munching on a sandwich, not joining you both until riko beckons him over.

the day stretches on, melting away into evening. people leave the beach behind them, suguru heads back to the house with a bucket of fish and a smug smile, riko dries herself off with a towel and rushes to a nearby convenience store when she notices that it’s about to close. murmuring something about dinner, shooting you an anxious glance, a silent will you be alright on your own? with him?

you wave her off with a smile. hoping it’ll come off as convincing.

so, one way or another, you end up under a parasol with a certain satoru gojo; putting empty bottles of lemonade back into the picnic basket, rolling up the blanket, stuck with cleaning duty. satoru carries it all, unwilling to let you help, the basket hanging off his arm. you walk away from the beach, stepping onto solid asphalt again, beginning your trekk up towards the main street — not too long of a walk, but you’re tired, even though satoru doesn’t seem tuckered out in the slightest. walking a step or two ahead of you.

the sun is beginning to set, melting like a sundae on the boundary of the horizon, rays of golden sunshine dripping down your wrist. satoru looks good in it, the pink and orange; peaceful, somehow. when the breeze licks a stripe across his cheek, he closes his eyes and exhales. there’s a smile on those lips, a smile of contentment.

he turns towards you and waits until you catch up.

“tired?” he coos, tilting his head, absently tucking his shades into the breast pocket of his shirt. blinking slowly, eyes shimmering in the summery hue of evening.

“kinda,” you smile, trying to muster a pep in your step. another hum buzzes in his throat, and then he’s facing forward again.

“c’mon. let’s get you something from the vending machine, okay? ‘s just up ahead.” he pats your head, once, twice. “that’ll give you some energy.”

you can only nod, following his lead. hydrangeas bloom all around you, a thick syrupy scent, paired with apple blossoms from the backyards you pass. then you spot the vending machine. satoru takes out his wallet, finding his card — it’s not the same one as before. riko still has it.

and this time, you’re close enough to see it. in his wallet is a photocard, clearly visible; of a baby, sleeping soundly, with short tufts of hair. a dark colour unlike his own.

(your heart melts, a little.)

“cola or sprite?”

you raise your head, looking through the barrier of glass in front of you. then you’re stepping forward, fingertip pressing against it, pointing towards a green can of sprite. not looking at him, as you make your choice. ”this one.”

— suddenly, you feel his skin on yours.

you’re sleepy, and pliant, jaw caught between his fingers. he lifts it up, turns it towards him, just so that you’ll meet his gaze. two seas of blue, flecks of pure white, summer skies and summer clouds.

“there,” he exhales, pleased. giving you a reassuring smile before pulling away. “you’ve barely looked me in the eye today. ‘s gonna break my heart, y’know.”

a pause. you gulp, on instinct, shying away from his unbridled attention — eyes moving from those summer skies down to the curve of his glossy lips, and then back up again. a mistake, because when you glance down once more, unable to help yourself, you see it.

that apologetic smile.

(you really are obvious, aren’t you?

how embarrassing.)

silence splits the scene in half, only the faraway sounds of seagulls as background noise. they sound a little like they’re laughing, mocking you.

satoru presses a button on the vending machine, followed by a quiet beep. he doesn’t look at you when he broaches the subject, and you wonder if it’s out of respect or discomfort.

“still not over that schoolgirl crush, huh?”

…

something twists inside your gut. a little ugly, a little sentimental. now that he’s made the first move, it’s easier to move the pieces.

“it’s not a crush,” you murmur, kicking at a pebble on the ground. surprised by how clear your voice comes out. “i’m in love with you.”

a sigh. another beep, and the sound of a sodacan falling against metal flooring. he crouches down.

“… you could really, really do better.”

you watch as he fumbles with the pick-up box, eyes trained on the back of his neck, the buzzed hair of his undercut. letting out a quiet breath. “riko said the same thing.”

a snort pushes past his lips, ripe with fondness. he pulls himself up from the ground, shifting his weight from one foot to another, reaching for his wallet again. “oh, i’m sure.” he tucks the card back, slipping it into his pocket. a stray cat strolls by you, unburdened, waving its tail in the air. “really, though. you should listen to her.”

something cold meets your cheek. metal, condensation, a pleasant shiver down your spine. he presses the aluminium can against you, and you receive it with a murmur of thanks.

“i’m too old for you, for one.” he continues, and suddenly you feel a little like you’re being lectured. you break open the lid of the sprite can.

“you’re four years older.” a fizzy sound crackles like static in your ears, carbonation bubbling up, sticking to your fingertips. “and we’re both adults.”

he huffs out a breath, only mildly amused. “i’m pushing thirty, y’know?”

you take a sip, lips against cold aluminum, melting sunrays lapping at your skin. it tastes sweet.

“i know.” a pause, your bottom lip trapped between two sharp teeth. gnawing at the flesh. ”i can’t control how i feel, though.”

…

“yeah,” he sighs, leaning back against the glass. crossing one leg over the other, fiddling with something in his pocket. “i know.”

a moment passes. then he parts his lips, again.

“hey, how about you join me on a mixer someday?” he searches for your gaze, smiling, another one of those charming tilts of his head. “i know some cute guys. and girls, if that’s your thing.”

your answer is instantaneous.

“i’ll pass.”

…

another exhale, breathed out into the summer air. it drips with exasperation, ripe with fatigue, but there’s still something fond there. unmistakable.

“fine, fine. just… think about it. okay?” his palm finds its way to your head, ruffling your hair gently. that comforting weight. “c’mon, let’s go back. riri’s making dinner tonight.”

and then he’s taking a step forward. you watch his back for only a moment, still deep in thought. a fizzy, syrupy sweetness sticking to your teeth, a sense of nostalgia invading all your senses. and, as always, that silent adoration.

deep down, you know it’s true. there’s no changing this, whatever this is. in the same way riko will always be his baby sister, you’ll always just be the brat that sniffled into his chest after your first fight with her.

he’ll never quite see you the way you’d like him to.

(but, then again, isn’t that a part of it? that subtle, subtle kindness of his. the sense of maturity that asks for nothing in return.)

satoru is a good guy. that’s why you can’t help but adore him, despite everything. can’t help but watch his back as he leaves you behind, wishing you could catch up.

it feels nice, to open yourself up like this. crack the lid of your heart and have him wade through the carbonation. it feels nice to have your feelings be acknowledged, even if they aren’t reciprocated. even if you’re completely delusional, and high on summer joy. it feels nice just to watch him shine.

you gulp down the rest of your sprite, toss it into a trash can across the street, and stumble after him. veins sleepy, heart heavy, overwhelmed by adoration. you’ve already cracked the lid open; everything else comes easy. you just want to make a move, any move. want to see how he’ll react.

“satoru,” you call, and he comes to a standstill. when he turns around your arms are outstretched. “can i have a piggyback ride?”

the man before you blinks. once, then twice, fluttering like angel wings, or pretty clouds.

and then his smile grows. you catch a glimpse of his dimples, for just a moment, and then he’s beckoning you closer with a chuckle.

“yeah? now you’re suddenly all brave?” he shakes his head, no real discontentment behind it. “or are you really that exhausted?”

he studies you intently, ripe with fondness, and you think your sluggish blinks must be enough to convince him. because he crouches down, back facing you, and chirps out a hop on. a little teasing, of course, but still nice. his arms underneath your thigh, lifting you up like it’s nothing. making sure you’re comfortable.

he’s strong. very strong. the butterflies in your stomach flutter around again.

and you really are very exhausted. bones buzzing with something sleepy and fatigued, sore after all the running around you did in the water. completely tuckered out, resting your cheek against his back. like this, you can feel his muscles, the solidity of his body. it’s a little bit distracting.

“— remember?”

a series of blinks. you grasp onto his shoulders, holding back a yawn. “huh?”

“you falling asleep on me?” he chuckles, walking forward. one step after another, the soles of his sandals hitting the asphalt. “i was saying — how i remember doing this back then.”

you tilt your head.

“when you fell and twisted your ankle. i think it was nearby, actually. some park?”

“... oh.” when you really concentrate, you think you do recall it; the feeling of his back against your chest, a dull ache in your foot. “yeah, i remember.”

satoru hums, a little buzz of amusement. “after that, you and riri would ask me for it all the time. carry us, big bro!” his imitation makes you smile, voice high and squeaky. “so childish, i swear. i could barely carry one of you.”

a chuckle tumbles from your lips, and it seems to spur him on; because he continues. nostalgia pouring out his throat.

“don’t tell her, okay? but, see — i started going to the gym after that. lifting weights. training, and stuff,” he huffs out an amused exhale, grinning softly. “suguru made me carry boulders on the beach. it was kind of our thing.”

…

“we almost got arrested once.”

you can’t help but laugh, hiding in the smooth fabric of his shirt, in between those printed white flowers. shoulders shaking slightly, giddy and amused. “you did that just ‘cause you were embarrassed?”

“no,” he murmurs, softly, the slightest shake of his head. ”because i wanted to be prepared. in case the two of you ever happened to fall over at the same time, or something…” a sheepish little chuckle. ”i wanted to be able to carry you both back.”

satoru continues to walk, facing away from you. always smiling, you’re sure. even if you can’t see it.

“you’re both precious to me,” he says, making sure to keep a steady hold around your legs. “that’s why i don’t want either of you wasting yourselves on some random guy.”

silence. then, a displeased huff.

“… you’re not a random guy, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“well, of course not. i’m the guy,” he quips, standing a little straighter, and you can practically see the smug smirk on his lips. “but i’m not a very good person.”

you blink.

silence fills the open air.

he says it so casually that you almost don't catch it. matter-of-factly, like it’s just another obvious realization, something so deeply ingrained that it isn’t even worthy of a tonal shift. satoru, who makes pancakes for the people he loves, who carries your bags and buys you soda and keeps a picture of his baby sister in his wallet.

that satoru isn’t a good person?

(how could he ever, ever think that?)

“you are.”

a low hum buzzes in his throat, absentminded. you’re not sure he hears you. if he does, he simply doesn’t care enough to respond. the scene flickers by, the moment comes and goes — you want to protest again, but something about this silence makes you hesitate.

the only thing you can do is —

“satoru.”

another little hum. acknowledging, this time.

“do you… i mean,” you choke down a bundle of words, replacing them with new ones. gnawing at the flesh of your bottom lip. “is there really no chance… you’ll ever feel the same? none at all?”

…

a mirthless chuckle. he sounds a little tired, you think. more than a little exasperated. but the amusement is still there, laced into his voice, and you drink it in the same way you’ve always done. a little root, soaking in the light of the sun.

“after all that,” he mutters, “you’re still asking?”

a moment’s pause. you listen intently, as if you could hear the gears of his mind shift if you focus enough. as if just being stubborn enough could coax him into opening up the way you have.

finally, he parts his lips.

“well,” comes a sigh, a click of his tongue. he breathes in the summer breeze. “maybe in a couple decades or so.”

you stare. those white tufts of hair sway with every step he takes, and his voice has a finality to it that isn’t lost on you.

“… okay.”

a pause. then he’s barking out a short laugh, shoulders shaking. you tighten your grip around them. “okay?” he repeats, pinching the skin of your thigh. “can’t you read between the lines, you little troublemaker?”

a huff. you kick your legs, a little, just stretching them contentedly. wet hair sticking to his skin, your cheek still smushed against him, enveloped in his neverending warmth. “i don’t mind,” you whisper, choking down a yawn. and you mean it. “i’ve already waited eight years. a couple decades more isn’t too bad.”

silence, again. you wonder what he’s thinking. you wonder if you’ll ever come close to cracking open the lid of his heart. he parts his lips, oxygen spilling out.

(you think it’s a start.)

“has anyone ever told you that you’re awfully stubborn?”

you’re quick to nod, forehead nuzzling into his undercut. wearing a satisfied smile. “riko tells me all the time.”

“does she?” there’s silent laughter hiding between his teeth, eager to spill out. “that’s good. listen to her, alright? you might learn a thing or two.”

he’s teasing you. the sun is setting, and the air smells like saltwater, and satoru’s back is warm. his voice is set to a melodic lilt, and you feel strangely tempted to close your eyes.

and you adore him again.

right — loving him was never a choice, and waiting wasn’t an issue. getting over him is the tall hurdle, the root of the problem, a root you intend you trip over as many times as it takes for this something to bloom.

because he’s beautiful, and comfortable, and kind. because it’s his back you always end up clinging to. because he knows how you like your pancakes, how you take your coffee, what you look like when you cry. because you like this feeling, the swarm of butterflies in your stomach. even if they’re completely meaningless in the long run.

satoru is right, and so is riko. you’re stubborn, terribly so — if only you could see that as a bad thing.

if only you were physically capable of giving this something up.

unlike the siblings and their overgrown backyard, you just can’t seem to look away from an ugly bud yet to bloom. just in case it ends up blossoming, this summer, or the next. just in case it turns into something worth plucking from the ground. it’s fine if it withers away, too. at least it’ll give way to better soil.

you just like him. you just want to see where it leads you. that’s all.

“but promise you’ll go with me to that mixer, okay?” his voice calls, breaking you out of your thoughts. unrelenting. ”i’ll find you someone who’ll get your mind off lil ol’ me.”

ah. that’s right.

(you’re terribly, horribly stubborn —

and satoru is too.)

you grin, soft and giddy, thinking of the years ahead of you. what they’ll be like. where’s the fun in a certain future?

“fine,” you hum, wrapping your arms around his neck. inhaling that familiar scent of sandalwood. “do your worst.”

#gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you #gojo fluff #gojo angst #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk fluff #jjk x gender neutral reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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championofnyx · 1 month

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Totally not stuck thinking about what if Bucky becomes a Paladin of Ankarna. A young boy who leaves his abusive family, but doesn't have the doubt his sister did but rather clarity because Kristian already left and she found a family. Bucky has this proof that Kristian didn't; his bigger sister, his shield gave him the conviction to act.

Sol, the sun, cast his sister out and holds his younger brother to either suffer the same fate or to continue growing in abuse. Ankarna, however, gave him fury, in light, bright, and strong as the dawn to leave, to grab his brothers and run, to protect them from the wickedness of their home.

Bucky comes to live at Mordrid, getting to pray again with Kristian, but this time to the goddesses they choose rather than the god forced upon them. The two grow into adulthood next to each other. Coming to terms with their trauma, growing from a chaotic girl and an obedient boy. Becoming, for the first time, themselves.

Sister and Brother.

Cleric and Paladin.

Prophet of Doubt.

Saint of Conviction.

#fantasy high junior year #dimension 20 #d20 fantasy high #kristen applebees #bucky applebees #Yeah im completely normal about this #Yes #I also think Fig should become a paladin as well #Her and bucky can share

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lixzey · 2 months

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lovelorn

luke castellan x daughter of apollo!reader

word count: 7004 words

summary: you and luke have been friends since the day the two of you met. you've had a crush on him since the two of you were fourteen; needless to say, he doesn't know about your feelings.

warnings?: unrequited love, oblivious luke, jealousy, falling for your best friend, reader writes songs and plays guitar, reader lowkey hating the girl luke likes, faking, heartbreak, reader is friends with everyone and juniper the dryad, use of nicknames between reader and luke (melody and charming), swearing, will loves his sister!!, platonic chris rodriguez x reader, platonic clarisse la rue x reader, and platonic silena beauregard x reader (chris calls her sunshine, clar calls reader sunny, while silena calls her love), mention of fainting and dehydration.

a/n: take note of every little thing in this first part, because i laid clues for what's gonna happen in part two.

August by Taylor Swift is the song she sings during the camp fire.

ONE. TWO. THREE. FOUR.

You smiled as you watched your best friend teach your younger siblings how to wield swords, which was futile, as children of Apollo tend to be better at archery than sword fighting.

But Luke was patient with your siblings, which always made you smile. Maybe it was from experience. Having a cabin full of mischievous kids tends to give experience in being patient with hyperactive children.

You were sure you could stare at him forever. Bright brown eyes full of mischief paired with a contagious, kind smile.

“Y/n, are you listening?” Dawn snapped her fingers in front of your face, pulling you out of your daze. “You’re staring at Luke again, gods, you are hopeless.”

“I wasn’t staring, Dawn,” You rolled your eyes, turning your full attention to your younger sister. “Now, what were you saying?”

“You were, you ain’t fooling me,” Dawn teased, a smirk on her lips as she leaned back against the hard stone walls of the arena. “Anyway, are we singing at the campfire tonight?”

You scowled at your younger sister, your gaze landing back onto Luke. “You’re annoying, you know that?”

“I know, but I’m still the best sibling you got,” Dawn grinned cheekily. “So, are we singing or not? Or are you just going to ogle at Luke the whole day?”

Your cheeks started to heat up, like being kissed by the sun in the early morning. “We’re going to sing, happy now?” you grumbled, averting your eyes away from the senior counselor of the Hermes cabin.

Dawn smiled triumphantly, rising to her feet. “I think I’m going to join Lee and Michael,”

You raised a brow at her. “You’re shit with a sword.”

“Yeah, but it’s better than watching you hopelessly be in love with him,” Dawn jerked her head in Luke's direction. “Frankly, it’s nauseating.”

“Shut up,” you grumbled, rolling your eyes.

Dawn snickered, starting to walk away. “I’ll leave you alone to daydream of Luke sweeping you off of your feet, leading you up the stairwell-”

“Shut up!” You snapped at your sister, who was still snickering.

“Is everything okay?” A voice you know oh so well spoke behind Dawn.

“Oh, it's nothing,” You quickly said before Dawn got another idea to embarrass you. “Dawn was just going to train with Lee and Michael. Right, Dawn?” You say through gritted teeth, making your sister chuckle.

“Yeah, I’ll leave the two of you to talk.” And with that, Dawn finally left, golden hair dancing in the wind.

“You okay, melody?” Luke asks, sitting beside you, concern etched on his handsome face.

“Yeah, I’m alright.” You smiled, trying to look genuine despite wanting to kiss him and run your fingers through his curls like it’s the end of the world.

You never wanted to be in love with your best friend. You knew the consequences of it—thanks to your friends from cabin ten's constant reminders, but your stupid heart just wouldn't listen.

You've known Luke since the night he and Annabeth arrived at camp when you were fourteen. You'd been assigned by Chiron and Mr. D to tend to Luke and Annabeth’s wounds and bruises, being the head of cabin seven and the best healer camp has to offer and all.

Luke was charming, you had to give him that, charmed you into letting him attend training one first day despite not being healed properly yet. And then, half an hour later after he left the infirmary, one of your siblings brought him in—one of his wounds that you patched up, bleeding and was unconscious after insisting that he was okay minutes ago. Annoyed, you put him on bed rest. When he woke up hours later, he insisted to be let go—wanting to prove he can be better than that Ares kid he sparred with.

“Come on, doc, I’m okay now!” Luke raised his arm, but winced at the pain beneath his underarm. “See?”

“You are going to lay in that bed and you are going to rest. Doctor’s orders.” You simply said, humming a song as you checked his wounds for any infection.

“But-”

“One more word out of you, and I’ll curse you with bubonic plague.” You said, stuffing a cube of ambrosia in his mouth, smiling sweetly at him.

Luke chuckled, raising his hands up—wincing through it—in defeat. “Alright, doctor melody.”

“What?” you asked, brow raised in confusion. “Melody?”

“You’ve been humming, you know, while fixing me and Annabeth up last night. And you did it again, just seconds ago.” Luke explained with a small smile. “Aren't the children of Apollo good at music too? Like, singing? Since he’s the god of music and all.”

“Yeah, he is,” You smiled, reaching to hold the sun shaped locket dangling from your neck. “Apollo, god of the sun, archery, art, music, poetry and a shit ton more.”

“Can you sing for me, melody?” Luke grinned, sitting up. “C’mon, it’ll make me feel better, promise.”

“I’m not gonna get out of this, am I?” You ask, laughing softly.

Luke shook his head. “I’m stubborn, I’ll just ask you again and again, so you might as well do it now, melody.”

You rolled your eyes, chuckling. “Aren’t you just charming,”

“I’m waiting, doc,” Luke teased. “I can’t wait for an eternity like the gods.”

You shook your head, a giggle escaping your lips. “Fine, fine, but do you promise to rest your stubborn ass for the night?”

Luke nodded. “Yes, ma’am!”

“Okay, here goes nothing,” You muttered, taking a deep breath. “And they called it puppy love. Oh I guess they'll never know.

How a young heart really feels and why I love him so…”

Luke started clapping his hands. “Damn, melody, that was amazing!”

“Oh, shush,” You waved a hand dismissively, feeling your cheeks heat up like the sun, as if your dad kissed you on the cheek. “I’m not that good.”

Luke raised a brow. “And I thought Apollo was the god of truth,”

“I am telling the truth,” You insisted, folding your arms over your chest.

“Whatever you say, melody.”

From then on, you and Luke have been friends. Never one without the other, the two of you made it a pact.

“Michael and Lee are getting better with swords,” Luke commented as the two of you watched your younger siblings.

“Better?” You snorted, tying your hair up in a ponytail. “They are far from getting better, charming.”

Luke reached up to mess your hair. “You saying my methods aren’t great, miss melody?” he asked, feigning annoyance.

You hit him playfully on the shoulder. “All I’m saying is those kids,” you jerked your head to Michael and Lee, who were getting ready to duel like medieval princes as Dawn laughed her ass off. “Are shit with a sword.”

“Fair point,” Luke chuckled. “Let’s just hope they learned a thing or two from me.”

“If not?” You asked with a raised brow, passing him a bottle of strawberry flavored energy drink. Your hand grazed with his, sending shivers down your spine, better than any cold could.

“At least they have you,” Luke gave you a lopsided grin, opening the bottle of red sugary liquid and bringing it to his lips to quench his thirst. You could see his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he downed the energy drink, the beads of sweat on his forehead and neck made him even—if possible—more handsome, making you gulp and look away.

“Yeah,” You squeaked out, your eyes widening at the tone of your voice, mentally slapping yourself for it. “They’ve got the best sister.”

“Damn right, they do,” Luke agreed, capping the now empty bottle. “You are the best sister Lee, Michael, Dawn, and the rest of your siblings could have, melody.”

You smiled, pushing out a stray strand of your hair behind your ear. “Thanks, charming,”

“No need to thank me, melody. I mean, it is the truth. That you are the best sister to your siblings and bestest friend to me.”

You felt your heart break a little. You wanted to be more than just being best friends with Luke. You wanted to be his muse, the girl he loves until his final breath. Maybe Aphrodite had cursed you or something, because Luke never saw you more than a friend or a sister.

“I’m the best,” You agreed, trying your best not to sound sad or anything about your feelings for him slip out.

“You hungry? I think it’s lunch time.”

You nodded, fixing your hair back up in a ponytail. “Yeah, you?”

“Starving, like I could eat a pegasus. Come on, let’s get some lunch and eat by the docks.” Luke stood up, stretching his arms and legs. “You comin’?” He asked, offering his hand to help you stand.

“Of course,” You beamed, reaching for his hand. “Let’s.”

You followed Luke out of the arena, before yelling over your shoulder. “Dawn, you’re in charge of the boys! Don’t let them die!”

“Yeah, Dawn! Don’t let ‘em die!” Luke yelled over to Dawn with a laugh as the two of you strolled away, leaving your siblings and a few other campers at the arena.

“Race you to the mess?” You challenged, a teasing grin on your face.

“Not fair, Y/n!” Luke scowled as you started to run ahead. “I just trained kids!”

“Too bad, Lukey,” You stuck out your tongue at him. “Last one there cleans the stables!”

“Oh no, you don’t!” Luke scoffed as you ran ahead of him, laughing as he easily caught up to you. “I’m not cleaning the stables!” He said, lifting you up with his strong arms and placing you on his shoulder, making you yelp.

“Put me down!” You giggled, playfully hitting his toned back.

“I don’t think so, Miss L/n,” Luke then ran towards the dining pavilion, with you still on his shoulder, screaming like an enraged harpy.

“Luke Castellan!” You shrieked, gripping his shirt for dear life, earning the amused looks of other campers. “Put me down, put me down!”

“Your voice sounds better when you aren’t screaming, you know that?” Luke commented, his pace slowing to a brisk walk.

You hit him hard on his back, again and again. “Put me down, Castellan! Now!”

“Ouch, woman, that hurt!” Luke grumbled, finally relenting and putting you down on the ground, just a meter away from the pavilion.

You pinched him on the side. “You son of a bitch!”

“Ouch!” Luke yelped, jumping slightly. “Violence is never the answer, woman!”

“Violence is never the answer,” You mocked him, rolling your eyes. “I’ll do whatever the hell I want, thank you very much.”

“Fine, fine, let’s just get food,” Luke placed his hands on his hips, catching his breath for a minute. “All that running with you on my shoulder got me extra hungry.”

“You’re the one who lifted me like I don’t weigh a thing!” You retorted, pushed him slightly. “I literally weigh like a minotaur!”

“Nah,” Luke dismissed, slinging his arm over your shoulders. “You don’t weigh that much. Stop thinking that you are.”

“Whatever,” you grumbled, making your way to the long table where all the food the dryads made for the day are served.

An array of food greets you as soon as you arrive at the table, Luke two steps behind you. There were bowls of fruit—strawberries, apples, and grapes—bread in all sorts of shapes and sizes, a container of mac and cheese (which you know has broccoli and carrots blended in to sneak vegetables in picky eaters’ food), and some other options.

“Look, there’s some waffles and pancakes,” Luke pointed to a platter of said breakfast items beside some yogurt parfaits and (tofu) sausage.

“You go get the waffles and pancakes along with some yogurt and ask Lily for some extra,” You pointed to the yellow haired dryad, Lily. “I'll go get the fruit and bread. You want some mac?”

“Nope.” Luke said, already making his way to the waffles and pancakes.

You chuckled, shaking your head before heading over to Juniper, a red haired dryad in charge of the fruit and bread.

“Hey, Junie,” You greeted, smiling at the dryad. “Got something for me?”

“Just these,” Juniper pointed to the array of pastries and bread. “Mr. D allowed the Demeter kids to get some croissants and tarts from a bakery in Manhattan.”

“Oooh,” Your mouth was already watering as you eyed the lemon and blueberry tart and those flaky croissants. “Can you put some in a picnic basket? Luke and I are going on a picnic by the docks.”

Juniper smiled brightly. “Are you and Luke going out on a date?”

You choked on your own saliva. “What?”

“You know, have you told him about your feelings yet? Are you boyfriend and girlfriend now? That’s what boyfriend and girlfriend do, right? Dates?”

“Shh!” You quickly shushed your friend. “No, I haven’t told him yet! He doesn’t know!”

Juniper frowned. “It’s so obvious you like him,”

“He’s stupid, I know.” You sighed, picking up a strawberry.

“Your siblings and those Aphrodite kids figured out you liked him years ago.” Juniper said as she filled up a picnic basket with tarts and croissants along with strawberries, grapes, and apples.

“Maybe one day,” You smiled, a hopeful look in your eyes. “When Aphrodite decides to reward me with a perfect love life.”

“I’ll pray to Aphrodite for you,” Juniper smiled, boosting your confidence up. “You deserve to be loved.”

“Thanks, Junie.”

“No worries, your secret is safe with me.” Juniper chuckled, she then passed you the picnic basket filled with food, looking almost like a cornucopia. “Here you go, packed and loaded for a picnic.”

You gave Juniper a grateful nod, mouthing a quick thank you before turning to go and find Luke, the picnic basket locked in both of your hands.

You walk towards Lily the dryad’s station, but Luke wasn’t there anymore. Instead, you walked around the large dining area, eyes scanning the place for your curly haired best friend.

When you finally spot him, your heart sinks.

Luke was talking and laughing with a girl. A girl you know to be a child of Athena, a sister of Annabeth Chase.

You felt the picnic basket in your hands grow heavy, along with your heart feeling like it’s slowly sinking into a bottomless pit.

Lacy Matthews—pretty, smart, beautiful, kind, stunning, intelligent.

Nothing like me.

Luke leaned on one of the pillars of the pavilion, eyes steady on Lacy as she discussed with him about something—probably architecture, like Annabeth would always ramble to you.

Hair gold as the sun, eyes gray as stormy clouds, skin like puff pastry, and a mind sharp as blade, no wonder Luke would like her.

You contemplate, whether you walk to Luke and disturb his talk with Lacy, or just walk to the docks alone and eat the food Juniper packed as you cry your heart out. Maybe pray to Aphrodite while you’re at it.

You sigh, taking a very deep breath, before making your way to them with shaking hands.

“Luke?” You ask as soon as you’re in earshot. “You ready for the docks?”

Lacy looks at you first, smiling sweetly at you. “Oh, hi Y/n! How are you?”

You stood there, silent for a minute. Feeling a myriad of feelings all at once, taking you over like a spirit. “I’m….okay.” you answer after what felt like eons.

“Your skin hair looks amazing,” Lacy compliments you, but it feels more like bullets on skin. “I wish I had your hair.”

You give her a tight smile, turning your attention to Luke. “Docks?” you ask, hoping he’d get the gist of it.

“Oh, Y/n,” Luke scratches the back of his head, your heart breaking another of its pieces at the mention of your name. He always calls you melody, your name feels like poison out of his lips. “Can we take a rain check? Lacy and Annabeth need help with cleaning cabin six, you know, books.”

“Tonight, then?” You ask with a shaky breath. “After the bonfire?”

“Tomorrow, l guess?”

“Uh, yeah, sure. No problem. I’ll see you? I guess.”

You quickly turned around, the basket of fruits and pastries still in your shaking hands as you made a beeline towards the nearest exit, your heart beating fast like pegasi galloping in the wind. Your eyes stinging like a fresh cut you wanted to just drown in antiseptic.

“Y/n?” You heard a small voice from behind, you whipped your head to see your little brother, Will Solace. “I cut my hand on a sword.” he mumbles, lower lip shaking like yours.

You kneel to his level, the basket still in your hands like they had their own minds, refusing to let it go—maybe hoping that Luke would reconsider and go with you to the docks instead, but you knew deep inside that it was a long shot.

“Okay,” your voice was hoarse, as if there were thorns blocking the back of your throat. “Let’s get you fixed, is that alright?”

Will nodded, blonde hair falling into his face, blue eyes hiding underneath them, making you chuckle. At least I have something else to think about for the meantime.

“Come on,” You reach your hand out for Will to take. “Let’s get some cute band aids for that cut.”

Crying on the docks would have to wait.

Will takes your hand as the two of you head to cabin seven where you keep a box of medical supplies just in case. You didn’t feel like going to the Infirmary, you were just too tired to do so.

“Why are you sad, sissy?” Will asks, big innocent blue eyes looking up at you.

“It’s nothing, I just have dry eyes. Think I need some eye drops.” You answered the younger boy, trying not to be, well, sad.

“I can feel that you’re sad, you don’t have to lie to me, sissy.” You look at your brother, how in Apollo’s name did he know? He was only seven, and wasn't even trained properly yet.

You sighed, pushing out the hair from Will’s face. “I’m just bummed.” you answered honestly, at least you tried to.

“Why?” He asks further. “Maybe I can help.”

You took a deep breath. How do you explain to a child that you are sad and hurt because the boy you like chose a girl over you, his best friend. “I’ll tell you when we get to our cabin, alright?”

“Okay,” Will agreed. “I’m gonna do my best to help you sissy!”

You tried suppressing a laugh, but failed miserably. Will was like a literal ball of sunshine. Since he arrived at camp a little over a year ago, he’d become a beacon of hope for you. You’d cling to your little brother when shit goes wrong for comfort, and he did the same, it was like you had an empathy link with him.

As soon as the two of you stepped onto cabin seven’s premises, you let Will run to his bed—he wanted to get the macaroni bracelet he made you—while you went to get your medical supplies.

“Look, sissy! I made this for you! I made one for Dawn too, and Lee and Michael!” Will excitedly showed you a blue and yellow colored macaroni bracelet. “Do you like it?”

You smiled, kissing the top of his head. “I love it,” You slipped the bracelet onto your wrist. “I’ll never take it off.” you promised the little boy—who was smiling from ear to ear.

“Okay, so are you gonna tell me now why you’re sad?” Will asked, straight to the point like an arrow through a bullseye.

You sighed, rolling your eyes playfully as you dug through your medical kit for some bandaids. “Luke and I planned earlier that we’d head to the docks to have a little picnic, but last minute…he, uh…”

“He what?” Will pushes further, peeking as you went through looking for your medical kit.

“He kinda ditched me? I don’t know if that’s the appropriate word, but instead of going with the original plan, he asked for a raincheck to go and help Lacy from cabin six clean out their cabin.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Will looked up at you as you poured antiseptic on a cotton ball, wiping it on his cut. “He’s helping others.”

“Oh, sweet baby boy,” You sighed, remembering that Will was still a child. “I like Luke—no, maybe I love him at this point. And I’m sad because I’m jealous and he chose to be with her after he asked me to a picnic that I was looking forward to, because I wanted to spend time with him.” You took a deep breath. “Even if I didn’t have romantic feelings for him, it still hurt because he picked her over me, he was my best friend first before everything.”

“What do you want to do?”

“What do you mean?” You ask, brow raised as you placed a bandaid on the cut.

“Are you mad at Luke? Do you wanna prank him because you are? Or curse him to be sick for a week?”

“William Andrew Solace!” You chastised, shocked at what he had suggested.

“What? He hurt you, he deserves it.”

“He hurt me, yes, but he does not deserve any of what you suggested, William.”

“He hurt my best big sissy, so he deserves it.” Will muttered under his breath.

“William,” You sighed, tucking behind a strand of your hair behind your ear. “What he did was wrong, as a friend. But I don’t have any right to be angry at him for liking Lacy, I’m just his friend, nothing more.”

Will’s face softened. “You deserve everything, sissy,” he then reached up, placing each of his hands on both of your cheeks. “You are the best sister in the whole world. You deserve to be loved, like the way you love me and everyone else.”

You smiled, tears stinging the corner of your eyes, your heart swelling with love from your little brother. You may not have the love of the boy you loved, at least you had your brother’s making up for it, masking up the heartbreak, even just for a little while.

“Alright,” You wiped away a single tear. “You’re all fixed.” you pat him on the cheek, wiping the sweat away on his forehead.

“I love you, sissy!” Will says as he wrapped his arms around you.

“I love you too, kiddo,” You chuckle, ruffling his blonde curls, kissing his forehead. “Go find Dawn, she’s at the arena. Watch Lee and Michael duel like idiots. Don’t tell them I told you that.”

Will nodded enthusiastically, before sprinting out of cabin seven. “See you later, sissy!”

You let out a shaky laugh, feeling the loneliness eat you up as quick as it left. Your eyes landed onto the basket with food still packed for two.

Luke still wasn’t going with you down to the docks.

You choked back a sob, grabbing the basket and your guitar and notebook from your bed before heading out to the docks. You might as well kill time until the bonfire, alone with your breaking heart.

You didn’t stop at anyone, walking straight to the beach with your guitar strapped onto your back and the basket wrapped between your arms. You just didn’t have the will to talk to anyone, even your friends and siblings.

The salty smell of the sea breeze infiltrated your senses as you approached the beach, the docks that you and Luke always hung out at nearing your view. You took a deep breath, letting the soft breeze take over you as you stepped onto the wooden platform, the waves crashing beneath it. You set down the basket, sitting beside it as you pulled your guitar to the front, your fingers lightly strumming a little tune—one you knew like the back of your hand, the song Luke always asked you to play.

“'Cause if one day you wake up and find that you're missing me and your heart starts to wonder where on this earth I could be,” You sang, trying your hardest not to just break down despite the tears you had been pushing back were threatening to spill. “Thinking maybe you'll come back here to the place that we'd meet and you'll see me waiting for you on the corner of the street,” you sniffled softly. “So I'm not moving, I'm not moving.”

You can’t help but wonder what would Luke do when you leave camp for good. Would he be sad? That you, his best friend, gone with the wind? Or would he ask you to stay?

You wished that you didn’t know the answers to your own questions your own damn mind plagues you with. You wished that he knew he was all that you think about every goddamn night, that he was the reason for those teardrops on your guitar, that he was the only thing that kept you wishing on a wishing star.

You sighed, grabbing your blue notebook that you had slid inside the basket and the pen you had packed alongside it. You needed to let it out, even just on another tear streaked paper.

You hummed a little melody as you continued to write what you felt, your chest burning with untold stories.

“Hey, sunshine,” You heard a voice call from behind you, whipping your head around almost immediately, nearly dropping your notebook into the sea.

“Chris,” You gave him a small smile, adjusting the strap of your guitar.

“Mind if I join you?” Chris asks, walking closer to you but stops a few steps from you with a grin plastered on his face.

You quickly closed your notebook, stuffing it in the picnic basket. “I don’t mind,” You scooted to the side to give him some space to sit, your hair blowing in the gentle sea breeze.

Chris nods at you, making his way to the vacant spot beside you. “So, what are you up to?” he asks, leaning slightly back. “You weren’t at archery practice earlier.”

You shrugged your shoulders slightly. “Just wanted some time alone, I guess.” you turn to look at the basket sitting unopened beside you, wondering if you should offer Chris one of the pastries. “What about you?”

“Luke,” Chris chuckles, he rolls his eyes with a shake of his head. “Can’t stand him making out with Lacy in cabin eleven.”

“Oh.” You say, the pain and sadness slipping out in your voice, your heart, now broken completely as another fresh set of tears threatens to spill. “Well, good…good for him.”

Chris raises a brow at you, noticing the tremble in your voice. “You okay?”

“I’m okay,” You lied, wiping away the tears that spilled from your eyes, hoping Chris wouldn’t notice. “Do…do you want, uh, a croissant?”

“You are not okay,” Chris says, pulling your hand away from your face. “You’re crying, what’s wrong?”

“No, no, it’s nothing,” You sniffled, trying to assure him that you were alright, but he wasn’t believing any of your attempts to cover up what you were feeling.

“C’mon, you can tell me,” Chris tells you with a soft smile. “I won’t tell anyone, promise.”

You turn to look at him, your eyes now red and puffy, tears still streaming down. You felt numb, broken, and empty. You didn’t have the words to try and tell what was happening inside your heart and mind. All you could see, against your will, was the image of Luke kissing Lacy.

You wanted to scream, you wanted to jump onto your feet and storm over to Luke and hit him for hurting you this much, and you even wanted to just jump into the ocean and let the salty water fill up your lungs so you couldn’t breathe the same air as them.

“You like him, don’t you?” Chris asks, his smile fading.

You blink back your tears, Chris’ words echoing in your head. “I love him.” you whimper, wiping your tears away.

Chris sighs, scooting closer to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. “I knew it, I figured you liked him years ago. I’ve known you and Luke long enough to know how different your looks at each other are.”

You lay your head onto his shoulder, your tears spilling still as you silently sobbed. “It’s not fair,” you mumble out. “It’s not fucking fair.”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, let it all out, it’s okay.” Chris soothes, rubbing your shoulder to comfort you. “You’re hurt, you deserve to cry.”

“Am I ugly? Unlovable?” You ask with a shaky breath.

“Hey, hey, hey, look at me,” Chris cups your tear streaked face in his hands. “You are not unlovable. You’re the kindest, most selfless, and loving person out there. You help everyone in need, you make people smile, and don’t get me started with how your music makes everyone feel. How would that make you unlovable? You are very lovable. You are loved, your siblings, your friends, everyone.”

Chris pushes strands of your hair away from your face. “And you are most certainly not ugly. You are beautiful. You are beautiful like the sun, like a sunflower, especially when you smile—radiating beauty like rays of sunshine. Luke is too fucking stupid to not realize how lucky he is to have you loving him.”

“The boy who I love is now in love with someone else,” You murmur, moving your head out of Chris’ hand, closing your eyes. “He’s the only one who's got enough of me to break my heart.”

“It’s his loss, not yours.” Chris says, rubbing circles around your back. “He’s a fucking idiot, for hurting you. Even if he doesn’t know.”

“She’s pretty, I’m n-”

“Stop it, stop,” Chris cuts you off. “You are beautiful, pretty, stunning, dazzling, whatever the hell you want to call it. Don’t you dare compare yourself to her, you are far better than her. She’s beauty and brains, but you? Beauty, brains, talent, and a big heart.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better,” You hiccup, wiping your tears away.

Chris scoffs playfully, shoving you slightly. “I’m trying to comfort you, woman.”

“Thanks,” You chuckle, moving your hand to the basket beside you. “Want a croissant?”

“Eating your sorrows away, huh?”

You rolled your still red and puffy eyes at him. “I’ve got a basket full of it,” You explained, bringing the basket onto your lap and opening it, the smell of the pastries mixing with the salty ocean breeze. “Luke and I planned to eat these here, but bailed on me to help Lacy.”

“That son of a bitch,” Chris grumbles, reaching for a croissant. “Wasting food and bailing on his best friend.”

“I mean, Hermes is a bitch,” You snort, picking a blueberry tart up. “So, technically…”

“Yeah, well,” Chris bites into his croissant, crumbles falling into his lap. “I’m not one to dump my best friend for a girl.”

“Not even for Clarisse?” You ask, a teasing smirk on your lips.

“Clarisse would beat me into a pulp if I did.”

You smile at Chris. “Thanks for being here, even by chance.”

“I’ll always be here for you, sunshine,” Chris ruffles your hair, making you laugh. “That’s what friends are for.”

“Thank you for making me feel important,” You took a deep breath. “I needed that.”

“You are important, never think that you aren’t.” Chris gives you an assuring smile. “So, is the tart good?”

You let out a giggle, your eyes going to the tart in your hands. “I think so,” You raise the blueberry tart to your lips for a bite, your eyes lighting up. “Mmm, gods this is good!”

Chris laughs at your reaction. “Good, huh?”

You nod, licking your lips. “It’s divine, better than cookies!” You say, taking another bite. “This is my new favorite dessert!”

“There’s the sunshine I know,” Chris chuckles, an amused look in his eyes. “The light in everyone’s lives.”

“Now you’re just fueling my ego,” You giggle, reaching for another tart.

“It’s true,” Chris insists. “Ask anyone—except Luke, ‘cause he’s an idiot—and they’ll say the same things I told you.”

You roll your eyes playfully, raising your hands in defeat. “Fine, fine,” You say through a bite of your tart. “You win.”

“I’m amazing,” Chris says with a cocky smile. “The best, even.”

You groaned playfully. “Note to self, never tell Chris Rodriguez he’s right.”

“Hey!”

You burst out laughing, nearly falling off of the dock as you leaned forward if Chris hadn’t grabbed your arm. “Sorry,” You say through fits of laughter, the sadness and hurt you felt just moments ago, fluttering away. “You get…wait,” you wheeze out, clutching your stomach. “So cocky when someone tells you you’re right, but you end up looking constipated!”

Chris gasped, feigning offense. “Take that back!”

You shook your head, laughter still coming out of your lips. “Never!”

“I hate you,“ Chris fake grumbles, an amused look twinkling in his eyes. “You’re a meanie!”

You burst out laughing, again

“Yeah, go ahead and laugh your ass off, sunshine,” Chris shoves you playfully. “It’s the best medicine out there!”

Out of breath, cheeks flushed, you leaned flat against the wood platform. “Chest hurts,” You wheezed, though still smiling.

“Well, you did laugh like a fuckin’ lunatic, sunshine.”

“How am I going to sing at the bonfire tonight?” You say through breaths, mentally kicking yourself for not bringing any water—despite being surrounded by it.

“You can do it,” Chris assured you as he laid beside you, leaving enough space that you’re not uncomfortable. “I know you can. You’re camp’s best singer, you can’t fuck up the best thing you’re good at.”

“You think so?”

“You’ve been singing for as long as we’ve been friends, sunshine,” Chris yawns, stretching his arms up. “Pretty sure, you’re gonna nail this, like you always do.

You were regretting your decision to come to the bonfire.

Here you were, sitting beside your siblings, across Luke and Lacy—arms linked together like they’d perish if they didn’t.

The mere sight of them shamelessly flirting made you want to vomit everything you ate, and maybe even your brains out. It was sickening, how Luke smiles as Lacy whispers something into his ear, her delicate fingers around his biceps.

You wanted to walk up to him and drag him by the ribbon on his left arm—which was one of Lacy’s probably, watch him burn into ashes, but decided against it. Because, one) Hestia wouldn’t approve of it, two) well, he’s still the love of your life and best friend.

It was torture for you, watching them be happy. It makes you wonder, how the hell did they get that close. They had started talking just hours ago, but now? They looked like lovers reunited after the war.

What was so special about her? You ask yourself again, even though you knew the goddamn answer. Smart, sexy, Lacy. God, she was making you crazy. Dazzling starlet, like a Bardot reincarnate. And then there you were—messy hair, paint stains everywhere, guitar string marks, flab on your belly and arms, band aids in your pockets, basically nothing like her.

Luke looks at her as if she was the sweetest thing on this side of hell, like she was the greatest thing to ever exist in this world.

Like ribbons in her blonde hair, your stomach was all in knots. She’s got the one thing that you ever wanted, wrapped around her finger without even trying.

The fire continued to burn golden-orange flames as your siblings led the song Down by the Aegean, everyone was happy and content, except for you.

Jealousy lingered around you like a moth drawn to the flame. Making it hard for you to concentrate on anything else aside from Lacy laying her head on Luke’s shoulder as he toasted marshmallows for both of them. The thought of them plagued your mind, despite trying everything to keep it away from your thoughts.

Stupid brain, stupid heart, stupid Luke, stupid Lacy, stupid love.

“Hey, sis?” A voice snapped you out of your insecure thoughts. You looked up to see Lee standing just a few inches to your right, looking at you with concern. “You okay?” He asks, his voice laced with worry. You then realized that everyone had stopped singing, and all eyes were on you—except those lovebirds who were making googly eyes at each other, as if they were the only person left on this damned world.

“Uh, yeah, I’m okay.” You say through gritted teeth, hoping no one would notice.

“It’s time for your special song, sissy.” Will nudges you from your left side.

Oh. You thought. They were waiting for you.

“Oh, right,” You chuckled nervously, reaching for your guitar from Dawn.

You didn’t know what to sing. All the thoughts and memories in your head seem to have faded into dust.

You shakily strum a chord on your guitar, your fingers gliding over the metal strings. The guitar was a gift from your dad, enchanted to play whatever you had in mind with just a few strums of your fingers.

You sigh, letting your fingers do all the work, hoping you could give the people around you your best.

I can see us lost in the memory,

August slipped away into a moment in time

‘Cause it was never mine.

And I can see us twisted in bed sheets,

August sipped away.

Like a bottle of wine 'cause you were never mine,

You sang, the words coming out of your lips so naturally, all of what you felt pouring out like water. You saw the sympathetic eyes of your friends from the other cabins—the ones who knew about your feelings for Luke.

Your siblings were trying their best not to give you the biggest hug in the whole world, especially Will, who was sitting beside you.

Some were confused as to why you were singing about some boy because you’ve never done it before. They hadn’t thought that you had feelings, too.

Back when we were still changing for the better

Wanting was enough

For me, it was enough

“Shit,” You heard someone curse from cabin nine. “The fire’s blue!”

You look up, blazing blue, meeting your eyes. Hestia’s fire had never burned blue before.

“Beckendorf, this isn’t funny!” Someone yells in the background, amongst the whispers.

“We’re not doing…..anything,” Beckendorf trails off, as if he had been silenced all of a sudden.

To everyone’s surprise, the blue—almost black—flames burning in the firepit started to get bigger and bigger, as if they were swaying to the tune as you played.

To live for the hope of it all

Cancel plans just in case you'd call

And say "Meet me behind the mall"

And finally, as you finished up the song, from the corner of your eyes, a sore sight to behold. Luke and Lacy were making out, and they couldn’t have waited to even be out of sight—barely a meter away—before devouring each other’s faces.

So much for summer love and saying "us"

'Cause you weren't mine to lose

You weren't mine to lose, no

You weren't mine to lose.

Luke grabs Lacy’s waist, pulling her closer. They looked happy, and it was tearing you apart. They were killing you slowly, like a dagger was lodged in your throat, and they were twisting it.

Cause you were never mine, never mine…

You felt tears filling your eyes like a dam, and anytime was ready to explode. But, forced them back down—at least, you tried to—hoping to save a little more dignity for your name.

Lacy has everything that you have to live without. She should hold him tight, and give him all her love. Look at him straight in those beautiful brown eyes and know she's lucky because Luke was your everything—your life, your world, everything.

As the image of them faded from your peripheral view, you stared into the blazing fire in front of you. Now, red, blue, and black flames were dancing together, almost as if Hestia could feel what you were feeling.

You sigh, placing the guitar down, feeling arms wrap around you. You look up, seeing Chris, camp necklace dangling from his neck. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” he murmurs, rubbing both of your shoulders.

“You want me to put his head on my spear, Sunny?” Clarisse asks, sitting opposite of Will. “One word from you, and I’ll skewer him.”

“You’re overwhelming her, Clar,” Chris says. “You don’t deserve this, sunshine. Yet, he doesn’t deserve you.”

“Do you want to spend the night with us, love?” Silena asks from beside Clarisse. “A little girls' night could help.”

You shake your head, the tears you’ve pushed aside spilling like an opened dam. “I’m okay,” you say, clearly lying. You knew your friends could always see through your lies.

“Come on, let’s take her to seven. She needs rest.” Your brother, Lee, interrupts. “She looks dehydrated; why the fuck is she dehydrated?”

“Language,” you weakly say, the view of the fire blurring. “Swearing, s’bad.”

“And delirious,” Dawn mutters beside Lee, holding Will close to her.

Before you could retort a reply, your vision slowly went dark, and faint voices were screaming before you completely passed out.

Luke was immediately jolted awake from his honeymoon daze by the sounds of frantic screams and yells, just a few steps away from him and Lacy.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Lacy asks, her delicate hands cupping his face, lips swollen from kissing just a few seconds ago.

“You heard that?” Luke asks, pushing her slightly to the side. “I heard screami-”

Luke cuts himself off at what he sees.

Chris is sprinting to the Big House with you, unconscious in his arms. Luke’s heart starts to beat rapidly—faster than ever before—as his legs subconsciously take him in your direction.

“Melody.”

Lacy stands there as Luke makes his way to you, huffing and arms crossed in annoyance. “What the hell, Luke!?” She yells after him, but it’s like he hears nothing.

taglist:

@lilmaymayy @mischiefmoons @m00ng4z3r @woodlandwrites @sflame15-blog @the-sylver-dragon @ceruleansx @evsolostheuniverse @patitotodd @jennapancake @kur0m1sblog @emryb @onecojg @caramelandvenus @y0urm0m12 @hottiewifeyyyy @7s3ven @atashiboba

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wegc · 4 months

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perv!channie and reader finally fucking but she teases him the whole time until he has had enough. “you’re such a fucking pervert” and “you’re so disgusting” all while she’s grinning at him and riding him like her life depends on it. he’s literally a second away from cumming as soon as he’s inside her. “you really think you deserve to cum? after fantasizing about fucking your best friend’s sister?” she denies him to cum for so long that he finally snaps and flips her over, pounding into her like a madman. “such a tease, you whore” and “don’t have much to say now, huh?” she cums so hard but he’s not done. even after he cums, he aint done either…

OK IM DONE AHHHHHH (please feel free to finish or add on or write more to it bc i would v much appreciate it)

i’m ascending. something about cocky!reader paired with a perpetually flustered, perv!chan is such a mouthwatering combination.

perv!chan whose cock twitches inside you every time you humiliate him with yet another reminder of how repulsive and depraved he is; he can’t bite back immediately because you’re right. he’s nothing but a disgusting pervert and he’s fortunate that you aren’t completely appalled by him.

when you grip the base of his cock and guide him inside your dripping cunt, chan feels like he could pass away beneath you. every delusion of his, whether it emerged in his bedroom or your washroom—a mere room away from you—was coming true and it was far better than he had ever imagined.

all he can do is pant and whine under you, taking in the sight of your tits bouncing in his face and the cute flush of your face, which scrunched up in pleasure. most importantly, the feeling of your cunt—the warmest thing in the world—took his breath away; his cunt, all his—he’d make sure of it.

the overwhelming feeling of being inside you, the epiphany and high of all his dreams and desires coming true right before him has his poor cock pulsing inside you, seconds away from cumming. each flutter of your cunt, each moment your fingers teased his nipples or when your hot, wet mouth whined against his had him feeling lightheaded—he knew he wouldn’t last long.

and your teasing—while it did turn him on, it also infuriated him. god, you were such a fucking brat—a mouthy little handful. did you frankly know what he thought of every time he stroked his cock to the image of you? you wouldn’t be behaving so pretentiously if you knew all the things he yearned to do to you, all the positions he’d bend you in, all the fondling and groping he had dreamt of, all the mean and obscene remarks he’d taunt you with, all the ways in which he would make you beg for more. you had no fucking clue.

before you even realize it, you’re pulled off his cock and manhandled to your hands and knees, where the drilling of chan’s cock seizes your breath. he’s suddenly so deep inside your cunt—you swear the tip of his cock might kiss your cervix—and you can scarcely catch some air every time he snaps his hips to go harder.

chan would grin, smacking your ass, laughing shakily at the sounds of your yelps and wailing with each drag of his length. your face is buried in his pillow, but even that hardly muffles your loud sobs and pleas.

“god, you don’t ever shut up do you?”

“fuckin’ brat, you want more?”

“dirty little thing, you’re just as gross as me.”

“you feel like a whore, don’t you? doesn’t it make you feel dirty, knowing everything i’ve done? you hate that you like it, don’t you?”

chan, who fucks until dawn, cumming continually inside you and pulling out periodically to observe and engrave the way his cum oozes out of your gaping hole. he feels so pleased as he takes in the bruises and marks he’s littered on your body, marking you as his. or even better, the way your eyes gloss over, looking at him desperately with tearful eyes. your hair is dishevelled, draped messily across his ruined sheets, and your lips are bruised with his kisses and nibbles, lipgloss pathetically smudged away.

“so fucking pretty—my pretty girl, yeah? you wanna go again? can’t go without me, hm? need me so bad to stop all that fussing, right?”

“you’re all mine now, you know that? can’t fuck you just once—can’t have you looking at other people.”

#AAAAA IM GOINF INSANE #bang chan smut #bang chan x reader #skz smut #stray kids smut #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #perv skz #perv bang chan #bang chan hard thoughts #bang chan hard hours #skz hard thoughts #skz hard hours #answered #anonymous

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amentomensmut · 5 months

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I've never asked for a request before and i dont have clout to write it myself so i thought id ask since i like some of your Mike stuff but

What about something like reader and Mike are friends and he goes to a wedding her as a favor cause i like the idea that he has like a messy suit, loose tie kind of hot mess vibe and smutty things happen lol I dont have much in mind but the idea of him in a messy suit trying to look cleaned up is just like ...drool idk

Plus One

Mike Schmidt x fem!reader wc: 3.1k+

Summary: You invite Mike to be your plus one at your sister's wedding, but things go wrong during the reception and Mike uses you to take out his frustrations.

Warnings: 18+ CONTENT, okay so like reader and Mike are friends but also its kinda angry sex??? You’ll see. Manhandling (sorta), slight exhibitionism, degrading, praise, dirty talk, finger sucking, fingering (f receiving), unprotected sex (wrap b4 u tap pookies)

Note: oh my GOD this one got away from me and i'm NOT sure about it, I feel like i could’ve written this a bit better but i just started babbling and now we're here. to the person who requested this: THANK YOU. i loved ur idea and him in a suit like makes me drool too omg. i also couldn’t help adding a little angst in here. also so nevry to post this?? so lmk what u guys think! enjoy :)

“Please, Mike. I swear this is the last thing you’ll ever have to do for me!” You plead, trying to reason with the very unimpressed looking man in front of you. You’ve been stuck in Mike's kitchen for the past half hour trying to convince him to be your plus one to your sister's wedding next Saturday. Clearly, your convincing hasn’t been successful so far.

“The last time I did a favour for you was supposed to be the last time.” Mike says with a knowing smirk, and you roll your eyes. A few weeks ago, you went out to a bar with some friends and you may have had a few too many long island iced teas. The owner had forced your hand into calling someone to pick you up, and it was Mike's number you had dialled that night. As he drove you back to your apartment with an unpleasant look on his face, you swore to him that that would be the last favour you'd ever ask of him. How you wish you could take that back right about now.

“Okay, well, I was drunk when I said that. So it doesn't count.” You say with a frown, crossing your arms against your chest like a child who was denied candy.

You can’t really blame Mike for not wanting to go. Your family is…a lot. You love your family, you really do (most of the time). But, they can be judgemental. You were the kid in school who always got the hottest new toys for Christmas, and had big themed parties for your birthday every year. It had never really dawned on you that you were more well off than other kids until you had met Mike. You became friends with Mike when you were both 15. When you first brought Mike over to your house to hang out, you heard your parents whispering about him that night when you were supposed to be in bed. Your parents gossiped about the kidnapping of his brother, the suicide of his mother, and how Mike and his sister were essentially left to their own devices with their father paralyzed and consumed by grief. It made you sick to hear your parents nitpick and discuss Mike's life like it was a reality tv show. Your parents never really approved of your friendship with Mike, and they tend to not-so-subtly make that known whenever you make the mistake of bringing him up in a conversation.

“I don’t think that’s how that works. Besides, when your sister offered you a plus one, I really don’t think she had me in mind.” Mike says as he reaches into his fridge for a beer. “In fact, I think she’d prefer you to invite that guy who works at the convenience store and catcalls you everytime you go in, instead of me.” He says, cracking open his beer and offering you a smile before he takes a sip.

“Well now you’re just being dramatic.” You huff as you walk over to the couch in Mike's living room and take a seat. Mike follows you from the kitchen and sits down in his armchair, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. Mike sticks his tongue out at you and you have to restrain yourself from strangling the man. If it were any other wedding you would’ve just gone on your own. However, your family events tend to…take a turn for the worst. Your family's gatherings usually end with drama, and you know that even though it’s your sister's wedding, this will be no different. That’s why you're insistent on bringing Mike as your plus one, so you can have a little support if things go awry.

“Very mature.” You say with a shake of your head, once again rolling your eyes at the rude gesture.

“Listen, I’ll go. But, on one condition.” Mike says, and you sit up straight at his words.

“What’s the condition?” You ask suspiciously, but at this point you think you’d agree to almost anything.

“You babysit Abby for a month,”

“Deal.”

“And do my laundry for a month.” Mike adds.

“That’s two conditions actually, Mike.” You scoff as you get off the couch to leave.

“So you’re inviting the guy from the convenience store then?” Mike teases, knowing he's your only option.

You turn around to face Mike, squinting your eyes at him. God, you hate that cocky smirk he does when he knows he's winning. Bastard.

“Have a suit by Saturday. I’ll be over at 10am.” You sigh, flipping Mike off as you leave through his front door.

“Very mature.” You hear him mumble on your way out.

—-----------------------------------------

“Mike, it looks like you just came back from a bachelor party. Not like you’re going to a wedding.” You say, noting the way Mike’s tie hangs loosely around his neck and the first couple buttons on his white button up are left undone. Mike runs his hands through his hair and you quickly bat them away, scolding him for ruining the hair you had just attempted to fix in the car only moments before you arrived. You can’t deny that he looks handsome. He surely looks charming with the way his gelled hair falls messily on his forehead, and the way his dads old suit fits him almost perfectly.

“Well, hopefully your sister doesn’t mind.” Mike says sarcastically as he adjusts the cuff links on the ends of his sleeves and steps out of your car and towards the church where your sister is getting married.

The first half of the wedding went pretty smoothly. You and your sister have never really been close, so It wasn’t a surprise to you when she didn’t ask you to be a bridesmaid. You and Mike sat a few rows down, occasionally playing footsies under the pew when you’d accidentally bump feet. A kiss was shared between the bride and groom, and everyone left to go to the reception.

You were nervous about the reception, to be quite honest. Mike could tell, and he put his hand on your lower back, resting it there as you both walked into the banquet hall. You nearly faint when you see the sheer amount of people that fill the room. There have to be about 200 people minimum. It seemed like way less in the church, you think.

“I need a drink.” You mumble to Mike, dragging him over to the bar.

Both you and Mike order a drink, and you want to be swallowed by the ground when you hear your mothers shrill, sing-songy voice behind you.

“Darling! I didn’t see you during the ceremony, I thought you hadn’t come.” You turn around and she pulls you into a tight hug, pressing a kiss to both of your cheeks. She pulls away from you and you notice her eyes immediately land on Mike. “Oh, and what a surprise. Mike, how are you and your sister?” Your mother continues, and you bite the inside of your cheek.

You watch as Mike plasters a big, albeit fake, smile on his face and shakes your mothers hand.

“Abby and I are doing well, thank you for asking.” Mike says, and you almost laugh at his cordial tone. Mike sends you a ‘help me’ look and you mouth a ‘sorry’ to him.

“Gosh, it just devastated me to hear about your fathers passing.” Your mother says, clutching her chest like she's in pain, and you think she deserves an Oscar for the way she acts like she gives a shit. “I’m sure it must be so hard for you to provide for your sister alone.” Your mother adds and you watch the smile slowly slide off of Mike’s face.

“Why do you say that?” He asks, and you suddenly regret ever asking Mike to be your plus one.

“Mom-,” You start to say, but she disregards your voice, raising her hand as you speak to stop you.

“Well, I know you struggle keeping a job. You know, not everyone is cut out to raise a child.” If you could see yourself, you’re sure all the colour would be drained from your face. You’re left speechless, mouth half hung open at your mothers words. How could she say that? She doesn’t know him like you do. She doesn’t know how much Mike sacrifices to provide for Abby.

You look over at Mike and his jaw is tightly clenched. You brace yourself for Mike's next words, but they don’t come. Instead, you watch as he excuses himself and walks towards the mens bathroom.

“Well, he woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.” Your mother jokes once Mike is out of earshot.

“Jesus Christ, mom.” You say incredulously as you turn to go find Mike.

You walk towards the bathrooms, entering the men’s restroom with only one thing on your mind. Mike. Luckily the restroom is empty, save for Mike who is leaning over the counter. You slowly reach behind yourself, locking the bathroom door. You begin to step towards Mike, but you stop when you hear his voice.

“Do you think I'm not fit to raise Abby?” Mike asks you angrily, not even turning to look at you. You just stand there like an idiot, reaching down to fidget with the hem of your shirt.

“I-, no. Of course not.” You say, and the music that was loud in the hall, is now only a low hum in the bathroom.

It’s silent for a moment, and you’re not really sure what to say, or how to make things better. You resume taking slow, tentative steps towards Mike and you stop once you’re behind him. You place an uncertain hand on his back, softly rubbing it up and down to comfort him. He lets you touch him and you hear him let out a breath. He turns around to face you and you look up to meet his eyes. He studies your face for a moment, and you inch even closer to him.

“I’m sorry about my mom. That was inexcusable.” You sigh. If you were in Mike’s shoes, you probably would’ve left the reception entirely, and you’re not entirely opposed to that idea right now.

“Your mother doesn’t think I’m good enough for you.” Mike finally says, and there’s distaste in his tone. You don’t say anything, you know it's true. Your family, especially your mother, has never approved of your friendship with Mike.

“Do you think that?” Mike asks you, and you’re just now realising how close Mike’s face is to your own. You look up at him with furrowed brows and shake your head.

“No, Mike. I don’t think that.” You say quietly, and you swear the tension between Mike and you is so thick, it could be cut with a knife. You look down, but you feel Mike's hand grabbing your jaw and forcing you to look back up at him.

“You can’t even look at me when you say it. Pathetic.” Mike seethed. You let out a hushed whimper at his words..

“Sorry.” You say, but your voice sounds small. “I know you are.” He coos, rubbing his thumb back on fourth on your cheek.

“I need you to do something for me, okay?” Mike says, leaning down to speak in your ear. His voice is sweet and the switch in moods makes your head spin.

“Okay.” You nod and Mike pulls away from your ear to look you in the eyes.

“Be fucking quiet.” He says, and he presses his lips to yours. You softly gasp in shock, but quickly kiss him back as he turns you around to hoist you up onto the counter. He grabs both of your knees, opening them to make space for him to stand between your legs. He grips your thighs harshly, and you sigh when he sucks on your bottom lip. He puts one of his hands under your jaw, using it to hold your head in place as he kisses you. His lips are slightly chapped, but you don’t mind. He kisses you with fever, and you can’t deny that you haven’t thought about this.

He kisses down to your jaw and neck, sucking the skin in a way where you know there will be bruises. Jerk. You run your hands through his hair, throwing your head back at the pleasurable feeling of his lips gliding over your skin. The hand that was on your thigh is now trailing up your leg and under your skirt. You clench your legs around his hand and he softly bites your neck, wordlessly scolding you for your actions. You reopen your legs and his hand comes up to make contact with your clothed clit. He rubs slow circles and you let out a soft whimper.

“You gonna let me fuck you?” He slurs in your ear, and his fingers move from your clit to the waistband on your panties, pulling it back and slapping it against your skin. You nod and he’s pulling you off of the counter and flipping you around. Mike bends you over and your chest meets the cold granite. You look in front of you and you can see Mike behind you in the mirror on the wall. He pushes your knee length skirt up and around your hips, and groans at the sight of you bent over for him.

“You okay?” He asks genuinely, running his hands along the sides of your body in a comforting manor.

“Yeah, keep going.” You breathe out and he hooks his fingers into the sides of your panties, pulling them down. You clench around nothing as the cold air hits your cunt. You moan softly as Mike spreads your pussy open with his thumbs, groaning at how wet you are. Without warning, he inserts his pointer and middle finger inside of you, thrusting them in and out. The lewd, squelching sounds of Mike fingering you fill the bathroom and you suck in a sharp breath as his fingers curl up into your sweet spot.

“Apparently your pussy thinks I’m good enough.” Mike says and you look up into the mirror to see his jaw slack, watching the way his fingers move in and out of you. You can feel Mike's erection brushing against the back of your thigh as he rocks his hips with every thrust of his fingers.

“Mike, fuck me.” You whine, and Mike takes his fingers out of you. He brings them to your lips, pushing them inside your mouth, and you can hear him undoing his belt with his other hand.

“Thought I told you to be fucking quiet.” He murmurs and you watch in the mirror as he shoves his pants and boxers down just enough to pull his hard cock out. He removes his fingers from your lips, using your spit as lube to pump his cock a few times before lining it up with your pussy. He slowly inches himself inside of you, pushing you down onto the counter. Your mouth drops open in a silent scream and you hear Mike let out a whine at the feeling of being in you.

He starts to pump himself in and out of you, and he pulls you up by your shirt into his chest to make you watch yourself in the mirror. He fucks into you like he can’t get enough of you. Like being inside of you isn’t close enough.

“What would your mother think? Hm? About her sweet little angel getting fucked in the bathroom?” Mike says in your ear, with a sickeningly sweet tone. It's like he just knows how to push your buttons. You let out a low moan at his words.

“Fuck, I’ve wanted to do this for so long.” Mike adds and your legs shake when he uses the hand that was holding you up to rub your clit. You drop back down on the counter and Mike grabs your hip with his free hand, using it as leverage to bottom out in you with every single thrust. He throws his head back in ecstasy and you clench around him, signalling your impending orgasm.

“You wanna cum?” Mike asks, and his voice is raspy and fucked out. You nod your head ‘yes’.

“No, want you to say it.” Mike says, and you can tell he’s close by his sloppy, less rhythmic thrusts.

“Please, Mike. Please, can I cum?” You beg, your voice hoarse. The filthy sounds of skin against skin echo throughout the bathroom, and if someone has tried to enter the bathroom since you’ve been in here, you’ve been too fucked out to hear it. Thank god I locked the door, you think.

“Cum, baby, Fuck.” Mike chokes out. Your legs shake as you cum around his cock, your orgasm only heightened by the feeling of him filling you up. You bite down on your hand to muffle yourself and you swear to god you hear Mike whimper, pussy drunk as he continues to ride his high thrusting in and out of your sloppy pussy.

After catching his breath, you feel Mike pull out of you and you wince at the feeling of his cum dripping down your inner thighs. You slowly tilt your head up as you watch Mike get some toilet paper to clean himself up. He tucks himself back inside his boxers and pulls his pants up. You flinch a little as you feel him come up behind you, cleaning you up with more toilet paper.

“Sorry, was I too rough?” He asks softly, looking at you through the mirror and you shake your head.

“No, just sensitive.” You say as Mike finishes cleaning you. You pull your panties back up, letting your skirt fall back over your legs. Your knees buckle a little bit as you try to stand straight and Mike rushes over to you, lending you a hand.

“You know, I actually think you’re one of the only people who genuinely thinks I am good enough.” Mike says, and you look up at him.

“Of course I do. I always have.” You say softly, gently touching Mike’s cheek.

#smut #mike schmidt #josh hutcherson #josh hutcherson smut #fnaf #fnafmovie #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt smut

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barbieaemond · 6 months

Text

A curse for a curse

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x wife!Reader

Warnings: angst, sub!Aemond, smut, oral sex (f and m receiving), overstimulation, orgasm denial, p in v, chains kink (idk if that’s even a thing but it’s there)

Word count: 8.5K

Author’s note: PLEASE READ THIS ->There's a little canon divergenge as in Rook's Rest is not happened yet, so Aegon is King and Aemond went to Harrenhal. Based on a request I got for sub!Aemond.

Taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @ashovertheriver (y’all i can’t remember the others, I had my taglist in my old blog so…sorry 🫠)

Harrenhal tastes like curse and smoke when she enters the blackened and ruined walls.

She is sure, as she is sure that dragons are real, that this place has been cursed over and over since Balerion and Aegon the Conqueror proved that not even stone was safe against dragonfire.

The air is heavy in her lungs, as breathing through a thick layer of wool and her steps echo down the corridors in a strange way; it seems like a never ending sound, echoing through the walls and many lost ages.

But her stride is steady, her eyes fixed on the doors of the Hall of One Hundred Hearths where she is sure to find him, where she will end this thing for which she has no name, and yet it is draining her, wearing her out like a starved leech.

“When is Aemond coming back?” the Queen Mother asks, and then little Jaehaera asks the same question, even Helaena, in those rare moments of clarity, wonders about her brother. And each time, she doesn’t know what to say. Her lip grows stiff, her jaw clenches and she wonders obsessively from dawn till dusk. What is he doing there?

Why has he not returned now that Harrenhal has been taken?

What is he doing with that bastard woman?

“They say she’s a witch.” King Aegon says with his glassy eyes, putting down his cup as he looks around to choose a target on which to pour his anger. Wine seems to not work anymore, it is not enough to quench his thirst for revenge, and unfortunately, she happens to be the easiest mark.

“He killed everyone in that gods-forsaken place. Everyone except the witch.” He leans forward, watching her with amused anticipation just like a child who waits for his favorite toy to break. “Why did he not do it, sweet good-sister?”

He wants her to snap, and surely something does snap inside her, but she refuses to be humiliated like this.

“I do not know, your Grace. Perhaps my husband learned the Gods’ mercy and decided to spare a woman.”

His chest shakes violently as he laughs, and there’s nothing more humiliating than his laugh, not even the whispers traveling all the way from the Riverlands.

He’s taken her as his prisoner, keeps her in his chambers.

She has utterly bewitched him.

Every word is a stab to her heart and every time his word reaches her through a raven, the wound splits more open and festers.

He does not mention the bastard witch. He says nothing on the matter. He informs her of the war progressing, tells her he will come back soon.

Soon.

Soon was two moons ago and he’s still there.

It doesn’t matter anymore, she thinks as she reaches the doors of Harrenhal. Soon is now.

The look on Ser Criston Cole is almost comical as two soldiers open the doors of the Hall of the Hundred Hearths. “Princess?”

She immediately looks around, but there’s no silver in that huge black hall.

“What are you doing here?” the Hand asks, walking to her “It is not safe for you—”

“Where is the Prince?” she cuts him off, her tongue hitting her teeth like a blade cleaving the air.

Ser Criston looks puzzled for a moment, and even if she doesn’t show it, anguish twists her gut. But then he says “The Prince is not here, your Grace. He’s out, on the battle camp.”

She looks at the soldiers in the room, watching her like some kind of weird creature—a lamb in a den of wolves. That is no place for a princess, no place for a woman. And yet, it is precisely her place.

She belongs to his side. As he belongs to hers. It’s what she’s been telling herself for two moons of sleepless nights.

She should have come here with him in the first place, war be damned.

“Leave, please.” She orders the men “All of you. I need a word with the Hand.”

They may not be used to taking orders from a woman, but they immediately leave the Hall like a pack of unruly children.

The thud of the doors is like some kind of curtain falling and she is finally free of this act, free to snap.

“What is going on here, Ser Criston?”

He shifts on his feet, looking down, looking utterly incapable to answer her question. “The situation in the Riverlands is quite delicate at the moment—”

“I don’t give a shit about the war, Ser Criston.” She almost hisses “You are perfectly aware of what I’m asking.”

His mouth shuts and she resists the urge to use her hands as talons to part his lips and grab the truth from his throat.

“What is going on between Aemond and the witch.” she states, she is not asking.

The Hand sighs deeply and takes a step closer. His whole demeanor changes, becomes confidential, almost fatherly. “My Princess, you must not believe the foul whispers that have been spread.”

She feels a glimmer of relief blooming in her heart, but not strong enough to relinquish the leeches sucking at her bones. “What should I believe then?”

“It’s true. The Prince spared her life.”

“Does he keep her in his chambers?”

“What? Seven Hells, no. She has her own chamber. A little room in the wing intended for servants.”

“Did she ever visit his rooms? Alone?”

Ser Criston looks down for a moment, his lips contracting. “You must understand, my Princess. There are no servants here.”

The wound between her ribs cracks open.

There are no servants here. Did she help him dress? Did she help him bathe? Did she do all the things she used to do? All the things only she was entitled to do?

“I want to see her.”

“Princess, it is not wise.”

“I believe it is very much wise, Ser Criston, since my marriage is at stake here.”

Ser Cole sighs again. “She’s…dangerous, my Princess. She’s eerily persuasive.”

“So, you think it’s true? That she’s a witch?”

“I’m not sure about her powers, my Princess. All I know is that…one of our soldiers spat in her face when she was still a captive by order of the Rogue Prince and she just…murmured something to this man.” He swallows lowering his gaze and takes a deep breath. “The next day he ripped out his own tongue with his bare hands, bleeding to death.”

Disturbing as these words can be, she keeps a steady and cold face.

“She claims she can read the flames. That they speak to her, that she saw all of this happening—the Prince coming here. She claims she saw the fate of the war.”

A long silence stretches between them, but however right the Hand’s reasoning may be, she is not keen to let magic and superstitions take what she has come here to retrieve. “Take me to her.”

Ser Cole stalls for a moment, trying to make her give up by merely looking at her. But at last, he caves. “As you wish, my Princess.”

Her room is completely bare, save for a hearth and a bundle of dirty covers and a pillow thrown on the ground.

She enters and the air feels even heavier, more cursed. She feels it like something weighing on her shoulders, drying her throat.

There’s a woman sitting before the fire, clad in rags with long black hair falling down her back. She seems to register the door opening and closing only minutes later, as if she was too focused on her fire staring. But then she turns her head and looks at the woman before her with a strange smile.

“Alas, you have come.”

The Princess blinks quickly, watching the woman stand up and walk closely to her, chains on her feet and hands. She feels something unsettling under her skin, behind her eyes, as if she can’t stop looking straight into the green eyes of the witch, not even if she wanted to.

“You must be Alys.” She says, quickly scanning the witch before returning, inevitably, like a magnet, into her bright green eyes.

The woman, whose age is impossible to determine, keeps her smile as she looks at the Princess from head to toe. “You are exactly as I saw you in the flames.”

“That will save us some time, then. No need for introductions.”

“No. I know who you are.” The witch says, curling her cracked lips some more “I can see his mark on you.”

“His mark?”

“Yes.” She says, unnaturally widening her eyes. “He leaves a mark on everything. Things, places, people. Much like me, I’d say.” From her throat gushes a high-pitched laugh, jarring and spiteful. “We have much in common, the Kinslayer and I.”

The way she utters the last words makes the Princess grind her teeth, as if they were…what? Friends? Allies?

Lovers?

“Have you been in his chambers all this time?” she finally asks and the witch has the boldness to roll her eyes. “Is that the only reason you’re here? To know if he cheated on you?”

“Answer my question.” The Princess orders.

“Darling, If I wanted to fuck him, I would’ve done it ages ago.” She starts laughing again, grinning mischievously and then she sighs. “You left your mark on him as well. I can feel you in his head. And you are so heavy.”

She doesn't know what to make of that. There is not a single reason why she should trust her word. And it's not just the alleged powers this woman may possess. It's her whole demeanor. Haughty, even though she is a bastard. Mocking, as if she looks at the young woman before her, and sees much, much more.

“Just as you, I’d say, since he’s forsaken his family and his wife to do whatever you’re making him do it with your witchcraft.”

She bursts out laughing, so loud that the Princess flinches and takes a step back.

“I’m not making him doing anything. I can’t play with his head. He’s too stubborn. I did not curse him, sweetheart. Your beloved prince is already accursed.”

“Then what do you want? Gold? Lands?”

“I do what the flames command. I serve no God, no King, no Lord. And neither does your husband. It was his choice to see.”

“To see what?”

“What the flames choose to show. I know how this war will end. I know which color will stain the other for good. I know who will sit on the Iron Throne.”

The Princess furrows her brow, confused and puzzled, apparently pleasing the witch who smiles again and nods. “Oh yes, he will make a sight to behold wearing the Conqueror’s Crown.”

Who? Aemond? On the Iron Throne?

“So that’s how you’re keeping him here. With visions and fantasies.”

“He asked me to. At the moment I’m more valuable to him than all his generals and soldiers put together. Besides, I know how to deal with him.”

The Princess almost laughs at this. “I see. You think you can handle him, don’t you? A wild dragon for you to tame, is that what he is for you?”

“Well, I’m not denying he’s handsome enough to please my eyes.”

“And once you have tamed him, what will you do? How will you handle him when you scratch the surface, and you see the neglected son? Lonely, misunderstood, maimed. The boy no one cared for.”

It is the first time the witch does not have a quick biting answer. It makes the Princess rejoice.

“All your witchcraft won’t be enough to handle him.”

The witch falls silent. There is a distant look in her eyes as she observes the Princess and the more she stares, the more the younger woman feels dreadfully uncomfortable. She starts to feel something in the back of her mind, like a gentle abstract push.

“Ser Criston." she says suddenly, swallowing but keeping a collected mask. "The keys, please."

“Your Grace, Prince Aemond will not be ha—”

“I’ll deal with Prince Aemond.” She says, looking straight at the witch and the ghost of a superb smile hovers on her lips “I know how to handle him.”

The Knight slides the keys from his armor and hands them to the Princess. She is ready to free the witch’s wrists, but she stops, locking her eyes on Alys. “There is a carriage outside. And some guards who will do whatever Ser Criston will order them. Take it and go wherever you want, there’s even gold in the—"

“I told you, I don’t want—”

“I don’t care of what you want!” The Princess snaps, raising her voice, and the pushing dissolves. “You live to serve the flames? Fine. Do it elsewhere, far away from us.”

Alys shuts her parched mouth, and simply nods. “As you wish, Princess.”

She removes the shackles from her feet, and then from her hands, holding the chains between her fingers. Alys touches her hurting wrists, before tilting her head down in some kind of bow, or maybe a mocking gesture. The Princess cannot bring herself to care.

The witch makes her way past the younger woman but at last, she stops for a moment, leaning back her head of dark curls to say “I did touch him, just once. He put a knife to my throat.”

Vhagar likes to nestle on the burned blackened towers of Harrenhal, like some kind of dreadful reminder of the legacy of ruins and ashes Balerion the Dread has unleashed on this cursed land.

Aemond enters the castle walls with his circle of counselors and generals. They crowd on him like bees with honey and he knows why. He knows that most of the time they don’t have a clue what they’re talking about. They hang on his lips and jump like little good soldiers, jostling with one another in the hope of gaining something more when the war ends. A land, a title, one of them had even had the guts to offer a daughter to marry.

“I am not sure of what you are implying, my Lord.” He had said to the Lord with a dangerous black glint in his eye, as the fool thought it was wise to remind the Kinslayer that he and his wife had had no children yet. “Whether you are insulting me or my wife. I am sure of one thing, though. You will shut your hole before I take your tongue and feed it to my dragon.”

There were no more talks of unwed daughters between those walls.

“My Prince, if you allow me—” one of them says as they enter the Hall of the Hundred Hearths “We should give the lords who pledged for the Blacks more time to consider—”

“I gave them enough.” He says turning with a glare, looking even taller than he is, with his silver armor streaked with gold and the long green cloak. “They will pledge to my brother before dawn or I will bring dragonfire to their lands. Then we shall see where their loyalty lies while they burn to the crisp.”

They all shush and Aemond almost thanks the Gods for this brief blessed moment of peace. He ponders for a moment and then looks at a young soldier behind him.

“Summon the witch.” He orders “Bring her to me.”

He looks down to remove his riding gloves but out of the corner of his eye, he sees that the boy is still there.

“Uhm, my Prince, the witch is not here anymore.”

“What do you mean she’s not here?”

“S-she left, your Grace.”

The last word does not even leave his mouth the poor soldier feels a hand around his neck and the Prince is easily lifting him from the ground as if made of feathers. “You let her flee?!” he rages with his eye blown wide.

“I-I did—not your Grace!” the boy manages to croak while he’s choking, legs kicking like a chicken in the butcher’s hands.

“He’s right. I did.” Her voice cuts through the air and Aemond turns his head in a blink, looking positively stunned to hear his wife, to see her there.

He lets the soldier boy go and stares at her on the threshold of the huge Hall. He blinks with disbelief, as if he’s finally able to see after days and nights spent in a cloud of fog. Something shifts inside him him—something that has been wandering ceaselessly day and night, lifting the weight from his shoulders, from his black heart. Not Harrenhal’s weight, not Alys’. A weight far darker, a curse far more dangerous.

“Out.” he orders the Lords “All of you.”

They obey at once, scattering down the Hall only to stop for a moment before the Princess, to pay their respect.

The doors close but she stays on the threshold. His eye roams on her figure, once and then twice. He has never seen her wearing such a simple dress, easy to disguise her noble roots, her royal ones. And even though the mere sight stokes almost three moons of ugly and burning desire, it only makes him angry. It only makes him ashamed.

“What in the name of the Seven are you doing here?”

She walks to him and without uttering a single word or even sparing a glance to him, she begins removing the heavy armor plates from his body.

“What are you doing?” he asks with deep wrinkles on his forehead.

“My duty as wife.” She replies sternly, holding his arm “Or did you forget you had one?” she looks at him and sees rage blazing behind his eye—rage and maybe a tinge of hurt.

“Am I doing it right?” she asks removing the armor plate from his forearm “Was your witch friend better than me?”

The metal clatters on the ground as he grabs her arm, hard, pulling her close. “I asked you a question. We’re at war and you go strolling around the continent? Have you lost your mind?”

She tries to wriggle herself out of his iron grip, unsuccessfully as always. “How strange, that is a question I should ask you.”

“Enough.” He says grinding his teeth, digging his fingertips into her skin until her mouth twists with pain.

“Enough was two moons ago, Aemond. When you were supposed to come home, to your family, to me.”

“In case you didn’t notice, we’re at war, my dear wife. Things in war don’t go exactly as you planned them—”

“Oh spare me!” she cuts him off, freeing herself “Spare me the war talk, that’s all I’ve been hearing from you.”

“What did you expect exactly? Love letters?”

“I expected what I deserved. To know the truth. You have not mentioned her. Ever, not even once. Do you have the faintest idea of what I’ve been through all this time? Of all the dirt they have been spreading behind my back?”

“I don’t want to hear about it.” He says turning his back on her, as if he had not done that enough.

“No, you will.” She promises, circling him to look straight at him again. “They said you were so besotted with her to deny her leaving your chambers.”

“I don’t want to hear about it.” He says again, closing his eye for a moment.

“They said, and this was from the wretched mouth of your beloved brother, that you put a child in her womb since I was not able to give you an heir.”

“I don’t want to hear about it!” he shouts, and she knows she hit a nerve there, because he never shouts.

“Why? Does it make you ashamed? It should. I had to hear all of it. I had to endure it while you stayed here playing fortune teller with your witch whore.”

His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath and raises his gaze to look at her, dead serious. “You know nothing about her powers. She saw many things, happened precisely as she predicted. I needed her. I needed her powers and you had no right to send her away.”

“You needed her?” she repeats, pale with utter disbelief. “You needed her for what? For her to tell you how good you’ll look wearing the Conqueror’s Crown? To feed you with fairy tales while we risk our lives staying in the capital, unprotected because Dreamfyre can’t fight and Tessarion is still in Oldtown. What if the Blacks decide to attack us now? They have a dozen of dragons, we have only Sunfyre.”

“The Blacks will not attack.”

“Did she tell you this? Did she see this in the flames?” she can’t fight back the contempt curling her lips “Are you listening to yourself? Flames and visions to win a war? You poor fool.”

“Watch your mouth, woman.” he seethes “You don’t talk to me like this.”

“Or what? Are you going to chain me up? I kept her chains, you know? I thought you’d like a token of your time with the witch.”

“Did you come here for this? To make a scene like some common girl who feels threatened by another woman?” his lips turn upwards, curling and twisting with ugly deprecation “What do you think you know about the war? What is your contribution while you lie around in a lavish castle waiting for me to come back and fuck you? I’ll tell you. None. You can’t even perform your duty to give me an heir. And you come here to lecture me?”

The wound is rotting from the inside and he’s pouring salt on it.

“I came here for my dignity. As a woman, I have nothing else. I came here for your mother, who I fear will go mad with worry just as your sister. And lastly, to tell you that I’m with child.”

Aemond stills completely, so much that she thinks the witch’s curse is hitting him right now, no matter how far she is, turning him into stone.

“But it seems utterly irrelevant to me right now. So, go. Hurry! You might still find her.”

She moves to leave the room and he does it at the same time, trying to reach her, to stop her, but she flinches as he tries to touch her, battling his hands away.

Aemond utters her name, softly, and it makes her stomach turn.

“I will leave at dawn.” She informs him with a blank face “I won’t disturb you and your precious war any further. Fret not, husband. I will stay in my lavish castle like the good soldier I am, waiting for you to come back and fuck me.”

This is place is not only cursed, but it is also so freezing cold that she wishes for one of those direwolf furs the Northerners use to wear as she sits before the hearth in what she assumed to be Aemond’s chambers. The room is large, even larger than the ones they share in the Red Keep, but it’s completely bare and almost ominous with its black walls that stink of ash and smoke.

A cursed place, fitting for a cursed woman.

She has been for quite some time. Because she chose to stay by his side, because she chose to love him.

“We could turn to a Septon. Annulments are rare but possible. You cannot remain married to a Kinslayer, it is the highest of sins.” Her father had said in the aftermath of Lucerys’ death. She had looked at him like he was some kind of lunatic.

As if she could leave him, as if she could turn her back on him and marry another man.

As if he hadn’t left his mark on her.

She thought the Gods had cursed her for good, that was why, however much they tried, she couldn’t bear his child.

“A child is the highest of the blessings from the Gods.” Her mother had said during one of her last visits to the capital “How can they bless your union with a man so accursed?”

And yet.

She is impatiently waiting for the sun to set. Even if her limbs have never been so heavy, as much as her heart, she finds no reason to stay here, not when she can’t stand even the sight of him. But of course, how can there be peace in such a cursed place?

She hears the door opening. She knows his gait. She wished to hear it for two moons as she lied alone in their bed.

She hears him approach until he is beside her, but she does not look at him. She only sees his arm holding out a small tray.

“Eat.” An order, not an invitation.

She doesn’t even bother to look at the food, keeping her cold gaze on the fire. “I’m afraid I lost my appetite, dear husband. You can thank yourself for that.”

She can feel his eye piercing, burning her skin, the air coming from his nose short and harsh.

“Eat or I’ll feed you myself.”

She doesn’t bother to even answer this time.

Aemond stares at her, waits for her to look at him, he needs for her to look at him. “Is it true?”

“What?”

“That you’re with child.”

“In my husband’s lovely words, I lie around all day so I guess I’m capable enough to notice if I miss my moonblood.”

He leaves the tray on the stone mantelpiece, noticing a pair of chains lying there, and then looks down at her. “You will stay here with me.” Another order.

Another rejection. “I will not.”

“Yes, you will. You are not going anywhere, not in your condition.”

“I see. Now I’m worth something to you, am I not?” and finally she looks up “My duty is fulfilled, my womb is finally swollen. It’s a shame your witch left, we could have asked her to look in the flames and tell us if it’s a boy or a girl.”

Aemond lowers his shoulders and grabs her chin with the same cruelty he is used to brandish his sword, tightening her cheeks to prevent her from uttering another word. “I said enough.”

He watches as she tries to escape his grip, pushing his shoulders as her eyes grow more and more scornful, and he knows he deserves it. But that ugly thing breaks, snaps like a thin rope pulled too tight.

His mouth is on hers, fingers squeezing her cheeks to force her to take his kiss, which is not really a kiss, but more of an act of war, a relentless and rather quick siege, because she was already starving. She opens his mouth and this alone makes him whine with relief as his tongue slides between her teeth. Her hands grab his doublet collar, knuckles turning white and she angles her head, only to bite his lip hard enough to draw blood.

He winces as he pulls his head back and sees her licking her lips, a dead distant look in her eyes. But her hands move, gently, through his silver strands. "My words are but blunt knives on you. I must hurt you in the only way I can."

“I did not touch her.” He says like an oath “Ever.”

“I know you didn’t.” she reassures him, but her eyes stay distant, as if even being this close now, they are also miles and miles apart. “Maybe it would’ve been better if you had.”

“Did you want me to fuck her now?”

“I wanted you to need me, not her.”

His eye is on flame, rage and shame dancing together, but it’s not aimed at her. He finds that the only person on the receiving end is none other than himself.

Something dies in his eye, his shoulders slump and his head falls forward, hiding what no one would dare even think of seeing on the stern, cruel face of Aemond One Eye.

He kneels before her and lays his head on her belly, catching her off guard. She can't see his face, and yet she has it before her eyes, clear and indisputable as something carved into stone.

The surface has never been so frail. She doesn’t even need to scratch it, she only has to lift it.

No man is so accursed as the Kinslayer.

She had thought it true enough, but what about Aemond’s curse?

“I know you feel guilty.” She says, or rather whispers, as if she’s being blasphemous by accosting such a word to such a man. “I know you feel guilty for Jaehaerys. For Helaena.”

His answer is mute, but it’s the loudest confession she could get.

He fists the fabric of her gown between his hands, knuckles turning white on the verge of breaking. She feels him nestling further inside her, like a child, and she closes her eyes for a moment, placing a hand on her wound to stop the bleeding, and leans over him, sliding her hands on his back, softly but firmly, as if helping him to stay whole, as if preventing him from breaking into pieces.

Aemond didn’t believe in curses.

He did not regret, not even for a moment, the murder of Lucerys. He did not care that the Gods had turned their backs on him. They had done it a long time before. He did not care of how people called him, of how they would baptize him in the annals of his lineage.

He had started to care, to feel guilt, after he actually killed his kin.

For he had killed Jaehaerys, he had killed Helaena.

Kinslayer. Kinslayer. Kinslayer.

In his head, he heard that word with his mother’s voice, with Aegon’s, Helaena’s.

He found some kind of peace, of solace, only in his wife. But then the war was calling and he fled to Harrenhal. It was his duty, it was his way to try to make things better, to get revenge.

He had taken Harrehanl back and he knew he should have come home. But then the witch, the very same who had forced a man to rip out his own tongue, had spoken to him, talking about visions and flames, of predictions that happened to be alarmingly accurate, of him sitting on the Iron Throne with the Conqueror’s Crown on his silver head.

And he saw an opportunity, however blurry, to set things right, as they should have been in the beginning. He saw a way to get the upper hand in this war. And furthermore, as much as he did not realize it, he had found a way to stay away from the Keep. He would rather dare with witchcraft than return home and hear Helaena's wails cutting through doors and walls, and through his heart.

But next to the guilt had come the shame, for he had turned his back on his wife, for he could imagine the filth their enemies and non would spread, like shit flowing in the sewers.

He had tried to confine her to the back of his mind, but she became heavier and heavier as the days passed, along with the scarce letters in which he never mentioned the Rivers bastard.

She, of course, had sensed it immediately.

“You can’t win this war if your mind is elsewhere.” She had said one night, on one of his visits to her room.

He always stayed on the threshold, arms laced behind and poorly disguised distrust stretching his features.

“I told you to stay out of my fucking head.”

“You need not worry, my Prince.” She retorted with a chilling smile “I can’t play with your head. It’s too heavy…and ugly. And this woman…oh, she’s eating you alive.”

The witch is gone now, and yet she is still there.

She lingers on the walls of his chambers like a ghost, she imposes a wall between him and his wife and perhaps neither of them is strong enough to climb it. So, for days they just circle one another like wounded animals.

The Princess is staying with him of course. He has forbidden her to leave his side and she has caved, on one condition though. She has given him three days to deal with the Riverlands and then they will go home, together, where they are needed, where the mighty dreadful Vhagar is needed.

The day before their departure, Aemond returns victorious from the Riverlands. He has gained the allegiance of the lords in a way Visenya Targaryen would be proud of.

He will never forget the Lords' faces draining of color, probably pissing themselves, as Vhagar roared a war chant in the sky, and tongues of fire brushed the lands as warning.

He enters the chambers quietly and sees her crouched on the floor as her hands dig into a drawer, pulling out papers that she carelessly drops to the ground. Aemond closes the door firmly, announcing his presence, and she looks at him for a single moment before sighing in defeat, closing the drawer.

“Looking for my love letters?” he teases, for the first time after days of loud silence.

“I was looking for ink, actually.” she says looking below a paper left on the table. “Besides…love letters from you? Ghastly.”

He can’t fight back the smirk curling his mouth as she walks close to him and begins removing the armor. He looks at her face and she’s stern, almost rigid in her gestures, in the way she touches him, as if she despises doing it and yet she can’t help herself.

He doesn’t have a clue.

He doesn’t know that her stiffness has nothing to do with contempt. He doesn’t have a clue of how much she aches for him. Of how much she wants for him to take her, fast and rough, as he often used to do, because she can’t stand to be treated like some porcelain doll to be cocooned thanks to his child growing inside her belly. She wants to be more than that, she demands to be his wife again.

“Have you eaten?” he asks her, gently, and she wants to break something.

She can’t stand it anymore. She can’t stand all the questions.

Did you eat? Did you rest? Did you sleep?

“Is this how is going to be from now on?” she asks looking up “You acting as if you are my maid?”

He clenches his jaw and his face turns stern just like hers.

“First you accuse me to have forsaken you and now you don’t want my attention. Make peace with your mind, wife.”

“I want you to be my husband.” She says getting close to him until she smells dragon and ashes.

She wants to bathe in it. “I want to be your wife.”

Aemond’s eye lingers down on her throat, on her constricted chest, and his lips part. “You are.” He vows, locking his eye on her.

“Prove it.” She whispers tilting her head with a challenge dancing on her parted lips, hovering against his.

He is one breath away from swallowing her whole but he stops, melding their breaths in one, and he grins. “Are you going to bite me again?”

“As if you didn’t like that.”

A moment later his teeth sink into the soft flesh of her lip, her neck. His hands are everywhere, frantic and needy. She can feel he’s restraining from holding her too tight, but she wants, no, she needs more. She wants him in her bones.

They move without logic, clinging to each other, trying to assert dominance on one another. He grabs her wrists and forces her down on the chaise beside the hearth. He is looking at her in the same old way, as if he’s blind to anything else. She aches so much for him that she’s breathing hard, the word please climbs her throat, slides on her tongue, but she will not beg for him.

In all truth, she doesn’t have to.

He kneels on the ground like a pious man at the altar, and she hikes up her skirts, spreading her legs to place them on his shoulders, heels pressing on his back to bring him close.

“You know what you want, don’t you?” He teases with a feral grin.

“Curse you and your hideous smirk.” She says sliding on the chair to bring her apex close to his overly talkative mouth.

“You love my smirk.” He says grabbing her thighs to secure them around his face. “Besides, I’m already cursed.” He leaves a red mark biting on the soft skin of her thigh, looking straight at her and how she startles, whining in half pain half pleasure.

She catches a glimpse of the sapphire glinting between her thighs before her eyes fall shut and she moans unnaturally loud as he licks a stripe along her wet folds and up to her apex.

She is trembling with anticipation, with arousal that pools from her, glistening his mouth and nose. Her hips begin bucking against him and he moans contentedly as he buries his tongue inside her, lapping and tasting like a starved beast.

Her breath grows shorter and shorter for how close she is already, so much that he stops to look at her with a spiteful grin. “Already? Gods, you must have missed me terribly.”

“Shut up.” She whispers hoarsely and pulls herself up just enough to grab his head, pulling his hair to force him to take where he left off. Her hips are rocking on their own against his face, nails scratching his scalp harder and harder as she comes undone in his mouth, while he hums with pleasure, drinking of all her. Eye fixed on her as he watches her throw her head back, spasming and trembling with a loud moan.

Her back hits the back of the chaise as she catches her breath and looks at the black ceiling in a moment of pure bliss. Two moons of anguish are but a distant memory, her mind is foggy, she doesn’t even remember the face of the witch.

He dismantles her legs from his neck and she looks down at him, cheeks red, watching as he climbs on her, unbuckling his belt.

“No.” she says, and she stops his hands. “Do you think I would make it so easy for you?”

Aemond looks at her, half puzzled half curious, and then she pushes him down, overturning their positions so now she’s sitting on his lap, feeling all of his hard length against her.

“It’s my turn to prove it.” She says raising an arm that goes on the mantelpiece behind them.

“Prove what?”

“That you’re my mine.” She promises, and Aemond hears the distinct sound of metal clinking.

She lowers her arm and he sees a pair of chains between her fingers. He is bold enough to smirk at her. “I thought you were the one who wished to be chained.”

“I’m not the one in need of a lesson.”

She grabs his wrist but he easily pulls away. “What if I don’t want to?” but there’s an intriguing glint in his eye, on the edges of his arched mouth.

“Then who will take care of you?” she asks with fake innocence, grinding on his cock, and she smiles as the air comes out of his mouth in a hiss. “Are you sure your hand will suffice?”

He looks at her with challenge, breathing slowly through his mouth, and he caves.

“Chain me.”

She smiles darkly and grabs his wrists, fastening the chains and then locking them to the sides of the chair. She stands and grabs his legs, sliding his back further down.

She notices his eyebrow rising and she looks at him. "I want you to be comfortable. I'm afraid this will not end so soon."

He swallows with anticipation and watches her as she slowly climbs back on top of him and begins to unbutton his doublet., pushing the fabric aside to reveal his diaphanous pale chest and her hand slides over it, over his ribs, stomach, and navel, halting his breath.

Her lips hover against his, swallowing his shallow breath, but suddenly her head dips down, leaving a trail of little heated kisses on his neck, on the planes of his chest.

He watches as she does that, feeling her lips like burning embers marking his skin. Her eyes lock on him and she opens her mouth engulfing one of his nipples, circling her tongue around it. He tilts his head back, lips parting to let a puff of scorching air out, and then she's grazing her teeth over the soft pink skin.

The chains metal clink as he winces.

She grins pulling herself up and slides a bit down his legs with her bottom, so she has open room to his belt. She begins unbuckling it, looking at him, watching the glare he’s giving her.

“I can’t tell whether you want to kill me or fuck me.”

“I need you to fucking do something.”

“Like what?” she asks, palming his cock through the fabric “Tell me, husband. I may grant your wish.”

He rocks his hips in one slow movement, trying to feel every inch of her hand, but it’s a faint touch that only makes him ache for more. “Move, grind on me.” His voice is imperative as always, but his tone is different—all heated and husky.

She frees him of the constricting belt and breeches and lays on him, releasing a blissful sigh when she feels the hot hard flesh colliding perfectly against her core. The chains clink again as he tries to move and she smiles, caging his snatched waist between her legs.

Aemond is panting quietly, trying to get a grip on his own body but he finds it’s a useless fight when he’s so hard it’s starting to hurt.

But then his wife seems in favour of granting him some mercy. She starts grinding on him and his lips part some more, panting loudly this time, as he feels, and hears, the beautiful obscene sounds her wet flesh is making rubbing on him.

“Lift up your skirts. Let me see.”

She stops grinding and he almost whines with annoyance, moving his chained wrists in a useless attempt to grab her waist and force her to move again.

“I don’t like that tone, husband.” She says, and her voice is husky as well, her breath labored “Ask nicely.”

Aemond is silently starting to regret this whole thing. Patience was never one of his virtues, if he even has virtues. He’s completely at her mercy and cannot do anything but comply.

“Please. Lift your fucking skirts and let me see.”

“Hmm.” She hums smiling. “Better.”

Her skirts turn into a bundle of fabric around her waist and he dips his chin, looking straight at their flesh as she resumes her torture.

“Fuck” he utters, his eye growing heavy but he keeps looking, and he doesn’t have a clue whether it’s the rubbing or the mere sight of her coating his cock that draws a moan out of his throat.

“Do you see how I much I’ve missed you?” she asks hoarsely, grinding more and more firmly.

His head hits the back of the chair as he keeps panting and rocking his hips against her, lifting his waist as if desperately trying to slide inside her.

“I touched myself every morning. I woke up all wet and aching for you. And where were you? Here, plotting with your witch.”

“Enough of that fucking witch.” he croaks, a sheen of sweat is ghosting on his forehead. “Faster.”

She does the opposite. She stops altogether. And this time, he can’t do nothing to muffle the whimper gushing out of his trembling mouth.

The Princess tilts her head, savoring each moment, and soon his piercing glare comes back even sharper. “Once I’m free of these fucking chains, I’m going to fuck you senseless till morning.”

“Unless you are still chained to this chair in the morning.”

He watches as her hands hover on his thighs, a feather touch that drives him mad, that makes his hips buck uselessly. His lips twist, swallowing a plead his pride won’t allow him to let go.

But she hears it nonetheless, in the way his fingers flex and twist, in his chest raising fastly. It may suffice, but it doesn’t.

“Stubborn, are we?” she teases, just like her hands, barely touching down his navel. “Your witch got it right. She said you are too stubborn, that’s why she couldn’t play with your head. She couldn’t handle you.” her fingertips finally dip down and she can see the silent plead in his eye.

“I can, though.” her palm brushes the tip and he whimpers, again.

“Please…” he whispers impossibly low, too low for her liking.

“Louder, my love.”

His mouth twists again but the need, the ache is so heavy that it burns out all the pride numbing his tongue.

“Please…” he begs freely “Please, touch me.”

A groan rolls out of him as she finally grabs it, squeezing softly before starting a slow rhythm up and down. He pants loudly, hips moving on their own as he tries to fuck her hand with a steadier pace. “Don’t rush it.” she scolds him, placing a firm hand on his waist to stop his frantic movements.

“I can’t take it…let me come…”

“Already? Gods, you must have missed me terribly.”

“You’re cursed, woman.”

“Takes one to know one. A curse for a curse.”

She looks at him, hair all ruffled and sweaty on his forehead, a painful pleading expression twisting his sharp features and she smiles victorious. “I have half a mind to leave you like this.” She says and for a moment, he dreads she’s being serious.

“Luckily for you, I’m just as greedy as you are.”

In a swift moment she nestles between his legs and he’s moaning loudly before he even has time to register anything, except her lips locking around his tip, sucking so harshly he thinks she’s going to utterly drain him.

She starts a steady pace, just as he likes it, taking all of him, down to the base untili it hits the back of her throat. The chains clink and clink against the chair as he twists his wrists, bucking his hips harshly to fuck her mouth as deeper as he can, enthralled by the lewd sounds she’s making.

“Gods, yes…” he moans watching carefully as he slips in and out of her “Yes…just like that, just a little more…”

She feels him tense inside her mouth, she feels him tense all over and she knows he’s dangerously close. She stops for a moment, licking her lips and looks at him. “Don’t tell me you’re going to break the rule.”

Aemond groans with frustration, not having the faintest idea of what she’s talking about. He isn’t even sure he remembers his own name. He is just blood boiling and bones so tense they’re close to snap.

“What was it again?” she asks “Ah, yes. My seed belongs in your cunt.” She leaves a trail of soft kisses on his hard flesh and he whimpers once more. “My ever-romantic husband.”

“Fuck the rule, you’re driving me mad. Let me come.”

“Ask nicely.”

“Please.” He begs “Please let me come in your mouth.”

The Princess is merciful enough to grant his wish. She engulfs him once more and he moans loudly for how sensitive he is. She picks up the pace and pride washes over her, pooling between her legs, as she sees him writhing beneath her, moaning with his mouth open, eye closed shut and the chains clink like a frantic bell while he twists his scratched red wrists.

He curses and mumbles nonsense under his breath until he stills completely letting out a long and loud grunt, spilling abundantly inside her mouth. She swallows to the last drop, gently sucking the pulsing tip.

The chains are finally still and silent. He’s breathing hard and short with his head thrown back, staring at the ceiling without seeing anything.

That is until he winces, feeling her hand on his sensitive skin. He raises his head to look at her, almost puzzled. She smiles slyly, moving her hand up and down. “Did you think it was over?”

If he did not feel so spent, he would be utterly thrilled and definitely flattered.

“Seven Hells, woman, give me a bre—” words die on his tongue wiped out by a hoarse gasp as she takes him in her mouth again. But this time, she sucks so slowly that Aemond actually whines in pain. And she looks straight at him, while her head bobs, relishing every moment, watching as he comes undone beneath her, babbling pleads, begging her to stop and a moment later to keep going. His voice is breaking, cracking as he whines and whimpers, poised between pain and pleasure.

Soon though, she hears more whines of pleasure than pain, as gets harder and harder in the hot haven of her mouth.

Suddenly she stops, and just stares, savoring the sight before her. The cruel Aemond One Eye, chained to a chair in a mess of sweat and sobs.

“Untie me…” he says, trying to make it sound like an order, but it’s a pale imitation of his usual tone. His words are slow, sluggish.

“You are not in charge here, my love.”

“Then quit the act and fuck me.”

Perhaps, if she wasn’t so equally desperate for him, if she wasn’t leaking between her thighs, she would have prolonged this torture, this excruciatingly sweet punishment. But she can’t take it anymore.

She climbs on him, and it takes her the least effort to let him slide inside her. He slips his back further down that chaise so that his hips are angled just enough to thrust into her, fast and steady.

“Oh Gods—yes!” she moans throwing her head back, frantically bouncing on him.

“D’you miss this?” he rasps, with a tinge of his usual infuriating confidence “Did you think of this when you touched yourself? Missed my cock inside you, hmm?”

She clamps a hand on his mouth to shush him and he bites her palm, thrusting even harder, making her whine loudly until her throat goes dry and her sight go white. They fall in a wild frenzy, utterly intoxicated with each other, leaving bites and marks all over, sealing one inside the other with a curse much more dangerous than any kind of witchcraft.

They come together, as she clutches his head to her chest so tight that he can barely breathe. He rests his head on the chair, slowly catching his breath, and she nestles against him, still sank on him.

He moves his hands to touch her, wincing for his aching wrists.

“Untie me now, would you?” he asks softly on the crown of her head.

“I’m not sure.” She muses against his chest. “I’ve quite enjoyed having you at my mercy.”

“Who said I didn’t?”

She moves her head to look at him, a little smile starting to light up her face and he looks down at her lips, mirroring her.

“Besides, it’s your turn.”

She raises her eyebrows fighting back a smile. “Now?”

“Haven’t you heard? No man is so accursed as me.”

#a curse for a curse #liv (in la vida loca)#aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond x wife reader #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x wife reader #aemond smut #hotd fic #house of the dragon #aemond one eye

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kneelingshadowsalome · 5 months

Text

Christian Woman

(König x Nun!Reader)

Word count: 6.4 k Tags/warnings: Pining intensifies, religious despair intensifies, minor injuries, treatment of wounds, crying, enthusiastic kissing, König gets a few boners. 18+ for eventual smut in this story.

A/N: Don't tell me you wouldn't get horny scared too if you saw this tall guy suddenly emerging from the shadows in his full war gear :) There's a cute date night and a lot of angst in this chapter too, I tried to summon an actual plot here... As always, I need to explain why they’re bonking! But smut is coming, next and last chapter will be full of fluff and steamy first times (Reader is virgin!)

Part 2

You have a feeling that this is the last day you’ll see him.

The stranger from the Austrian Alps, the kindest mercenary you’ve ever met – the only mercenary you’ve ever met – the giant soldier who now carries a piece of your heart with him. You wonder if he even knows he owns it.

The morning prayers and mass are a chore and bring you no comfort, and the usual dawn bliss is gone. You find no delight in singing with your sisters, and withdrawing to your cell for solitary prayer feels like stepping back inside your own personal purgatory.

You’ve been in heaven and in hell for days now. Maybe since the moment you met him...

But at the same time, you know it must’ve been the Lord who brought you together. There must be a reason for God to make you two meet, you refuse to think it’s only because He wishes to tempt you. There must be a bigger plan; the connection, as sinful and carnal as it is, has to serve some higher purpose.

And you wonder if you’re going mad, because your most sinful thought is that you actually see God in him. It’s just your lower instincts speaking, a demon of some sort that tries to misguide you because no man is like Lord Jesus.

And yet, don’t they always preach that you meet Him in every person you meet? And that through you, other people meet God too…?

This reasoning feels much better. It solidifies the mercy you’ve longed for during the brief weeks you’ve known this man who brashly calls himself König. You want to believe that he carries a spark of the Divine in him, and that you hold a grain of the Virgin Mary’s compassion and love in you.

You decide to hold on to this thought: that you were meant to meet so that you could come to know God through each other. For in König, you see a suffering God, a crucified Christ who rises against evil by offering himself to the cruelty of men. Somehow, the image of him as a mortal man starts to twist into a divine, dark trooper, someone who battles the forces of the evil in this world.

And this reasoning leads you to think that it is only natural that you, a Sister of the Faith, have helped him find some rest and relief in the middle of his work. It’s pretty clear that König has found some solace in your company, and even if things have ventured into a forbidden area of low, simple lust, it’s not dark enough to taint the beauty and grace you've felt together. As long as you hold on to this purity, nothing can go wrong.

While praying for both of you that morning, you find yourself replaying the smiles and touches König has given you these past weeks. You know you will drown yourself in memories after he's gone because they are all you’ll ever have of him.

And they're more than enough.

Or at least they should be…

You feel a tiny dagger of guilt push into your heart, the place reserved for Christ, when you’re assigned to do some spiritual reading instead of helping out in the kitchen or organizing the small library. The appointed texts are about falling into temptation and sin, reminding you about the consequences of such actions. You read the passings with a heavy heart and then slip out to meet König, possibly for the last time.

You wear your everyday clothes to the café, and König says nothing about your sudden moral choice, only gives you another longing, enamored once-over. You keep him at arm’s length, both physically and emotionally, and the effects of this unexpected cold shower are immediate. The man doesn’t even try to disguise the sad, puppy-eyed stares he shoots your way.

You hate it that the bright, playful air of your meetings is gone, and your heart is tearing itself apart in your chest because the only thing you wanted was to spread joy into his world. Even the Lord seems disappointed in you being so cold-hearted, and you can’t bear to see His sadness and suffering in König’s eyes.

You get offered not one, but two coffees today, and a large piece of dark chocolate cake that tastes of pure sin. He talks about how he would love to write to you, but you tell him you can’t be in correspondence with a man who isn’t your brother or father. König isn’t even married, so it would only raise questions – you would find yourself reading spiritual texts about lust and sin until it drives you crazy.

“I’m leaving early tomorrow,” he finally reveals with a voice thick with sorrow. “Can I see you before I go...? One last time?”

“I’d love to, but… I’m sort of being watched,” you say, slowly coming out of your shell to make it clear that you’d want to spend the rest of your life with him, but you simply just can’t.

Your weak, apologetic look is like a dose of confidence shot through his veins because the face opposite of you brightens immediately. König’s whole posture gets a hopeful uplift.

“Just for a little walk...? To see what the city looks like in the evening?”

“I don’t know if I can make it… I have to work until six... And attend the evening prayer at seven. And then silence starts at eight…”

You’re wringing your hands under the table while you explain, hoping König will come up with a solution to this dilemma.

“We can go for a walk after silence, then,” he shrugs.

“I–I can’t just escape from the window.”

“...Why not?”

You look at König; he looks straight back.

The man’s serious about you sneaking out your window at night; he’s actually serious, even if there’s a dark, playful smile rising on his lips.

“I can help,” he grins.

Your heart cracks open, it shoots full of light only more and more with that smile. König doesn’t need to ram a door down and shoot his way through your chest; all he has to do is sneak inside your heart and take the place that belongs to God. You don’t even feel the difference as he makes himself at home.

Well, actually, you do... It’s like your Christ’s love and mercy have finally come to flesh and blood before you. They're materialized in the man sitting opposite of you, bouncing his knee excitedly and grinning like the most innocent little devil on Earth.

You find yourself whispering “Ok”, and the whole world shifts.

You take a step towards something forbidden but great, your whole heart starts to sing along with life. You haven’t even done the actual thing yet but you’re already filled with bubbling laughter and excitement. If only your friend could see you now, about to do things she probably did when she was fifteen...

But everything feels so right that it can’t be a sin – if it is, it just so happens to be the most natural, most divine thing to do too.

If this is the last day you’ll ever see him, you can surely steal a tiny moment for yourself and forget about rights and wrongs for a moment. Just forget about the rules, and live in the actual world for a few hours, breathe the worldly air, see what normal people do and pretend you’re one of them, for just one night.

…

You feel like Cinderella when picking clothes for the evening.

You rummage through the only closet in your room – during the time that should be spent in silent prayer before bed – and notice you still have your old jeans.

They’re light blue and still fit; actually, they fit more than well... You know that König’s eyes will be glued to your butt when you’re not looking.

You have completely forgotten how nice you look in jeans, and it’s the Devil talking, making you admire yourself in tight denim like this. You never cared about how you look before; you certainly never gave much thought to how men see you or if they’re checking out your butt or breasts. Now you’re grooming yourself like never before, trying to decide what to do with your hair as if your life depended on it.

You choose a simple, black t-shirt to pair with the jeans and not make it too obvious that you’re trying to flaunt yourself. It hugs your form but is otherwise plain, and for some people, your choice of clothing is probably their regular work outfit. To you, it feels like you’re about to go out to seduce everyone.

Everything’s so tight and earthly; everything’s so… there. Visible... Touchable.

Lord, have mercy on me. I know I’m weak. But please let me have this, just this once…

And König has seen you without makeup all this time, so what on earth has possessed you to lament the fact that you don’t own a single case of lipstick? You’d kill for a few sweeps of mascara, too, just to bat your lashes at a silly man.

It’s not a date, you remind yourself.

It’s not a date... It’s not a date. You’re just going to have a short walk with him.

And you fear that accepting König’s “help” was a mistake. If you get caught with a man on the convent perimeter, you’ll get your ass thoroughly whooped…

Can a man of his size even keep quiet?

He probably suggested it so that you wouldn’t chicken out of this. If König is at your window by 8 and there’s no sign of you, he’ll probably just come in, throw you on his shoulder and jump out. He knows where your window is located now, and surely has some questionable skills due to his profession, skills you know nothing about, but you’re still about to have a panic attack from pure excitement when the clock strikes 8.

You push the window ajar and settle on the sill to keep watch, gasping when you hear his familiar accent down below as soon as the window is open.

“Kätzchen...”

“König…?”

You peek down and meet his stupid, grinning face – God, he’s so happy to see you kept your promise. His eyes are shining, his fingers interlock to help you have something to place your foot on.

“Here, kitty, kitty…”

You could easily jump out the window without hurting yourself, but of course he wants to help you since you were so kind to tell him where he could come and "pick you up".

But to see that playful smile and hear him trying to coax you out like you’re some skittish little kitten…

Could a grown man get any more silly?

You wiggle yourself out the window, trying to ignore the fact that he’s probably staring at your butt, still grinning like crazy while you do it.

SupportING your entire weight like it’s no trouble at all, he helps you down. You’ve never been this close to him since you bumped into him: you have to take support from his shoulders as you search for a footing, and he scoops you in his arms the minute both your feet are safely on the ground.

“I knew you’d come,” he purrs with joy, and you place your hands on his chest – not to keep him at bay, but to touch him in a way that is as appropriate as possible when a man is hugging you like this.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” you whisper, still unsure if this is the best or the worst decision of your entire life.

“Kitty… Live a little, hmm?”

You have to crane your neck to look up at him – you’re not sure if you’re in the embrace of Jesus or Lucifer because the warmth of those eyes compare to the love of God, but they also make you weak and helpless. Whenever you’re with your sisters, the feeling is pure, pristine love, not a surge of complex emotions and thrill like it is with König.

“You’re a bad influence,” you breathe – König only laughs, and the grip around you tightens.

“My lady. You’re the one who climbed out the window.”

“Because someone would’ve probably thrown small rocks on it if I hadn’t…!”

“Natürlich. And if that didn’t work… A serenade or two. Do you like love songs?”

You look down at his chest, smiling, heart fluttering at the thought of a silly Austrian man serenading under your window. You have no trouble imagining him singing something syrupy in German, waking everyone up with his racket.

“You’re crazy, did you know that...?”

“Sure. They tell me that all the time at work. Aber du… Du bist süss.”

“...What’s that?”

His smile only widens as he takes in your lips, your neck, the tight shirt that finally gives him something more to look at.

“You’re cute.”

…

The whole evening is heavenly.

It’s everything you’ve ever wanted from a date and more.

He doesn’t take you for a short walk, oh no. He takes you out to eat, at some lively restaurant where they serve delicious, artisan, wood-fired pizzas. You have créme brûlée for dessert, and König gives you his strawberries when he notices you eat them first, but only on one condition: you have to let him feed them to you one by one.

He buys you a rose: a big, red, plump one. No man has ever bought you flowers before, and even if you love lush, abundant bouquets, the fact that he chose you a single red rose after you’ve spoken about the beauty of simplicity, doesn't escape you.

König hasn’t only listened to you these past few weeks: he gets you. And how symbolic is it that he chose a rose that’s also tied to all the mysteries of God?

You walk the streets with a flower in one hand and his palm in the other. It's a holy trinity of him and you and the Great Mystery, it’s passion and it’s thorns, it’s blood and beauty and pain, and you feel like he just gets you; he knows you through and through.

You pass by an outdoor bar with live music, and the place is so crowded that people are dancing on the streets. No cars honk as they slowly pass by the scene, the music and the laughing, dancing pairs make even the grumpiest passersby smile.

It shouldn’t be a surprise that König pulls you to him before you get to escape the scene. You’re drawn flush against his chest, hips colliding with his, hands finding each other in a slow sway that has never even seen the steps of Latin dances.

“Nuns are allowed to dance, no?”

He smiles dreamily, enveloped in the same sweet haze as you.

“Not with a man,” you correct, but don’t even bother to push him away. Instead, you let König guide his hand down your waist and draw you closer. If this isn't a date, you don't know what is...

“I can take the blame,” he says. “You can tell everybody it was me.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” you laugh.

“Why not?”

His eyes are glued to yours, making you warm all over, so much so that you feel like you’re burning from the neck up. You guide your stare down to his chest, then over to the quick heartbeat on his neck.

He's nervous, too... Your cruel soldier is nervous, and kind, and shy because he's pressed against you.

You rest your head there on his chest, watching the golden sunset far away, painting the rooftops with a genial glow. Your heart is made of molten gold, too, as you allow yourself find a home in his embrace.

“I can take your sins,” he promises above you. “Jesus did that too, right?”

“You’re not Jesus,” you smile against his shirt – black, always black...

“Are you sure? I would go to hell for you.”

Your dance comes to a halt as you swallow and lift your gaze. The smiles are gone now, both yours and his. He’s so close now he could touch your lips with his if he wanted to.

And he does want to.

You don’t shy away as he leans down to kiss you. It’s chaste at first, a slow exploration, but then he opens your mouth with his, demanding, hot, intoxicating. You melt in his arms, and he somehow supports you through it all, turning the dance into an embrace and the decent little kiss into a full French one.

It’s hot and wet and slow, so, so passionate that your knees are about to give in. You devour him back, feel how he grows hard against your stomach – the swelling erection makes you dizzy before you come to your senses, but only barely.

You break away an inch, panting into his mouth while he’s panting into yours. What a blessing that you don’t own any lipstick; both of your lips are red without it…

“This is–”

“Inappropriate?”

His voice is husky, and sends a flood of wetness down between your legs. Your heart is racing, but you can’t even note how terribly alive you are before he attacks your lips again.

The kiss is even more desperate than the first one, and the slow urgency is gone. His mouth leaves you without air, and then – he wraps his arms around you and picks you up from the ground like you weigh nothing. Your hands get squished somewhere between you, naturally coming to cup his face as you kiss him back.

It’s eager, pure lust, so powerful and needy that it scorches through your chest and ties your heartstrings into tight little knots, makes your brows knit together, too.

He grunts into your mouth, sensing you’re more than up for this after all. You let him see the full depth of your hunger and your lust, just waiting to be released and taken – made love to until you’re both sore and messy and limp.

God… This is better than God…

You hear whistles and whoos in the distance, some men yelling, “Let’s go!” and “Get a room” while they pass by. Realizing you’ve fallen into a dream trap of strong arms and needy lips about to depart tomorrow, you know it's something you could have had years ago, perhaps, but not anymore. You'll lose everything if you break your vows tonight: basically, you’ve already broken them, but no permanent damage has been done.

You can still turn back if you turn back now…

You push yourself away, push him away, heart clenching when you see his adoring, love-drunk, half-lidded stare.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, fighting back tears as you come down from your high. “I just–I can’t…”

He breathes labouriously, still clutching you against him, holding you in the air like you’re the thing he has searched for his entire life and now, finally discovered… Only to be told that he now has to put it back where he found it.

You’re crying by the time he sets you down, and you have no heart or will to pull away. Instead, you bury your face in his chest and cry your fill in his shirt. It’s soon damp from your tears as König hugs and supports you through his own stoic heartbreak.

“I’m sorry... I’m sorry…”

You repeat it until you can’t repeat it anymore, bawling in his chest while the world around you continues to spin despite your heaven and hell, despite your vows, despite your stupid devotion. The world revolves like it always has, as you choose a crucified man over the one who’s flesh and blood and holds you through your pain.

“Kätzchen, don’t cry,” he pets your hair while you sniffle and tremble in his embrace. You know this is not the last time you will cry your heart out over him, but knowing it doesn't help you when he offers you his last, bittersweet comfort.

“It was a good dream while it lasted...”

…

The rose withers in your cell.

You turn it upside down and tie it to the curtain rod to prevent it from dropping its petals. It dries beautifully and keeps its bloodred colour, now reminding you of both Jesus and him.

There hasn’t been a word from König in months, and of course there hasn’t. You denied his wish to write you, and the dried rose is the only thing left of your time with him.

In the first weeks, it’s hard to keep up a charade. You show up to prayer, work and mass with red eyes, revealing to everyone that you’re going through a loss of some sort. Somewhere during the first week, the abbess summons you to meet her and you brace yourself for a scolding.

God knows you don’t need the rebuke, and when you close the door and turn to face the symbolic mother of the convent, you end up breaking into tears right in front of her.

“Whatever you were up to, my child, I am glad that it is over now,” she says with all the gentleness of the world.

“Me too,” your voice breaks, and when the abbess extends her hands, you go to her, fall to your knees, and have another heartwrenching cry with your face in her lap.

You’ve denied yourself love and mercy for days, expecting to be expelled or shamed or ridiculed, but mercy is what you’re offered now, even after you’ve sinned.

The abbess caresses your hair just as softly as König did just days ago, and the fact that her kind gesture reminds you of some silly, infatuated soldier, only makes the breakdown worse. You bawl like a little child who’s deprived of candy, and you don’t even have the strength to berate yourself for it.

“I hope you haven’t done anything irredeemable...?”

“No... Nothing happened,” you sob and look out of the rose window, desperate for sun while your head rests on a gentle but distant lap.

Nothing happened except the most sinful, beautiful, lustful kiss of your life... Nothing happened except that you saw this man every time you could, held hands with him, swam in his smiles and affection, and went to bed with thoughts inappropriate for any human being.

“The world tests us in many ways... But Lord never tests us. He only loves us.”

Something in that sentence finally quenches the neverending flow of tears. Your muscles start to relax, and you remember that this is the eternal truth: to surrender, over and over again, to a power far greater than you.

The abbess never asks for details about what you have done. She never tells you you have sinned; you don’t need to be told that. The punishment has been dealt already: whoever ties herself to this world and its temptations will suffer exactly like this when the passion and excitement ends. The key to escaping its grip is to simply let go first, once and for all, surrender to the love of God, and trust that everything fill fall into place eventually.

“You must offer your mind and body to work now,” the motherly voice speaks above you. “Work, time and prayer will ease your pain.”

…

Work, time and prayer do ease the pain.

They ease all pains, but it takes almost six months to stop thinking about him every hour of every day.

You’re proud of yourself when you find out one day that you haven’t thought about him at all. He just now crossed your mind when you remember how he used to smell: of salty seabreeze mixed with intoxicating musk, the scent of excitement and safety all in one.

You could almost swear you catch a whiff of that particular scent in the yard when you go and water the flowers one evening, but it can’t be: he’s gone, and there’s nothing you can do about it, nothing you even want to do about it because you already made your choice. This path leads you to greater peace of mind in the long run, and you know you made the right decision even if it hurt you and König.

Sunsets still remind you of him, the colour of rose and gold mixed with endings, but the memories are now laced with bittersweet love rather than blunt despair and pain. The times you spent with him are a collection of brief, blissful moments, and you treasure every single one of them in your heart. You still pray for him, not every day, but nearly every day. You touch the rose when the hurt reaches its peak, but the last time you did that was almost a week ago.

And you thought you had forgotten his scent, but apparently, you have not. In fact, it seems to drift to your nose again, which is odd because you’re outside, after all…

“Kätzchen.”

A whisper is hissed from the shadows just as you’re about to straighten and investigate, because either you’re going crazy or then there’s someone here who smells exactly like him.

You startle and almost drop the watering can, staring straight into the shadows under your window. The tallest man you’ve ever seen steps out from the dark in full combat gear, and while you can’t see his face because it’s covered with a draping black hood, you recognize it’s him simply from the way he moves.

“Don’t be afraid. It’s me,” he rasps and tries to straighten from the slightly hunched position he’s in, but immediately falls back, then slants to lean on the wall. His gear is dirty, and he holds the side of his stomach with one hand, the lively blue eyes either drunk or very very tired.

“Dear God… What happened to you?”

You abandon the watering can and rush to him; it’s useless to ask if he’s injured when, clearly, he’s trying to prevent himself from slumping to the ground.

He’s enormous and intimidating even when wounded, a soldier loaded with ammo and weapons and protective paddings and guards, wearing a hood and a helmet and a radio of some sort, his tactical gloves bloody and eyes droopy. The weapon by his side is almost half as tall as you, and God – is that a grenade strapped to his vest?

“I got compromised,” König looks down at the wound but doesn’t remove his hand. He looks so different, like another man entirely when he’s not dressed in his customary olive green pants and a casual black t-shirt. He seems even buffier now, even taller, so terrifying that you wonder if you ever even knew this man.

You must look like a frightened deer because König mistakes your horrified look as sweet, simple concern.

“Don’t worry... They have it much worse, I assure you,” he says with his usual grin – you can hear it from the way he says it that he’s smiling. But it’s so weary now, so exhausted and frail compared to his confident, playful laughs and that husky voice with which he spoke to you after your kiss.

“I came to ask for help,” he continues under his breath, wobbling even when leaning against a wall. “You’re the only one I can… trust.”

“Of course, anything. I will do anything I can.”

His eyes smile down at you from behind the executioner’s veil. It’s that same devoted stare you’ve been trying to dispel for months now. You give yourself a quick mental shake, then tell him to wait here while you go in and call for an ambulance.

König bounces off the wall and seizes your hand, telling you he can’t go to a hospital and that, if anything, he must avoid any kind of public places. You don’t ask any further questions, even if you know you’re in a pickle now, and not only because those glacial eyes are making your knees weak again. There’s nothing much you can do: he’s wounded and still in danger, saying he can’t trust anyone else. Of course you have to help him in any way you can. If he says it’s not safe, then you must help him get somewhere where it is safe.

And besides, aren’t you a nun? You’re supposed to help those in need.

So when he asks you if there are any motels or a bed & breakfast nearby, you say you know just the place.

It makes your heart bleed that König takes support from you while you slowly make your way down the street. A man of his size, a body trained to withstand whatever his job throws at him, seeking support from a frail little nun… It’s a joke, indeed, and a horrid one.

When you get to the small place run by a humble old man, you don’t know who to feel more sorry for: the elder behind the counter or König, desperately trying to stay on his feet.

“I mean no trouble,” he says while pushing an unnerving amount of money across the table. “I just need a place to rest.”

The receptionist’s eyes dart to you, then back to König, who still has what you suppose is a loaded rifle dangling by his waist. The safety is on, probably, but there are also knives and grenades strapped to his person, and with that hood, he mainly looks like a terrorist of some sort.

“She’s here to help. See...? Bride of Christ. Even less trouble than I am.”

You try to smile reassuringly as the man risks a better look at you now instead of being fixated on König or his weapons.

You must make an odd pair, a soldier and a nun... The old man probably has a ton of questions in his head right now.

“No shooting,” he says to you, but his words are directed at König.

“No shooting,” he promises. “No mess if no one knows we’re here. Ok...? You’ve never even seen us.”

The receptionist nods. Then he extends a trembling hand and takes the money, and hands out a key without taking any check-in information.

You go to König and help him up the small stairs and into his room paid with bloody money and a menacing appearance. The fitted carpet is old, and floral patterned, the room small and adorable and meant for visitors far more petite than König. The bedspread is old-fashioned and floral too and has never even seen blood, of that you are sure when König lays himself down with a grunt.

You spend the next minutes – or hours, you can’t tell – in a tunnel-visioned fog as you do exactly as he says.

You help him out of his gear and weapons and lay them aside quickly but gently, you cut his shirt with an ugly-looking knife, then get a watered towel for him to press against the wound. You rush back to his tactical vest and search for a first aid kit and some medicine, and start to treat his wounds per his advice.

The sun sets in the window, and you patch up your injured soldier with care, trusting his word when he says it’s only a flesh wound and that it looks far worse than it is.

“I should get shot more often,” he purrs when you’re cleaning the rest of the blood off his skin.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you scold, trying to focus on your task and not the vast plates that make his chest. Or the thick abs, right there under your fingertips… Or the fact that he has incredibly narrow hips, and a luscious breath of dark hair leading from his navel down and underneath the waistband of his pants.

You suppose this is what your friend calls a happy trail...

And it does make you very happy.

You don’t dare to look beyond that because the pants he usually wears aren’t as tight as these, and you fear he’ll catch you checking out his junk in an attempt to see if your friend was correct about his size.

To your blessing – or your curse – you don’t even have to look straight at it to see he’s having an erection. You can actually see from the corner of your eye how König grows hard while you’re treating him – it’s right there, a robust tent that rises beside you while you concentrate on wiping off the blood.

“Pay no mind to that,” he says thickly and completely without shame. “It just happens… Can’t control it.”

He breathes a bit too heavy for someone who’s lying down, and you fear it’s because of the blood loss. But then you start to suspect it’s probably because all the remaining blood has gone between his legs… He doesn’t even try to tone down the heated, obsessive stares he shoots your way, and you suppose he’s either missed you very much, or then there’s a fever rising after all. You’re not sure if you’re glad or disappointed that the bullet didn’t scrape his leg instead.

“I missed you,” he says like he just read your thoughts. He whispers the sentence slowly and with purpose, saying it like a long-withheld secret.

“I missed you too,” you whisper back.

Gosh… Here you are, a silly little nun who’s tried to get over a crush for six months, crying after him at night and caressing his rose during the day. You’ve been petting a withering flower some mercenary gave you in hopes of getting into your pants, you’ve fawned over memories of a few smiles and a kiss, all the while the said mercenary has killed people for money and now got shot. He came here to work again, but never sent a message, he only came to see you when he was injured…

...And you’re glad he did. If a bullet was needed to bring him back to you, then you’re grateful for it, no matter how horrible it is.

“Did you ever… find someone?” You ask while keeping your gaze fixed on his navel instead of the raging bulge in his pants.

“Someone, who?”

“Someone to hold hands with.”

He gives a strained laugh. “Ah. No. No time for that.”

You swallow, and slowly guide your eyes to his.

“Are you still happy with your crucified man?”

Ouch.

“I… I don’t know.”

His brows knit together; you can see it even in the dim light of the table lamp, you can see it even if there’s some godforsaken black war paint all over his face under that hood.

There’s a distant hurt in his eyes before he blinks softly, slowly.

“I wrote to you, Braut Christi... Many times. Never sent the letters… They’re still in my room, at the base.”

Your heart skips a beat.

He hasn’t had “time” for women, yet has written you letters all these months. He’s written letters while you’ve caressed a rose….

You wonder if hearts can find each other, even through a distance, and if you’ve felt the urge to go to the flower he gave you at the same time König has gotten the desire to write another letter to you. It’s bittersweet, like this whole thing between you two, the mystery that both brings you together and rips you apart.

“I wish I hadn’t… I wish I...” you start, but can’t bring yourself to finish.

“Liebling. I should’ve sent them anyway.”

You go get rid of the bloodied paper towels before you start to cry in front of him.

God… You’re not only in a pickle, you’re neck-deep in trouble, and you only notice you forgot to wash your hands when you return to him.

He reaches for your hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. Peace settles in, even if there’s blood on your hands and the man you adore is lying next to you, patched up with the help of a first aid kit when he should be lying in a hospital, receiving treatment and care.

There’s a knife and a pistol tucked under the bedspread, next to his hand, and the fact that he’s still prepared to fight anyone who tries to come through that door underlines the fact that you two come from very different worlds. König is more than just a rose buying, coffee offering gentleman, he's more than just a silly guy who threatens to sing serenades under your window if you don’t come out to play with him.

You’re not sure if you’re more enamoured or scared.

“You’re an angel,” he rasps from the bed as you try to swallow the tears that refuse to go down.

“No I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

A teardrop falls on the innocent floral bedspread as you wish you were in this room as a married couple instead of an injured, horny soldier and a childish nun in love. Spending your honeymoon or something, getting some rest after an eventful day in town, choosing this absurd old Bed & Breakfast as your place to stay for the night.

You wish you were doing anything else than treating his wounds, lethal or not.

“Are you crying?”

His voice is gentler than you even remembered. Six months of despair have turned him into a dark, alluring trickster when he’s really just a man, a big, amazing, tender man who’s multifaceted, multitalented, and always kind.

He's about to fall asleep, and it’s no wonder. The events of the evening have left you drained, too. You kneel beside his bed, too tired to even sit on a chair, wondering if he’ll die from his wounds tonight or get hunted down by the people who still want him dead.

“I wish you would stop killing people... I wish you would stop getting killed.”

You must look silly, kneeling beside a giant soldier’s bed, crying and holding his hand between yours as if praying. But his eyes smile at you, and while you’d want nothing more than to see his face again, you realise you kind of like König this way. Masked and menacing and mean to his enemies, but stripped down to his soul when he’s with you.

“I wish you would stop praying... And start living,” he mutters gently.

“Praying helps sometimes,” you whisper.

In truth, you wish you’d start living, too. You always thought you were brave when you said ‘no’ to the world. Perhaps you were only running away from it…

The hand is warm but not feverish. His breaths start to even, and his lids get heavier; his thumb gives you a small caress before he drifts off to sleep.

“Perhaps that’s why I’m still here, Kätzchen.”

#könig x reader #könig x you #könig fanfiction #konig x reader #konig x you #könig cod #könig mw2 #könig x fem reader

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lydiimae · 1 month

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Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

18+ MDI

Based on a request you can find here <3

Warnings: angst, mentions of family member death, mentions of alcohol, arranged marriage, awful reader relationship with mother, vaginal sex, nipple play, vaginal fingering, praise, making love

A.N: Hello my loves, and hello to my lovely anon. I'm so sorry for being MIA, I had midterms and good god they almost killed me ‘︿’. Anon- I hope that this is what you wanted, I am not the most experienced in writing angst but I found this quite fun (perhaps my love of making a dramatic story lol). Thank you all for the love, as always. Mwah ≧◡≦

He did not expect you to change so much in your time away. Sure he expected you to mature in the four years you were gone, you were coming back at the new age of twenty-one. He just did not expect all of the light, the light he loved, to be gone. His Y/N had changed. She had gone from warm to cold, from happy to sad, in such a short time.

Your father and his father were close friends. Both of them being Viscounts meant that they spent a lot of time together. You, being the eldest of your family but also too young and rowdy to really click with Anthony, got on just as well with Benedict. There was always an unspoken love between the two of you that neither of you were brave enough to admit.

The only one with who you got on better than Benedict, was your father. It was apparent for anyone to see that the two of you had a unique bond. A bond that you most certainly didn't hold for your mother. She was cold and extremely cruel, your father had only married her for convenience. So, when your father died, Benedict expected you to be devastated. Who wouldn't be? He had been sick for many years before his death, a case of scarlet fever that just never went away. It was expected, but that did not mean it was less painful.

The night he passed, you showed up at his family's doorstep in tears begging for the footman to bring him down. So, after being woken up by said footman, he tugged on a robe and rushed down the stairs. He saw you and immediately knew. He rushed to you and scooped you up in his arms before taking you up into his bedroom and soothing you into sleep. Proper decorum be dammed, he stayed with you the entire night and then had a carriage bring you back home at dawn.

A week later, you, your mother, and your younger sister showed up at the Bridgerton's door dressed in all black. Violet led you all into the drawing room and gathered the rest of the Bridgertons as well, after hearing your mother mention that she would like her dear friends to be present for a big announcement, always the attention hog. Benedict was dragged in by Eloise, expecting another lecture about the upcoming social season, but his face quickly fell when he saw you.

You already looked so defeated, so tired. You looked up and forced a sad smile, moving over on the sofa so he could sit next to you. He walked towards you quickly, and sat down next in the space you made, discretely offering his hand. Your face softened, and he could tell you were holding back tears, but nevertheless, you gripped his hand tight in your own before focusing your attention on your mother.

"We are going to France, where my family lives. I feel the girls should get to know the rest of their heritage now that their father has passed on." She says bluntly, the cold look on her face never changing. His eyes widen and instantly snap over to you, internally pleading with whatever power he can think of that this is not true. That you will not be swept away before he even has the chance to try and win you over.

You are chewing on your bottom lip, the anxious habit you have had ever since you were young. You look over at him slowly, your eyes filled with unshed tears that he knows you will not let fall. That is when he knows that it is true. His Y/N is leaving. For God knows how long. To be stolen by God knows who.

You sigh as you get out of the carriage that has trapped you for the past eight hours, stretching out your limbs before taking in the scenery. That damn two-day carriage ride from the port had been nothing but exhausting. The estate you grew up in is standing tall right in front of you, and yet it is almost unrecognizable now.

It looked the same, sure, but something about it seemed a lot less colorful without your father. The impending doom of your arranged marriage hanging over your head probably didn't help that fact either. Your mother had been clear in what she wanted when you got to France, a rich man. Not for herself, but for you. Someone who could expand upon the rather large dowery your father had left you. Someone who could make her rich, your happiness be damned.

And so that is just what you found. The hunt for a suitable husband had begun a year after you arrived in Paris, your eighteenth birthday coming and going without a peep from anyone but your sister, Lucy, and a long letter from Benedict. Your grandmother was just as cruel as your mother, if not more so. She quickly introduced you to a man named Noele Beaumont, a man in high-up places in French nobility. An extremely wealthy man.

In the three and a half years you had known him, the two of you had done nothing but fight. Well, the fighting consisted entirely of him shouting at you until you were either in tears or hidden away in the closet somewhere, your chest rising and falling much too fast. It seemed that cruelty was, in some sick and twisted way, attracted to you.

Your mother, after much convincing, had allowed you and Noele to take your home in London upon marriage. That, and, she had allowed for the marriage to be held in England. You were home, finally home, and now you were realizing that it does not matter if you are home or not. The world had lost its color.

"Y/N, whatever is the matter?" Lucy piques up from beside you, taking your hand. "I miss him, Luc. That is all. I miss him and I wish that he were the one here instead of mother." You whisper, wiping an escaped tear from your eye with the back of your hand before turning to your sister. "But at least I have you, and at least we are home." She smiles sadly in response, gently leading you inside.

Your mother greeted you both with a flat expression, having insisted on traveling home a week before to make sure nothing had gone awry in the years that you had been gone. Noele and his family will join you in a month, during the week of the marriage. It seems that neither of you wish to spend more time with each other than necessary. "You have a letter already, Y/N. From one of the Bridgerton's. Do make haste of reading it, we have no time for silliness." She mutters, handing it to you before walking off with your sister.

You sigh and walk into the drawing room after handing your cloak to a maid with a smile. You look around the familiar room and breathe deeply, hoping for the comforting smell of the tea your father used to brew, but are quickly disappointed when all you smell is your mother's obnoxious perfume. You sit down on the chair by the bookshelf and open the letter.

You recognize the handwriting immediately, Benedict. He wishes to see you as soon as he can, but more importantly, he has asked you to be a model in the latest portrait he is painting for his classes at the academy. You smile softly to yourself, taking in the woodsy scent that comes off the letter, the world getting a bit brighter if only for a moment. You sigh and walk up to your bedroom, smiling at the comfort that washes over you, before sitting down and drafting a letter of your own, telling him that you will make time for him come noon tomorrow.

You run your fingers over the parchment when you have finished signing your name. So many words left unsaid. You smile sadly and fold up the letter, sealing it with the wax crest of your family before passing it to a maid with instructions to take it to the Bridgerton household before the evening comes.

Oh, how you despise your mother. After about two hours of arguing yesterday, she had finally given up and allowed you to go and see Benedict. You were used to the names she called you, 'whore' and 'harlot' being the two she most often used, but she had far stepped over the line yesterday.

She had run out of insults to call you and moved on to Benedict. Insulting his artwork, his standing in his family, his habits, anything she could grasp at she used.

"You are to be married to a nobleman in a month, Y/N! You will be tainted by that boy, he is nothing but a disgrace! His head has always been in the clouds, you know that!" She shouted from where she stood in your bedroom. You grit your teeth. "Take that back this instant, you moron! That family has done everything for us! He has done everything for me, he cares more about me than you could ever dream of!" You shouted right back.

She had gone on for at least a half-hour more, finally giving up when Lucy walked in and pleaded with the both of you to stop. "You are nothing but a whore looking for attention, Y/N. You will ruin yourself with him. You will, and I will not help you out of the hole you dig yourself into." Your mother huffed, before turning and walking out of your bedroom.

Your sister had stayed with you last night. You had fallen asleep in her embrace, nothing but a mess of sobs. You wished for nothing more than to go to him right now and run away to the countryside, and leave all of it behind. But you had a duty, you had to look out for Lucy's happiness so she would not be doomed to the life that you are now forced to live.

You had woken up in the early morning, your lady's maid helping you into a dark blue dress before leaving you to your own devices. You spent the hours up until eleven reading and avoiding your mother like the plague. You walked downstairs once it was time to leave for the Bridgerton estate.

A short carriage ride later and there you are, in the same position that you were four and a half years ago, knocking on his door with tears in your eyes. You had become emotional about five minutes out, overcome with the joy of finally seeing him. Finally being able to speak to him, rather than imagining what his voice sounded like when you read his letters. You had missed the feeling of home when you were around him, you had missed how the world looked when he was in it. You had missed him.

He had been unable to sleep once he had written your letter, and unable to do anything but read in the drawing room in the hours before your arrival. He was sitting on pins and needles, waiting for the familiar sound of a knock on the front door to come so he could rush to it before any of the servants. He wanted your welcome home to be comforting, as he had known how much you had been through in France.

When he had gotten the letter explaining the marriage you had been dragged into he locked himself in his studio for weeks on end, being unreachable to anyone, even Eloise. He had spent the first two laying on the chaise, looking up at the ceiling with an unstoppable rush of tears slipping down his cheeks which only stopped when he fell into a restless sleep.

The tears turned to anger, which he let out through pages upon pages of poetry. Confessing his love, damming his foolishness or lack of words, berating himself into oblivion for why could he be so stupid as to not tell you to wait for him? To hold onto hope that he would save you?

Then the weeks of anger turned to inspiration, hours spent drowning his sadness with art. Countless paintings of you, of your favorite flowers, of the hill the both of you held so many memories upon, anything that could get him out of the depression he had been sucked into. It was the point that he was at now, a melancholic feeling lingering over his head that he refuses to let himself feel.

The knock comes right when the clock strikes twelve and he practically throws his book to the side, rushing to the door and throwing it open. You are finally home.

The tears start before you can stop them and he quickly tugs you inside, closing the door before wrapping his arms around you. You bury your face into the crook of his neck, and finally, after months of not allowing yourself to cry, you sob. You sob hard, a million pent-up emotions releasing like the snap of a string in your chest.

You look up at him through your teary eyes and smile. "I have missed you dearly, Benedict." You whisper a hidden meaning you hope he can uncover buried beneath your words. He flashes that silly crooked smile you have come to adore before ruffling your hair. "I have missed you too, Y/N. You will never know how much I missed you." He says, wiping your tears before taking a step back.

"You have grown up. You look so... mature." He comments, almost as if he is trying to figure out something about you. Something that even you cannot decipher. You smile in return. "You have as well. I believe I have the right to call you an old man now." You hum, beginning down the hall to where you know the room he has painted in his entire life is.

He chuckles from behind you, before following. "I am but eight and twenty." He whines playfully and you laugh. "That is two years away from thirty, and if Anthony is old then so are you." You opine, looking back over your shoulder at him before stopping in front of his studio's door. He grins and nudges your shoulder before opening the door for you.

You marvel at the surrounding room when you walk in. You knew that he was a good artist, it came naturally to him, but he had improved in your time away. You walk into the center of the room, walking in a slow circle to take in all of his works which line the walls and stack up upon the floor. Most are of women in various states of dress, ever the lady's man Benedict Bridgerton.

You are glad that some things do not change, but it also makes a strange feeling of longing bubble up in your chest. You wish to be naked like the women in the paintings, talking and flirting with him for hours on end. Making love to him when the heat of the room becomes too much. You wish to wake up to him beside you in the morning, for every morning for the rest of time.

You shake the feeling off and look over at him, noticing that he has already taken his place behind the easel. It looks as if he has already started his sketch. "It is gorgeous in here, Ben. You are the most talented artist in all of England." You say, a look of pure adoration in your eyes that he immediately picks up on.

You wish to die with nothing but the image of that sweet pink color that overtakes his cheeks to remember. He quickly turns his attention to his canvas and nods slightly, clearing his throat. "And you are the best flatterer in all of England. Thank you Y/N." He says quietly. When you begin to turn to face him fully he holds up his hand. "I quite liked the position you were in when you were looking over your shoulder. If it is not too uncomfortable, might you hold it? You had the most beautiful look in your eye." He says kindly, looking up to meet your eyes.

It's your turn to blush at both his kindness and his way of complimenting you. He had always said these types of things in passing, not realizing how much they affected you. You nod and take your original place in the room making him smile. "Perfect, as always." He whispers to himself before returning to the sketch.

After about an hour and a half, your legs grow tired. "Benedict, might we take a break? My legs are getting achy." You say, and he meets your eyes. "Of course, I shall have the maids bring us some tea and you can tell me more about your time in France." He says, gesturing with his arm for you to sit on the chaise that sits by the window.

You do so gladly, taking in the image of him wiping his hands of charcoal. You blush at the thought of the feeling of those hands around your waist, or cupping your cheeks. God, this is torture. You wait for him to come back, which only takes a moment.

He sits down next to you and offers his hand. You look down at it and smile softly, taking it in your own just like you used to. What happens next, you could have never predicted in a million years. He lifts your gloved hand to his mouth and kisses the back of it. Your eyes widen and you open your mouth to speak, but you are quickly cut off by him slowly kissing up your arm.

"Benedict stop." You whisper in a tone that is a far cry away from the authority you wished for that statement to have. He doesn't, he presses kisses to your elbow, continuing to work up your arm. "Benedict, I am serious we mustn't." You say, a bit firmer as tears gather in your eyes, but he still does not relent. "Benedict!" You shout, ripping your arm away and standing up.

"Oh please." He scoffs. "Do not tell me you did not wish for me to do just that." He says, standing up with you and stepping close. "Have you gone utterly mad?! I am to be married by the end of the month!" You shout in return. You wish for nothing more than for him to continue but he cannot. You have a man to marry, a sister to set free. Nothing can come between that.

"You do not love him! You have told me those words exactly!" He shouts back and you shake your head, beginning to walk out of the room. You get all of two feet away before he grabs your arm, pulling you to his chest. He leans down, his breath ghosting over your ear. "I have loved you since we were children, Y/N." Your heart shatters when he whispers the word love in your ear.

"You cannot do this now." You say, trying to tug out of his grasp but he keeps his hold tight. "I have to say it now, I have been a fool. I have kept my mouth shut for far too long, but I can save you. I can take you far away from this place, I-" He starts, but you are quick to cut in.

"How could you possibly save me, Benedict?!" You shout, finally getting away. You turn around and look at him dead in the eye, your eyes beginning to water. "By running away?! We cannot! My sister will be left to deal with that woman all by herself and then my fate will be hers! I cannot let that happen!" You shout, tears streaming down your cheeks.

"I left and came back married and suddenly you gain the confidence to say this now?! It is far too late!" You sob. His face softens and he brings you into a tight embrace, one hand at the back of your head while the other runs up and down your back. "You are too late. Why did you wait?" You sob into his chest and he says nothing, allowing you to cry.

He places his chin on the top of your head as he rubs your back, rocking you from side to side. "You must think of yourself, Y/N. Your happiness. Your father left you his money for a reason, you know that." He whispers after a few minutes of listening to your sobs. You look up at him and he cups your cheek with the hand that was on your head. "Your mother, however terrifying she may be, does not hold the power over you she once did. Your father made sure of that." He continues.

"You own the estate, you have the money, and you can make your own decisions. You just need to tell her, you must be brave." He whispers as your crying calms. "But what if she... what if she does something to Lucy-" "She will not. She will not have the power to." He interrupts.

Lucy is capable, you know that much is true. You also know that he is right, you have the money and the house, and therefore you have the power. A final gift from your father that you were too scared to realize. You look up at him and before you can think twice about it, you press your lips to his.

He smiles into the kiss and pulls back after a moment, pressing his forehead to yours. "You are a fool, Benedict Bridgerton." You whisper, taking a deep breath. He chuckles. "Perhaps, but I am also a fool who wishes for nothing more than to marry you." He says and you smile. "I shall do what you suggest, what my father meant for me to do." You whisper and he nods. "And I will be right there with you." He murmurs before kissing you again.

After an hour of warm tea and affectionate words, he takes you back to your estate. You go back and forth with your mother for an hour, trying to be kind, but it is when she starts the insults that you snap. You threaten to sell the house in France and never speak to her ever again, let alone give her any money, and she quickly shuts up.

You write Noele and the engagement is called off within the week. For once you thank the man's hatred of you, for it made him all too eager to get away. The engagement between you and Benedict is announced the next week, and the wedding is planned for two months in advance. The ton gossips about the timeline, of course, but the two of you pay no mind. You have both waited far too long to get married, why wait even longer?

You lie restless in bed the week before your marriage, your thoughts filled with nothing but him. The kiss you shared when he confessed running through your mind, sending tingles between your legs. The hot feeling that overcomes your body makes you want to do the things you saw men and women do in the paintings that lined the walls of your favorite salon in Paris.

Sex. You knew what it was, anyone who spent more than five seconds in Paris knew what it was. You had fantasized about it before, only ever with Benedict. You wanted his hard cock buried deep inside of you for hours on end, you wanted his head between your thighs, your lips around his length. You wanted all of it, yet he had insisted on waiting until your wedding night.

You sigh, tugging on the silk sheets and rubbing your thighs together to try and ease the dull ache that settled in your core, whining in frustration when the feeling did not go away. You hear the tapping on your window, almost as if it was hailing in the middle of May.

You stand and walk to the large window that leads out to a view of the garden. A pebble hits the glass and you jump, placing a hand over your now racing heart, and look down at the garden. You grin when you find your fiance looking up at you with the crooked grin that has such a hold on your heart. You open the window and lean out.

"What on earth are you doing down there?" You laugh, leaning your elbows on the window and placing your chin on your hand. "You are meant to say something about Romeo." He calls back, his grin only widening as you giggle more. "I shall not. You must answer my question." You smile.

"You are no fun." He groans, dropping the pebbles on the ground. "I wished to see you. I have been nothing but restless tonight and I thought I would spend that restlessness with you. Might I come up?" He calls, already beginning to climb the lattice that lines the estate walls. You nod, even though he did not wait. "I am quite restless as well." You sigh, watching him climb. "You do not need to sneak, mother is already back in France and Lucy cares not of what we do." You hum as he climbs through the window.

He wraps his arms around you and picks you up. "It is more romantic to sneak through the window." He murmurs in your ear as you wrap your legs around his waist. "It was very romantic, I promise you." You whisper as he lays you back on the bed, stripping down to his trousers before sliding into bed with you and pulling the covers up over the both of you.

He nuzzles your neck and places his hands on your hips, pulling you close. It's quite an innocent gesture, but it sends that tingle you were experiencing earlier to your core. Arousal begins to dampen your panties and you press yourself against him, silently asking for more.

He smirks against your skin when you rub up against him. He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your neck before leaning back to look at you. "It seems you were restless for the same reason as I was, love." He teases, which makes you blush. He chuckles and cups your cheek, running his thumb along your cheekbone. "Might I request something of you?" He whispers.

"Of course." You return, leaning into his touch and closing your eyes. "I wish to make love to you, now. I cannot wait one more second, and I most certainly cannot wait until our wedding night" He whispers in your ear, kissing the skin below it.

He makes a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, making you moan softly in response. "Please." Is all you can manage as he bites down on the skin of your shoulder, making sure to leave a mark. He grins and pulls back, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. You return it eagerly, wrapping your arms around his neck. This time, a moan slips past his lips and his hands tighten around your hips.

He moves his hands down your legs, slipping them under your nightgown and cupping your breasts. You whine and break the kiss, pressing your forehead to his as you pant. He watches the look in your eye as his thumbs swipe over your hardened nipples, making your mouth fall open. He groans at the guttural moan that escapes you before taking his hands away and throwing back the covers.

"Benedict please." You breathe, grasping at his arms. He grins but shakes his head. "Patience my love. It will feel so much better if I tease you." He opines, unbuttoning his britches. You gasp when they come off, leaving him in nothing. His cock stands proud against his stomach, it is big and thick, much bigger than you imagined. You grow antsy with the fear that it will not fit inside.

He senses your apprehension and bends down, peppering your face with kisses. "Worry not, dearest, you need only to tell me to stop or to wait and I shall." He whispers, patting your hips as a signal to sit up, which you do. "I will get you plenty warmed up for me, I promise." He breathes against your skin, making you shiver.

He lifts your nightgown up and over your head, throwing it to where the rest of his clothes lay against the floor. He groans at the sight of you in nothing but your panties, his cock twitching with delight. He unties the ribbons that hold your underwear up on your hips, throwing them across the room before capturing your peaked nipple in his mouth.

Your head shoots back and you cry out, laying back on the bed. He follows, situating himself on top of you without releasing your nipple. His tongue swirls around the hardened bud as his other hand cups your other breast, his thumb and pointer finger tweaking your nipple.

Arousal drips down your thighs as you cant your hips up, desperate for more. He growls when the soft skin of your stomach meets his already weeping cock. He pulls back from your nipple, moving the hand that is not occupied with your breast down to your hips. He presses down on your hip bone and you whine when you realize you have lost your ability to brush against him.

"You are doing so well, darling. You mustn't move, it is making me want to bury my cock inside you right now and fuck you until you see stars." You moan at the thought, wrapping your arms around his neck to bring him into another kiss. He grins against your mouth, letting you kiss him for a moment before pulling away and moving his hand off of your breast.

He moves that hand down to your hips, pressing down with just as much force as the other did. The one that was on your hips moves to your breast just as he takes your nipple into your mouth, giving your breasts the same treatment as before.

You are a moaning mess beneath him, your thighs and cunt soaked with your arousal as sweat drips down your neck. "Please, Ben... Need more. I... more." You whine, tugging on his hair. He lifts his head and smiles, making your heart flutter. He can go from a growling, groaning man to a loving partner in just seconds. It's intoxicating.

"Tell me where you need it, sweet girl." He whispers, kissing down your stomach and stopping just above your pubic hair, inhaling almost lewdly with a groan. You whine and your cheeks turn rosy with embarrassment.

"Between my legs..." You whisper, pressing your face into the pillow as the embarrassment of wanting him so much washes over you. He pats your thigh gently, making you look down at him. "Louder. Do not be ashamed. I want it just as much as you do." He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your abdomen.

You smile softly, warmth blooming in your chest. You sigh and let out a breathy moan as he sucks on the skin just above where you wish he would. "I want you between my legs, Benedict. Please. I.. have thought of nothing else for nights." You beg, loudly now as his kisses turn sloppy.

He groans at the thought of you laying in bed, unable to sleep because of the thought of him fucking you, of him pleasing you with his fingers or your tongue, with your hand between your legs. Rubbing at your swollen clit until you come calling his name. He wishes for nothing else than to watch.

He runs his fingers through your soaked folds, the both of you moaning in unison. He rubs his nose through your patch of hair before pressing his tongue against your engorged clit, sucking and swirling as he pushes one of his long fingers into your body, making you cry out.

You silently thank God that Lucy insisted on sleeping in the room downstairs, as now you do not have to silence the steady stream of moans that slip from your lips as he sucks and fingers you into a headspace you have never been to.

You clench around his fingers as he slips another one into your tight hold, his tongue still swirling around your clit. Your hand shoots down to grab at his hair when he starts thrusting and curling his fingers into your body, the other grasping the silk sheets that rest across your bed.

You scream his name when his fingers find a spongey spot inside you that sends a bolt of pleasure right to your already abused clit, and you see stars. You gush down your thighs and his chin, and he pulls out his fingers. He peeks up from below, wiping his face with the back of his hand before sucking your juices from his fingers.

The sight sends you back into a state of arousal so strong that all you can think about is his big cock ripping you open as he fills you to the hilt. He grins when he sees the look in your eye, coming back up so he can give you another open-mouthed kiss. You wrap your legs around his waist and he moans deeply, an almost feral noise coming from somewhere deep inside him.

He breaks the kiss and presses his forehead to yours once more, kissing your nose. "Can I?" He gusts, his breath hot against your skin. "Please." You whisper back, taking one of his hands in yours, the other resting upon his shoulder.

That is all the incentive he needs, he slowly pushes into your body, groaning loudly at how tight you are. You cry out, your nails digging into the skin of his shoulder. He bottoms out and moves his forehead to rest on your shoulder, waiting for you to adjust. God he's so close already, the thought of being the first and only one to take you enough to make him come, but he holds back.

After a moment he looks up at you and you nod, needing him to fuck you hard. That is just what he does. He sets a brutal pace, his thighs meeting yours as your ankles rest on his hips. You cry out and squeeze his hand as his tip nudges the same spot his fingers do, making you clench.

"Fuck." He grunts, picking up the pace as he chases his release. He pounds into you now, making you nothing but a moaning piece of putty ready to be molded by his hands. "Benedict- Again.. I'm going to..." You whine and he nods, pressing his lips to yours as his thumb finds your clit.

Your back arches as you reach your peak once more, dragging your nails down his back and leaving angry red marks on his skin. That is what sends him over the edge, spilling his seed deep inside of you before collapsing on top of you.

After a moment he pulls out and rolls onto his back, catching his breath before standing up and walking to the bathroom, leaving you on the bed to do the same. You rest your arms over your eyes as your breathing calms. He comes back with a washcloth and cleans up the mess he made before snuggling up to you in bed.

You flip onto your side and snuggle up to him, his arms encircling your body immediately. He presses a kiss to your forehead and traces the ridges of your spine with his fingers. "I love you." You whisper, already half asleep.

He smiles at the sight of you drowsy and flushed, his hand coming up to stroke your hair. "And I love you, my heart." He whispers back, closing his eyes and quickly following you into slumber.

Oh, what a joy it is to finally feel at home.

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blue-ink-pearls · 1 month

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Fig Isn't Meant to Be Cassandra's Paladin, Bucky Applebees Is

As most of us have realized since Ankarna's original domain was revealed, Fig is clearly supposed to be her paladin. The archdevil of rebellion united with the goddess of conviction and justice would be an incredible force for fighting wrongs, for inspiring revolutions, and creating true positive change.

But Fig wasn't wrong that Cassandra would be immensely helped by having a paladin swear themselves to her. Even though Kristen is an extraordinary cleric, she's only one person.

When we first meet Bucky Applebees in Junior Year, he is filled with doubt and uncertainty. He's a paladin of Helio, the same religion (cult) that Kristen fled from and he has been forced to take on the role of protector to his younger brothers that Kristen once held as the eldest daughter. He hasn't told his parents about the gold Kristen gave them, he thinks he's going to hell for lying, he misses his sister but thinks she's living in sin (maybe?), and he's curious about what beer tastes like (but never mind, he doesn't want to know. He bets it would be great. For sinners, would love it.).

When Cassandra dies/is kidnapped, Kristen first feels a connection to her goddess again when she thinks of how her doubt and uncertainty led to her escaping that life and finding freedom from Helio and her parents.

Ally: "I think she spent so much time trapped and feeling, like, super wrong, that doubt and mystery actually feel like a really beautiful escape, and more true." Brennan: "The concept of escape hits you. And for a moment you hear (clicking). And all of the locks on the windows and all of the locks on the doors of this room just open slightly. A little bit of divine magic flows through you....[W]hen you thought of escape, you thought of, yeah, embracing the unknown gives you the strength to leave a bad situation. Escape."

Bucky, Bricker, and Cork are still trapped and now that Brennan's brought Bucky back into the story, I don't think the season is going to end with Kristen leaving her little brothers in an abusive home life when there's every possibility for them to find safety and acceptance at Morded Manor.

I believe that if Kristen is able to help her brothers get away from their parents and the Church of Helio*, then Bucky is going to need a new god to follow. Why wouldn't Bucky, a scared, uncertain 14 year-old kid, not follow a goddess in the image of his older sister, whose very essence is that "whenever you're in the dark, I'm here holding your hand."

Kristen has always had a hard time doing the work of growing her church, of telling people about Cassandra. I think she'd find it easy to tell her siblings all about Cassandra when she's trying to help them find enough doubt and uncertainty in what they've known all their lives, that they'll have the courage to escape too.

*Also, there's definitely going to be further exploration of the Church of Sol, and by extension the Church of Helio, as they were 100% involved in what happened to Ankarna and Kristen is probably going to try to keep Bobby Dawn away from Bucky, just as she absolutely rejected Buddy Dawn becoming her brother's mentor.

#fantasy high #fhjy spoilers #kristen applebees #fig faeth #bucky applebees #fantasy high junior year #fhjy

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blueicequeen19 · 25 days

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Desperate

Warnings: filthy toxic step bro JJ with all the teasing and creampies 💦

I sit down on the couch with my bowl of cereal just as JJ emerges from the bathroom down the hall. He’s in nothing but a towel, water still dripping down his sculpted body as he smirks at me. There was no hiding the massive bulge behind the towel. I advert my eyes, refusing to give him the attention he’s seeking despite the way heat pools in my stomach.

“Mornin’ sis.” JJ calls as his bedroom door shuts but I ignore him. I hated when he called me that. Our parents had been married for six weeks. There was no reason he should call me “sis”. Especially not when he spent part of his night in my bed..

“God, you feel so fucking good. Shh, gotta be quiet for me. Wouldn’t want your mom to hear how you like to be fucked.” JJ’s hand clamped down on my mouth as moved on top of me, my legs pinned between his while he fucked me slow and deep, his chain hanging in my face. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. All I could do was feel as the liquid fire in my veins burned its was through me..

“Sis?” I blink, nearly dropping my bowl when I find JJ standing in front of me completely dressed minus his shirt.

“Don’t call me that.” I spat, jumping to my feet and discarding my bowl in the sink. Mom could yell at me later. Right now I needed to get out of this house.

I go to move when suddenly he’s there, caging me in against the sink, his body firmly pressed against mine. My hair is up in a ponytail and he quickly finds that spot on my neck to leave wet kisses. Goosebumps coat my skin and I lose all train of thought. I hated the affect he had on me.

“S-stop. My mom is here.” I breathe, leaning my body away from the temptation of his.

“She’s already gone.” His hands slide around my waist to unbutton my shorts. I reach back to palm him over his own shorts, already finding him hard. His hand slides into my panties, earning a chuckle from him at what he finds.

“You’re awfully wet for someone telling me to stop.” JJ whispers, circling my clit as I squeeze him hard.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” I rasp as one thick finger slides inside my pulsing core. “Maybe I’m thinking about John B.” JJ growls in my ear, shoving another finger in painfully as I grip the sink for dear life. I can see the way him and his best friend are constantly compared. I know it bothers him yet I taunt him anyway.

“You’re not thinking about John B.” JJ snaps, removing his hand and leaving me desperate to be filled. He shoves my shorts down my thighs so my legs are trapped together and I feel his cock suddenly against my ass. Pain flares in my scalp as he yanks back on my hair, making me arch my back and stick my ass out for him.

“John B wouldn’t dirty up his innocent little step sister the way I do.” JJ slides his cock through my slit, slapping once against my clit before pushing inside. I bite my lip to keep from moaning as he fills me deliciously deep. But even like this, I can’t help but fight him.

“Good thing I’m not his step sister then.” The words barely leave my lips before JJ slams forward, making me yelp as he pins me against the sinks edge. The hand in my hair yanks out the band so my hair falls like a curtain then it tightens on the back of my neck as he forces me to bend over.

“I lied.” His words are barely more than a whisper. His free hand tightens on my waist as I try to piece together what he’s talking about. Lied about what?

Then it dawns on me. She’s still here. I fight against him in a panicbut it’s hopeless. He starts to move and my knees grow weak. He’s thrusts are careful and soundless but still so deep I practically have to hold my breath to keep from moaning loudly.

My grip tightens on the sink as I near my peak, his hand on my neck applying the perfect about of pressure. The sounds of his muffled pleasure filled grunts only add fuel to the fire. Just as my eyes start to roll, his hips falter and he empties inside me with a deep exhale.

I don’t get a chance to be angry because a second later I hear a door shut on the opposite side of the house. JJ quickly tucks himself back in his shorts while I yank mine back up and move to the opposite side of the room. I grab my backpack off the hook and run out the back door just as I hear my mother’s footsteps in the kitchen. My dirt bike is on the opposite side of the house but I’m too wound up and angry to care. I’ll fucking walk to school.

JJ fucking Maybank was an asshole.

Now I had to walk to school with cum dripping out of me and my hair a mess. My heart was racing a mile a minute. I couldn’t calm down. I’d have to cut through the woods to get to the main road on time for school. Why did he do this to me? Why did I give in to him so easily? What would’ve happened if my mom had caught us?

The crunch of a tire on gravel and the smell of gasoline snaps my attention back to reality. It wasn’t until it was too late that I noticed the sound of his dirt bike coming up behind me. I quickened my pace but it didn’t matter as he came around and quickly parked in front of me, killing the engine.

“You going to walk to school?” JJ smirks and I resist the urge to punch him as he swings his leg off the bike and casually walks in front of me.

“Go fuck yourself.” I spat.

“I just did.” My nostrils flare and I kick my leg out, knocking his bike over. The amusement fades from his eyes and I know I’ve fucked up. But this is what we do. We fight and we fuck.

“Pick it up.” JJ demands, fisting my shirt when I try to back away.

“Kiss my ass.”

“Keep it up and I’m claiming that hole next with no lube.” My insides shrink with panic and I refuse to call his bluff. He’d do it right now if I pushed him too far.

“Get off me. You almost got us caught on purpose.” I hiss, slapping at his chest as he backs me against a large tree.

“Isn’t that the fun part? The thrill of getting caught?” JJ leans in to kiss me but I quickly turn my head, feeling more of his wetness soaking my panties.

“Not for me. We agreed this stayed in the bedroom. Now you’re cornering me in the kitchen and right outside the house. What would Luke do?” I push at him chest when he grabs a handful of my ass.

“Luke would give me a high five.” JJ chuckles, pressing himself against me like he can’t get enough. I roll my eyes, knowing he’s probably right. None of us had hardly seen Luke since he married my mom. I think we all preferred it that way.

“Let go. We’re going to be late.”

“I’ll give you a ride if you let me bend you over my bike.” JJ murmurs against my neck, making me grip his shirt as my knees threaten to give out. Fucking neck kisses will be the death of me.

“Are you going to let me cum?” I breathe, feeling his cock already hard again and pressed against my stomach.

“A ride and an orgasm? Someone is getting greedy.” JJ kisses my lips and I moan, letting his tongue dive into my mouth. His hand dips into my panties, two ringed fingers shoving his cum back inside me as I pant against his lips. My hands fist his shirt as he brings me to the edge, his palm pressing hard against my clit.

“Please, J.” I whimper, my legs starting to shake as he fingers me harder.

“Begging already.” JJ chuckles darkly before yanking away. I cry out in frustration but in the blink of an eye he’s yanked my shorts down and shoved me to my hands and knees on the leaf covered ground. I’m manhandled into place, my thighs pressed together as he comes up behind me.

“Fuck, I love seeing you like this.” JJ groans, sliding in balls deep with little resistance. I was so wet.

“A mess?” I rasp, my fingers biting into the hard ground. JJ fists my hair, jerking my head back at an odd angle so he can whisper in my ear.

“Desperate.” I whimper, too needy to fight him at this point. He was right. I was desperate for what only he could give me.

So I took it as he pounded me into the dirt like I was nothing but a hole for his pleasure. I knew in more than one way I was fucked when it came to him.

#smutwarning #outer banks smut #jj maybank smut #obx2 #jj maybank fic #jj maybank imagine #rudy pankow #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank x you #jj obx #outer banks x reader #blueicequeen19 #outer banks fanfiction #jj maybank

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lxkeee · 3 months

Text

⋆.˚ . FLY ME TO THE MOON ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚.

—PART FOUR

Pairing: Lucifer Morningstar x Archangel Raphael! Fem! Reader

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Notes: finally, a divorced man meets a divorced woman.

PART ONE | PART THREE | PART FIVE | MISC.

Nothing too interesting happened for the last couple of months, work on earth, do paperwork in heaven, repeat.

Scratch that, something did happen.

[Y/n] looked at her hand, seeing the gold band that was usually on her ring finger was now placed on her middle finger. A symbol of individuality and responsibility. She and Azrael finally got divorced—for shits and giggles. Just kidding. Azrael found love that's why and he and [y/n] it was time to end this marriage of theirs and remain friends. Azrael is now dating this cute principality angel named Francis. She supports them. She even set them up lmao.

They still continue doing their usual routine of spending their free time in each other's places (more on spending time at her home) and gossip.

She has to find her own love someday. [Y/n] sighs softly. Eyes staring outside her office window.

Today is the extermination day. She hopes Adam fucks up during it.

It was rather boring for the rest of the day. She was just flying around heaven and seeing if the order was maintained. [Y/n]'s eyes widened when she saw Emily showing someone around heaven. Someone familiar.

That's right! She saw this snake man during the meeting when Charlie was showing about Angel's progress.

He looks different though.

Her eyes widened, realization dawning upon her.

He got redeemed.

Blinking her eyes, eyes sparkling in excitement.

She calms herself down first, she needs to confirm it.

Flying next to Emily, the girl slightly jumps in surprise to see [y/n]. Despite the woman being one of god's seven virtues, Emily sees her as an older sister figure.

“Hi [y/n]! Nice to see you here, it has been awhile since I've last seen you!” Emily says excitedly, eyes sparkling and wings flapping from excitement from seeing the older woman. The man beside her just looked in confusion.

“Hello Emi, dear. I just so happen to have some free time so I was just flying around. Is this a new soul you're showing around?” [y/n] asked, smiling softly at the girl and the girl squealed.

“Yes! Actually, this man right here. Was a sinner and got redeemed! Isn't that amazing!” Emily says and [y/n]'s eyes widened and smiled, smirking a bit before returning it to a genuine smile. The confused snake just staring back and forth between the two girls.

“Really? Now, isn't that surprising. This... This changes everything.” [y/n] says with a whisper before turning to look at the redeemed soul.

“Tell me, mister. What is your name? As one of the seven virtues, I would like to know the name of the first sinner ever to be redeemed.” [y/n] says curtly and bows at him gracefully.

“I am Sssir Pentiousss... It is a pleassure to meet you... Misss?” Sir Pentious greeted, though a little awkward but cute.

“Greetings Sir Pentious, I am Raphael. An archangel and one of God's seven virtues. But you can call me [y/n].” [y/n] says with a small smile, offering her hand for a handshake which Sir Pentious accepted.

[Y/n] looked at her watch that's on her wrist, pretended to look worried. “As much as I want to stay and chat. I have somewhere else to be. Emily, Sir Pentious. It was nice seeing you two.” [y/n] says frantically, although just pretending.

Emily nodded and tried to calm the panicking archangel, “It's alright Miss [y/n], we can catch up later.” she says and [y/n] smiles and places a gentle kiss on the girl's forehead.

“Alright, have fun. And Sir Pentious?” [y/n] calls out to the man and he looks at her with confusion. “Welcome to heaven, I hope you'll enjoy your stay.” she says and quickly waves goodbye and flies away.

A meeting was then held with the seven virtues, they discussed what they should do next now that Charlotte Morningstar's hotel has worked. They agreed to put Sera on a trial but won't punish her severely like Lucifer.

“Adam's dead?” Camuel asked, shocked and [y/n] nodded.

“Apparently. Based on the exorcists' reports. Manz gone.” [y/n] says with a shrug and a lazy smirk.

“Finally!” Azrael laughs, the others just smirking.

“Good riddance.” Michael says calmly though a slight smirk on his face.

“What's our next course of action?” Gabriel asked, crossing her arms.

“Since this hotel the Morningstars are offering seems to work then there's only one thing we can do next.” Uriel says, sighing.

“Can't believe it actually worked. I guess we were wrong on how we treated Lucifer.” Camuel says and the others just shrug and sigh.

“We support this. We'll have to make sure this hotel keeps on working.” Jophiel says.

“[y/n].” Michael calls out and [y/n] can already tell where this is going.

“No.” she deadpans and Michael deadpans at her in return.

“What do you mean no? I haven't even asked yet.” Michael deadpans, Azrael chuckling beside [y/n].

“I just have a feeling I won't like it.” [y/n] says with a frown on her face.

“Too bad, you're doing it anyways. I want you to go down there and make sure to keep track of the hotel's progress.” Michael says sternly making [y/n] whine, she drops her head onto the circular table they were all sitting in. Groaning.

“More work? I don't wanna.” she says with a groan. Gabriel laughs.

“This can be an opportunity to get closure with you know who?” Uriel says with a chuckle.

“The fuck is closure? I don't need it.” [y/n] says, rolling her eyes.

“I think this is your chance [n/n]. I heard he's divorced lmao.” Jophiel cackles, [y/n] groaning once more.

“You two are going to be matching or twinsies!” Azrael teases making [y/n] glare at him playfully.

“Jokes aside. You need this [y/n]. Get some closure. We want you to be happy for once and I don't think we can handle more years of you feeling guilty for being so cold during the last time you saw him.” Camuel says softly, giving the girl a thumbs up.

“I better get extra day offs for this.” [y/n] says with a groan.

“Deal.” Michael says and [y/n] sighs.

It was a few weeks after the extermination that was targeted at the hotel. The hotel has been rebuilt and now looks even better than before. Charlie is happy that she and her friends managed to stop the extermination. There are some new sinners who wanted to give redemption a try so now the hotel is now bustling slightly. Her dad moved in and has a room of his own and helps her manage the hotel.

Currently, the crew are in the lobby just talking. It was already late in the evening and the other guests are now sleeping. Angel, Lucifer, and Husk were at the bar area. Niffty was cleaning, Vaggie and Alastor were on the couch.

Knock, knock, knock.

Loud knocks were heard on the front door of the hotel.

“New guests perhaps?” Alastor says with a grin, Charlie grins excitedly. A new soul wanting to try redemption.

The others just watched the girl walked towards the door, curious who was behind it.

Charlie took a deep breath, preparing herself to greet the new guest.

Opening the door, it was someone she did not expect.

A tall woman (almost the same height as Alastor) was standing by the door, a serious look on her face. What caught her attention was the amount of authority and power emitting from her and... The golden halo on her head and the small angel wings behind her head.

“Good evening Charlotte Morningstar, I came as a messenger from heaven.” the angel says with a grin.

Lucifer's body went pale as he heard that oh so familiar voice.

“[y/n]...” Lucifer murmurs in disbelief, seeing his supposed best friend now in front of the door.

“It has been awhile, Lucifer.” [y/n] says softly, eyes still emotionless. She's actually just dissociating so her eyes are like that, she can't control it okay. She has a serious case of lazy eyes.

“Ooohh drama...” Angel Dust whispers to Husk.

Suddenly an angelic spear was pointed at her throat, she did not flinch nor was afraid. She merely used her finger to move it away.

“What are you doing here?” the gray haired girl asked, glaring at her. [Y/n] just looked down on her with a smile on her face.

“I am just here to deliver a message. The seven virtues would like to support this hotel!” She says with a grin, Lucifer looked at her suspiciously.

Why wouldn't he? The seven virtues didn't listen to him before. So why now?

“Why now? Why did the seven decide to support this hotel just now?” Lucifer glares.

[Y/n] clapped her hands, Lucifer's eyes landing on the wedding band on her middle finger. It's no longer in her ring finger.

Alastor noticed the way the king of hell looked at the newly appeared angel with so much longing in his eyes. Interesting... Alastor grins.

“First and foremost, heaven apologizes for the yearly cleansing. It was a decision Sera, the high seraphim decided without informing us. We do not condone her actions and she would be faced in a trial.” [y/n] says nonchalantly, putting her hands on her pocket.

Lucifer flinches, he didn't know the decision was Sera's alone.

“Secondly, the hotel works.” [y/n] says with a grin.

This made the others look at her with confusion.

“A certain serpent sinner was redeemed. Ironic as the first one to doom humanity was a serpent and the first one to give humanity hope for redemption is also a serpent.” [y/n] laughs softly, Lucifer's eye twitched.

[Y/n]'s words sparked even more confusion with the others.

“Serpent?” Angel Dust asked, taking a sip of his drink.

“Someone who goes by Sir Pentious is now in heaven. Based on my records, he was a sinner before.” [y/n] says, shrugging.

Their eyes widened at the news. Sir Pentious is alive!

“How can we be so sure you're not lying?” Husk asked, raising an eyebrow at the woman. [Y/n] just chuckles.

“It is up to you if you believe it or not, after all... Angels never lie.” she says with a grin, summoning a small notebook from thin air, flipping through the pages of the notebook to scan for her notes.

“Lastly, I will be helping with the hotel during my scheduled time here. I'll be keeping track of the soul's progress here and research how a soul actually goes to heaven as Sir Pentious' case is a rare one and the first one so... We have no data. Heaven hopes to find more info about this case.” [y/n] explained, “I hope we'll get along.” she says with a grin.

Charlie's eyes widened, progress. Her hotel is making progress. Heaven is slowly helping her.

“Excuse me, Miss...?” Charlie softly calls, not knowing the angel's name.

[Y/n] looked at the smaller girl, patting the girl's head.

“My name is [y/n], also known as the archangel Raphael. One of God's seven virtues. It is a pleasure to finally meet you officially, Ms. Morningstar.” [y/n] introduces herself gracefully. Lucifer is still in awe in how fast she climbed the ranks.

Charlie nodded, finally happy to know the woman.

“Is there a way for us to visit Sir Pentious?” she asked hopefully, the others leaning in and hoping the same thing. [Y/n] closes her notebook, a loud sound sounding from it.

“I am sorry, heaven currently doesn't accept visitation unless necessary. Although, I can send letters back and forth whenever I visit.” She suggested, Charlie's eyes saddened but returned to hopeful. At least they know Sir Pentious is still alive.

“That would be all. I'll see you next time on my visit to keep track of the progress. Until then.” [y/n] says softly bowing at them. Turning her back and slowly walked away from the door.

Stopping, she didn't turn around to face them again.

“And Lucifer...?” she says, hesitating but her voice is vulnerable. Lucifer's breath hitched and the others just looked at the scene with curiosity. It is obvious these two knew each other based on how they already know each when she first arrived. They can practically sense the tension.

“I was wrong and I am sorry.” she says softly. Summoning her three pairs of wings, large and majestic.

She has wings now... Lucifer thought. His eyes softened when he heard her apologize.

“Wait... [Y/n]—” He called out but she didn't listen.

[Y/n] quickly flies away, a portal opening for her and closes after she enters.

“Did anyone else notice the tension...?” Angel asked, voicing out everyone's thoughts, a smirk on his face. Angel didn't mention that he really felt the unspoken romantic tension between the two angelic beings. He's getting more tea.

“This is getting interesting.” Alastor says with a grin and Lucifer knows that the radio demon just found more ways to torment him.

End notes: I know some of you read Alastor's line in Zhongli or Childe's voice lmao. And yes, Azrael and reader divorced each other. I had to ship Azrael with my oc okayy, I need Azrael to have some love 💀

TAGLIST:

@adaizel @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @thedarkkitten @selvyyr @froggybich @brithedemonspawn @kottenox @totallymitya @many-fandoms-lover @dou-dou @mezzyb0nb0n @n1chxyaaenthusiast @cherry-4200 @koirb @galaxyj3lly @crystalplays28 @luleck @scootinonyourmom @rory-cakes @mixplara @crescent-z @bitchyzombienacho @kalisha2004 @altervex @nehy019 @napbatata

#hazbin hotel #lxkeee answers #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar x reader #lxkeee hazbin hotel masterlist #lxkeee updates #lucifer #lucifer magne #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel x reader

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mccoyquialisms · 2 months

Text

my fantasy high red-string-conspiracy-theory-board-of-the-main-mystery lore tracker (a long ass post) (because I love both mysteries AND organization of inconsequential information):

rough chronology of events:

In ages past there is a wedding attended in the Chaos Mountains by Sol and Galicaea of their sister the Witch Goddess to an unnamed giantkin god. This god is a summer god, sibling of the giant winter goddess Ruvina

Over centuries, the unnamed god's domain changes from the sun and summer to fire

This unnamed god is killed and their name was wiped from history. The other gods remember who this being is, but due to obliviati mori, cannot reference them directly to mortals. Red shatter stars appear around this time

850 years before present day, the Witch Goddess's name is erased by her followers (encouraged by followers of Galicaea) and she is transformed into the Nightmare King. Before she does she performs the 4 trans-substantiations to resist being "unmade". Her familiar Kalina becomes a plague and begins to spread through the mortal populace. These events likely happen after the death of her spouse, as there is no reference to a spouse when the Witch Goddess was previously mentioned

Roughly 4-6 years before modern day, the pit fiend Bakur attempts to resurrect his god, whose name was lost "so they could not be worshiped." The return of this god is felt to be a significant threat to the world. Lydia Barkrock and her adventuring party stop him by sealing Bakur in a red gem in Lydia's chest, where she keeps him imprisoned with her rage

The Ratgrinders, then called the High 5 Heroes, meet in freshman year and consist of Kipperlilly, Oisin, Mary Anne, Ruben, Ivy and Lucy.

They xp level up by killing rats, twig gremlins and other small magical creatures in the woods behind Aguefort

The events of freshman year happen and Kalvaxus is released. During prom, Ragh spots Jace Stardiamond talking to Arianwen. He is later "barbarian healed" by Porter and after this can see Kalina. Kalina finds Ragh later and threatens Lydia if he talks about what he's seen

Sophomore year spring break happens and the Nightmare King is transformed into the goddess now named Cassandra

At some point Lucy began to return to the woods after party sessions to revive the rats they killed. She did this long enough and with enough regularity that the rats remember her name/face well and think of her fondly

Paperwork is submitted for Lucy to change her god from Ruvina to a god whose name cannot be read, just before her disappearance. A few days later a second request is submitted to withdraw this change. Neither form was ever seen by Lucy's teacher Yolanda Badgood

Lucy was killed near Lake Shimmerstone by multiple assailants with both weapon and magical damage towards the end of sophomore year, in the period of weeks after grades were complete, but before summer break. The area has multiple uprooted trees, some of which were used to hide her body. Unholy rites were performed over her body to force her soul to the beyond, so she cannot be revived.

Lucy is reported as dead but her body was never found. She was described as "not alive in this material plane" via divination

Because of the timing of her death, her party was not moved to pass/fail as all grades for that year had already been submitted

Night Yorb and the long dark summer happens

Buddy Dawn, a cleric of Sol, is specifically requested by the Ratgrinders to be their new cleric for junior year

Also over the long dark summer, the Loam farmers are accused of embezzlement and the Frostyfair festival is moved from there to the Thistlesprings tree at the recommendation of Lola Embers. Sklonda Gukgak is assigned as the Loam couple's public defender

Kipperlilly finds or is found by the rogue teacher and has passed the whole of junior year

Junior year begins. On her first day, Kipperlilly questions Jawbone on where YES! was created

Kipperlily announces she is running for student body president and her primary platform is for uniform equity under the rules without "favoritism"

In the mall of the Synod, the event that kicks off the battle is Cassandra becomes angry hearing Kristen isn't coming to help find followers. She says "This isn't fair!" as a razor-sharp flickering star of red light emerges from her chest. 24-point, red shatter stars infect nearby wizards and turns them into rage-filled, violent, giant versions of themselves. The people taken over by the shatter stars are instructed by an unknown voice to attack Cassandra

Cassandra is able to be calmed by a high persuasion and when she does, she expels multiple shatter stars. She seems to recognize them and says "I thought you were dead.”

Before Kalina is taken over by the shatter stars, she looks to Riz and says "Ragh Barkrock". She then slits Cassandra's throat, triggering a new round of rage in Cassandra

Cassandra suffers multiple attacks and begins to transform into a giant, red raging version of herself and attempts to kill the party. Before she's successful, the gang are swept away in a time loop back to Spyre. The Bad Kids see the Synod is destroyed, and Kristen finds she has shards of Cassandra in her pocket

Kristen attempts to commune with Cassandra and hears a voice say "She is at my side once more." The voice then mocks Kristen with YES!'s body and then tells Kristen it is coming for her, and it will break her irrevocably.

Ivy sees Fig disguised as Lucy at the party at Seacastor Manor, and has an inscrutable reaction to it, but did not seem surprised

The cloud rider engine in Fabian's basement is broken and a piece is found missing

Kipperlily does the food truck event with the subliminal OK messaging on the packaging

Ruben Hopclap performs at FrostFaire when he is attacked by Principal Grix. Grix is eventually killed by Fabian. The Bad Kids determine Ruben was doing some kind of ritual with a song about anger above an arcano-tech array in a 24 point star pattern, successfully releasing a large amount of some type of magical energy.

Simultaneously, Yolanda Badgood is killed at Lake Shimmerstone by immense concussive force damage, and afterwards her body is expertly hidden. She is subjected to the same unholy last rites that Lucy was.

The Bad Kids find Lucy and Yolanda's bodies, and Kristen releases their souls, who travel to the beyond on a "trail of moonlight"

Sklonda's clients are found murdered

Mazey reveals that the Vice Principal (i.e. Jace) does not become the Principal, and it would be the student body president who becomes the new principal of Aguefort

additional info we can reasonably infer or that don't fit neatly in the timeline:

Buddy's grandparents, and likely Buddy himself, have a vested interest in his grandfather becoming the cleric teacher. He went to Aguefort and is familiar with the school. Presumably he wants this to be able to preach about Sol and spread his influence

At some point before her death, Yolanda told Jace about her concerns regarding Lucy's deity-transfer paperwork

Cassandra is not dead, but is "beyond reach"

Lucy and Yolanda were noted to be in "realms beyond", which Brennan specifically noted they were taken from and "whatever was happening there"

The Ratgrinders are gunning for the bad kids and seem to be orchestrating situations to try to get them to take drugs

Porter's philosophical discussion with Fig regarding the concept of protection and how that is often inextricably tied with rage, that one can act as a fuel for the other

Porter is a paladin of the ancestors, and at some point was mentioned to be a goliath, though this seems to be debated in canon. If true, it's possible he's a descendant of giants

Kristen bring's up Sol's wrath and Buddy does not refute this, agreeing Sol's wrath is a well known aspect of him and he has been quite angry because of the dark summer/night yorb situation

As above so below. What the gods do affect their mortal followers, but conversely, what the mortals who follow them do also affect the gods

A god can only come back from death in a place a god had been born or created, meaning Bakur's decision to try to revive his fallen god in the Red Waste was what doomed it to failure

Bakur's documents are written in the language of giants, and his deity is said to be from the same region as Ruvina. Combining this with Adaine’s research, and the “mitochondrial magic print”, Bakur’s god is Cassandra’s former spouse

The cloud rider piece was likely stolen by the Ratgrinders as Kipperlily asked Aelwyn to research schematics of the device

Kipperlily seems to be keeping information from some of the other Ratgrinders, telling Aelwyn she needs to "protect Oisin" from their shady deals

Kipperlily's mother works for the city treasury and her father is in real estate. Neither are super wealthy, but Kipperlilly has been paying Aelwyn large amounts of money to obtain arcane components. Given the timing of this with the disappearance of a large sum of money from the Frostyfair accounts, the timing of the murder of the people who were blamed for it, and that the new chosen location happens to be the home of one of the Ratgrinders rivals, the Ratgrinders involvement is thought to be likely

Cassandra's whispered clue of "spies, tongue, curse"

Places outside Spyre, like the Synod, are easier for dead gods to reach

For whatever the Ratgrinders have planned, a student being the principal of Aguefort is essential for it. A lot of people have had to be conveniently absent or dead for this circumstance to occur.

This is all not even touching Aguefort's whole journey through time and possible time quangle issue and whatever the fuck Fig's Bad Luck Thing is. I'm not convinced that these are related to the god stuff and are likely their own separate issues. also, I am tired lmao. If you want to hear my rambling theories, I'll be making a separate post.

#fantasy high #dimension 20 #fhjy #dropout #my musings #did i avoid all of my responsibilities after work today to write this? yeah.#do I feel bad about it? also yeah but it was still fun.#fantasy high meta

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beeapocalypse · 2 years

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realized hyde would stop docking at the wolfstack docks 4 fear of the high maintenance (name of his phorcyd-class corvette. kept it from the previous owner bc he thought it was funny) getting recognized as the same ship thats been sinking admiral ships. maybe he tries docking at the cumaean canal+hitching a ride w surface sailors headed 2 fallen london b4 the haunted doctor sits him down+very clearly explains that going to the second most admiralty populated dock in the entire unterzee is dumb as hell. ends up going w the same plan at venderbight instead (maybe organizes a deal with the blind bruiser+his connections so theres more guaranteed passage rather than trying to beg a spot on a ship for him+his entire crew for leave at woflstack? idk)

#hydes sister comes down 4 her surprise no warning at all visit after he finally finally tells her abt his wife+kid in his happy birthday--#--letter to her two years After they were killed and hydes OBVIOUSLY not in town so she has to spin this great emotional story abt lost--#--family connections and shit to his nextdoor neighbor that hed entrusted w a spare key in case he died so theyd be--#--able to let the law in 2 sort through his paperwork+will (did not have to make up too much stuff. the two really were largely--#--estranged outside of those pleasantry birthday letters even b4 hyde took off 4 the unterzee in search of their father) and when--#--the neighbor finally finally trusts her theyre like HEY. you need to hear every single bit of gossip i have on this--#--guy. its incredible. and shes forced 2 invite them in for tea (hyde only keeps shitty peach tea he drowns in sugar) bc shes--#--desperate for any info at all on her brother who apparently kept a HUGE part of his life from her and ends up hearing like five hours--#--worth of gossip w stuff ranging from him being the pirate-poets great rival (not true. that was pascal) to him being an agent of the--#--dawn-machine (not true. just has personal issues w sunlight) to him having a demoness midnight visitor (not true. only reason he--#--got access to hells embassy in fallen london was bc early on into his 'fuck all life' thing he wanted 2 side w them). every new--#--outlandish tale makes his sister (a very reserved and orderly accountant) want to faint #<-- oh my god i have not talked about hydes sister at all ehre have i. shes older than him and i dont really have a name 4 her yet (maybe--#--marie or something ? idk) and b4 that visit she spent her entire life surface-side

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cevansbrat0007 · 4 months

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Sweet Tooth

Summary: Ari gets inventive when he finds himself in the doghouse with you. Be sure to check out the follow-up drabble, Sweet Tooth Deluxe!

Warnings: Smut, Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Arch Nemesis', Dominant Ari, Aprons, Arguments, Oral Sex (fem rec mentioned), Spanking (mentioned), Pussy spanking (mentioned), Pet Names, Cursing, Violent Thoughts, Minors DNI

A/N: Written for @honeygngergemini. Part of my Sweet Renegades Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

Ari leans back in his chair, one long leg coming to rest atop his knee as he levels a hard look at Officer Milton Foster. He scrubs a tired hand over his face, his mind working overtime to process what the young man had just said.

“But that makes zero fucking sense.” He grumbles, groaning when he sees Milton just shake his head.

“Aye, man.” The dark-haired deputy throws up his hands. “You asked me where I thought you went wrong and I told you.” He turns in his office chair to spare a quick glance at his computer. “Do not shoot the messenger.”

“No one’s being shot, alright? I just don’t get the logic behind any of the shit you just said.”

Couple that with the fact that you’d been icing him out for the past several days for reasons unbeknownst to him – which had left him in a god awful mood. He missed you. Your laugh, your warmth, your smile.

All of it.

Not to mention that deliciously curvy body that had been keeping him warm at night. He really missed that. More than than anything he needed a fucking kiss.

But you were ignoring him. And Ari had discovered pretty quickly that he didn’t like any of it. Not one bit.

So, he’d turned to what he felt like was his only ally in this god-forsaken town: the newly minted sheriff’s deputy, Milton Foster.

“So you’re really trying to tell me that the reason my woman is pissed at me is because I ate Charline Marshall’s pecan pie at the town potluck, liked it, and asked for seconds.” Ari smooths an annoyed hand over his bearded face. Trying to understand Bell’s Creek’s local politics could really do a number on a person.

“And don’t forget that she purposely dropped your lady’s bramble berry pie on the ground.” Milton does a quick spin in his chair. “She tried to pretend it was an accident, but most of us know better. Charline Marshall has eyes for you and I think she might be ready to make it known.”

“I’m pretty sure that I couldn’t even pick that woman out of a lineup.”

Milton simply shrugs before taking another spin in his desk chair. “You’ve got a lot of admirers, Mr. Bounty Hunter. A man like you blows into town…well, you’re downright exotic. Every single red-blooded woman under 75 wants a taste.”

Ari visibly shudders before crossing his legs at the ankle. He didn’t want anyone else. This particularly surly Bounty Hunter wanted you. He only wanted to eat your food. Enjoy your sweets. Fall to his knees and devour the fuck out of your pretty little pussy.

“Hard pass, buddy.” Your lawman sighs. “I didn’t know shit about the pie incident. I mean, how could I when she was barely talking to me or anyone at that party?”

“Not saying it’s your fault, big guy. Logically, what would you have been able to do if she had told you?”

Ari looks up at him, his piercing blue gaze never once leaving the young deputy’s. “I would’ve taken her back to my place and spent the rest of the night making her feel better. I would’ve done everything in my power to take my girl’s mind off that petty shit.”

“Mmm.” Milton murmurs as understanding suddenly dawns. “I really don’t wanna get too deep in your business, but your lady is like a sister to me.” He leans back in his chair so that he can kick his feet up on his desk. “We used to play on the playground together as kids. And full disclosure, she used to beat my ass.” The deputy chuckles as he begins to recount all the way you used to be a tiny force of nature.

“I…can see that.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Anyway, I think your original plan was a good one.”

“Meaning?” Ari leans over to take a sip of his now cold coffee. It tasted like shit anyway, even when it was hot. In fact he longed for you, his BIrd, to make him one of your little caffeine-infused concoctions – preferably while wearing nothing but his shirt.

So he could also take a bite out of that luscious ass while you refreshed his mug. After all, he was a man who prided himself on his ability to multitask.

“Meaning, you need to find a way to distract her while making your point.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, you’re a smart fuckin’ guy who set his sights on someone who could easily be the most stubborn woman in the whole damned state.” A smirking Milton offers up a salute with his can of Dr. Pepper. “That’s for you to figure out. All I can do at this point is wish you luck.”

“Thanks.” Ari grunts, wishing that he had a better idea of what to do with you.

Oh, rest assured that he’d figure it out. You were too important to him not to. He just hoped you’d find it in your heart to take it easy on him for his mistake.

The Next Day

You wake up to the smell of cooking sausage wafting into your room. It makes you smile as you stretch your arms over your head. Your stomach growls in agreement, subtly reminding you that you’d neglected to make dinner last night.

Oops. You hadn’t meant to forget, it had just happened. Normally you would end your night with speaking to your Beast of a Bounty Hunter, who always made sure you ate. But lately, you have been both mad at him and embarrassed.

Because at a recent town potluck, Ari had eaten your rival’s pecan pie. Now, you weren’t children, but this had also been after she’d purposely sabotaged your own dessert by accidentally dropping it on the ground.

Charline pretended that it had been a mistake. But the way you’d witnessed her laugh after the fact. And then she’d fed your man, reveling in every minute. You’d known her pecan pie was dry, but Ari had seemed to enjoy it. So much so that he’d asked for a second piece.

Which was fine, except it had hurt your feelings. And you hadn’t been sure how to relay exactly relay that fact either. So you’d clamped down. You’d bottled up.

And as a result, your poor, sweet man was suffering. Which meant you needed to apologize. But you weren’t quite sure how to go about it. As you sit up, you vow to yourself to give him a call today. As soon as you sat down and enjoyed your breakfast.

And then it occurs to you. You weren’t the one cooking. Which meant someone was in your house.

You spring out of bed and grab your Louisville Slugger that you always kept nearby. Taking a deep breath, you quietly make your way down the stairs, your trusty bat poised to take a swing at whatever moron who’d chosen to take up residence in your kitchen.

Baring your teeth, you crest around the corner on bare feet, ready to make your presence known.

“You gonna hit me, Bird?” Ari muses as he adds a dash of salt, followed by pepper to whatever it is he’s got cooking in the skillet. Your flippin' skillet. “Is that really how this ends? You take me out while I’m being kind enough to whip us up some breakfast?”

Momentarily flummoxed you find yourself lowering your weapon in favor of taking in the scene before you. This man – your Bounty Hunter – was currently standing in your kitchen clad in nothing but an apron.

Your apron. And yet somehow it fit him better

“Wh–what are you doing?” You ask him, letting your baseball bat clatter to the floor at your feet. You wouldn’t need it. You were safe with this man, but only to a point. “And how’d you get in?” You hadn’t given him a key yet.

That was supposed to be a present for later.

“Eh.” Ari shrugs, flipping a pancake with surprising skill. “Maybe I saw my gift and swiped it after the potluck. Maybe you weren’t listening to me and I couldn’t get a read on you, so I had to be an asshole and make an executive decision.” He turns away from you to drop a finished pancake on a plate, giving you a fantastic view of his perfectly muscled ass.

“You mad?”

“N-no.” You respond as you feel your thighs clench. God, how you wished that you’d come down here wearing pants. “I was actually planning to reach out to you today. Can I ask what you’re doing?” You shiver as you feel your thighs grow damp, your traitorous pussy working against you.

You should be mad that your Beast had broken into your house. Instead you were happy to see him with a much deserved apology ready to fall from your lips.

“Making you breakfast. Chocolate chip pancakes, eggs, and sausage.” He adds another delicious pancake to the stack. “I’m gonna feed you, and then I’m gonna fuck you, and make you rethink ever ignoring me again.” He purrs, the intoxicating rumble coming from somewhere deep in his chest.

Fuck you were so wet it was almost embarrasing.

“I’ve earned the rights to that tight little pussy, baby. And when I make a mistake like I did with that goddamned Charline, I want you to tell me.” Ari turns off the range, pulling the food off the heat and onto a plate.

“I’m sorry.” You murmur, both hating and loving the way your nipples pebble beneath the thin fabric of your oversized t-shirts. Actually, it was one of his. A detail he also seemed to notice. “How can I make it up to you?”

Ari studies you for a moment, his handsome face tilting to the side. And then your eyes stray to the sight of his impressive erection. You watch as one of his big hands reaches down to fist his hard cock, pumping it once. Twice.

“You can start by going back upstairs. I want you naked, on all fours. I want to come up there and feast my eyes on your soaking wet cunt.” His heated gaze bores into your own, making your already drenched core spasm one more. “And you’d better be wet for me, otherwise I’m gonna spank it. And you.”

“O-okay.” You find yourself taking a step back, your hand clutching at the wall.

“I’m gonna eat it baby.” Ari growls, his voice filled with a mix of unbridled lust and determination. “I’m gonna make that pussy fucking cry. And you’re gonna fucking take it. You hear me?”

“Yes.” You whisper, resisting the urge to reach down as you stroke your eager fingers over your throbbing clit. “Yes, Sir.”

He takes a menacing step towards you, his body delighting in the way that you shiver. You’d been bad. Which means it was time to pay the price. And what better man to exact that payment than your own handsome, 6”4 Beast?

“And then I’m gonna fuck you in front of that brand new mirror I bought you. I’m gonna show you who owns that beautiful body and remind you why it’s important to talk to me when you need me.” Another menacing step. “And then I’m gonna feed those delectable curves after I’ve had my fill.”

“And then…” He tilts his head from side to side, cracking his neck. “You’re gonna let me kiss it all better while I make love to you.”

“Y-yes, please.” Right now you were willing to give this man whatever he wanted. Whatever helped you atone for your supposed sins.

“There’s a good girl.” He intones as he unties the apron, leaving him naked and aroused in your simple kitchen. “Now run.”

END

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forbidden-sunlight · 3 months

Text

yandere!holy knight with saintess!reader scenario [part two]

Warnings: obsessive behavior, profane language, religious themes, implied manipulation, attempted sexual assault, attempted drugging.

There may be possible triggers in this story.

If you do not feel comfortable venturing any further, please hit the 'back' button on your mobile device or computer and read something much more pleasant than a possible series of unfortunate events.

You are responsible for your own Internet consumption!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Part One

Part Three

Hey guys, welcome to part two of the yandere!Holy Knight scenario! As a final reminder, the content is going to get much darker so if you do not feel comfortable continuing, please exit now. Bullying is not tolerated on here, so if there is I will take this fic down.

For those who are curious about who is the pretty lady featured in this chapter, this is the one whom the Head Priest claims to be the real saintess, the one whom God truly loves, Reverent Sister Esther. Special thanks to @deathmetalunicorn1 for helping me find this pic and writing out the difficult bits in this fic.

So, with that being said, sit back, relax, and let us return to the Holy Temple of Aesir.

Yandere!Holy Knight rose from his cot on the third morning since he had seen you, exhaustion seeping into his bones even when he should have felt refreshed and ready for the afternoon patrol. Instead, he felt his skin prickle, his calloused hands started to become wet with sweat. His heart was hammering in his rib cage. Will he be able to see you today? He thought. Will he see Reverent Sister Esther? Aesir, please let it not be so!

He could only assume that you were making yourself scarce around the Holy Temple because you were still trying to find any information on the Affection Level while the rest of the congregation began the preparation for the Festival of Stars. It was supposed to be an auspicious time. To reflect and be kind to others as the long, winter dark nights crept across the land.

Yet Reverend Sister Esther did not share those sentiments. With Aesir as his witness, Yandere!Holy Knight can testify under oath that the newest member of the congregation does not possess empathy. Why? Because…of what he saw behind those closed doors leading towards the sanctuary. He didn't mean to see it, he shouldn’t have. Yandere!Holy Knight had only dared to go there before the morning prayers began because he was concerned about the bell-ringer. In its five-hundred year history, there has not been a single morning when someone did not hear the bells of the Holy Temple announce the dawn of a new day and awaken the Brothers and Sisters from their slumber.

He pushed the doors open just a breadth and saw everyone, even the bell-ringer, sitting in the pews in awed silence at the beautiful blue-haired woman in a modest white dress standing behind the pulpit. Reverend Sister Esther smiled softly.

“There is no need to exhaust yourselves by kind to everyone. The world is a dark, cruel place.” She said, spreading her arms outwards.. “There are people we should not speak to, and those we should not lend our ears to. We must turn them away, and only listen to Aesir and what he desires from us. We are his precious children. They are the dregs of society. The common, vulgar, weak, and licentious. They do not deserve Aesir’s salvation! It is through Him, Through I, His Beloved, that we will find our Paradise!” The pews erupted into applause, some of the Brothers standing up as they declared that her words to be sacrament instead of heresy. The High Priest was in wholehearted agreement, smiling widely with flushed cheeks.

Yandere!Holy Knight’s stomach churned in awed disgust before he quietly closed the door, leaning against it to steady his wobbling knees. This is why the number of visitors, of people who have come here in search of guidance and love? Because these fools are being deceived by a devil with a honeyed tongue? He fingered the silver chain around his check, fiddling with the tiny peridot. Sister Harrowhark. He thought about you, concealed behind staggering towers of tomes, dark circles under those jeweled eyes and ignoring the growling of your stomach as you continued to search in the archives. He swallowed thickly at the image in his mind, feeling the tips of his ears burning.

Forgive me, Aesir. These feelings I have harbored for Sister Harrowhark are threatening to sear my flesh and bone. Protect me, Aesir, from Reverend Sister Esther and her wickedness. Guide me, Aesir, what can I do? What must I do? He prayed to his God. He recited the penance of Lust and Sloth, then two verses from the Book of Salvation and then pulled himself away, hoping that the morning sparring sessions and afternoon patrol would be more than enough to keep him busy until he could sneak into the kitchens when the cook was on her break. You might have a responsibility to protect the congregation as Aesir’s Eyes, but you will not do it by exhausting yourself like this, especially if you haven’t eaten a single piece of bread. Yandere!Holy Knight will be absolutely furious if he had to find out the hard way, which is seeing you passed out at a desk, using your arms as a makeshift pillow with [Hair Color] strands all over the place.

And he did. And he had every right to be angry at you. But he willed his boiling anger to a low simmer, focusing his efforts on cajoling you to rise from the chair, carefully placing a hand on around your shoulders as he led out into the hall, to your quarters. He had gotten only as far as to have you eat some sliced meat, bread, and a bit of cheese. You promised that you would take a bath as soon as he left.

Yandere! Holy Knight could only believe your words, though he had a few of his own to say to you.

“Lady Harrowhark, please…you cannot keep doing this to yourself! If you have seen what I have seen happening to the Holy Temple, to our home, then you must know that we must be at our full strength to combat this wickedness!”

You didn’t even try arguing back. You were just as upset as he was, and had seen what he had seen through secret passages located throughout the temple. You both knew who the culprit was, but without solid evidence, all claims would be dismissed as accusations created from jealousy and hate. Seeing the downtrodden frown, how you calmly dismissed him and turned away to look out the stained-glass window….the memory fractured Yandere! Holy Knight’s heart even more.

After his early afternoon patrol, Yandere! Holy Knight went to the training grounds. He swung, parried, and lunged at an invisible enemy until the wooden sword splintered at the handle, sharp pieces slicing through the palm of his hand. He inhaled deeply, feeling the pain throbbing followed the warm wetness of his blood trickling down his fingers. He carefully covered it with his other hand. He needed to get it treated.

He cut through the training grounds, entering the cloister leading to the hospital wing when he heard a silvery voice call out to him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Reverend Sister Esther running towards him, face flushed pink and the hem of her skirts lifted just enough to expose her ankles. An expression might have been seen as the look of someone who is in love….but Yandere!Holy Knight felt nothing except disgust and wariness. He straightened his spin and just kept moving, quickening his pace.

Or he would have liked to. He couldn’t act too out of the ordinary. After all, he and Lady Harrowhark are the only ones immune to the Affection Level spell casted by Reverend Sister Esther. Inhaling a deep breath through his nostrils, he lowered his head to the heathen.

“Reverend Sister, how may I help you?” He asked cooly.

“You’re hurt!” She gasped. Her blue eyes were wide with false concern, the faintest hint of cunning wickedness glimmering in the sunlight as she ever so slowly cradled his injured hand in both of her hands, fingers languidly grazing the outside of his palm. Yandere!Holy Knight felt his skin prickle. Aesir, grant me strength! He exclaimed in his mind. He was about to pull away when he felt something enter the open cut with a soft shick. He almost missed it. He looked at her, now frightened.

“What did you -” His words were soon cut off when she covered his wound with a handkerchief that suddenly appeared out of nowhere. “At least bind it to slow the blood flow!” Esther smiled brightly. He nodded, quickly pulling his hand away. That was when he felt it. Nausea. Then something crawling under his skin, like the roots of a tree, slithering and making his body hot and please Aesir help help help HELP!

Yandere!Holy Knight stumbled backwards, landing on his side and the warm fog in his mind worsened. He couldn’t think….he…needed….he needed what? What? WHAT?! When he glanced up at Reverend Sister Esther, his hammering heart thudded harder against his ribcage. The look on her face was foul, evil.

Like a cat who had finally caught a canary in its claws.

Terrified out of his mind, he pulled himself up from the stone floor and ran. He ran until the exertion and whatever poison that she had placed in his body had taken its toll. He vaguely remembered entering a room, but not locking it. Another wave of pain surged through his body, and more blood…it went south. Yandere!Holy Knight felt ashamed, disgusted. And he needed you. He needed you so much right now.

Somehow, Reverend Sister Esther found him. And her grin had become impossibly wider at seeing like this. She was giggling. Kneeling in front of him, her dainty hand reached out and stroked his reddening cheek, causing the already overwhelming heat in his body to bloom again and make his…problem get worse.

“Now, let’s have a little fun, shall we~? My dear, sweet little bias~.” Esther purred, dragging her hand down his face, his neck, and then to his chest before she gave a gentle push. When he collided with the floor, she raised her skirts and straddled his hips. Yandere! Holy Knight tried to push her away, but he felt so damned weak. What in Aesir’s name had she done to him?!

“What is the meaning of this?” A cold, calm voice broke through the stifling silence. Esther stiffened, her beautiful face contouring into disbelief and anger, the irises of her eyes becoming slitted like a cat’s before she looked over her shoulder. He did too, and saw a tired-looking woman in mother-of-pearl robes. You.

“You!”

“I asked you a question. Answer me.”

“I don’t answer to an extra, screw off!”

The uncomfortable heat was soon replaced with relief, followed by the lewd desire to have The Possessor of the All-Seeing Eyes in his arms and succumb to his touch. So lost in this haze of lust, Yandere!Holy Knight barely registered seeing you stride across the room and flinging white powder into Esther’s face. The heretic immediately fell forward, and you easily caught her, though she was heavier than she looked. Glancing around the room, you turned your attention to him.

“Get to my room. I’ll be right there, I promise.” You commanded quietly, swinging one of the heretic’s arms over your shoulder and placing your hand around her waist. You looked left, then right, and then disappeared, the tail of your robes billowing from the corner of the doorway. Exhaling a shaky breath, Yandere!Holy Knight stood up and went to your room as fast as his legs could carry him.

He waited on your bed for ten agonizing minutes before the doorknob turned to the right, and you entered, quickly locking the door behind you. Yandere!Holy Knight barely contained a sob upon seeing your ethereal form. Unlike the disgust he felt earlier in Esther’s presence, he only felt relief. Comfort. And another feeling blossoming deep inside of him, something that he liked as he gazed upon your scorching eyes.

He watched as you went to the bookcase on the opposite side of the room, pulling a heavy book from the second shelf on the left. He heard the grinding gears of the secret passage spring to life click-click-click-click-shhnk.

“Come.” You said urgently, grabbing him by the arm and hoisting him upwards. Hot energy coursed through him, his body screaming for wanton release even as you repositioned your body in the exact form as you had carried Esther. You stumbled down the stone steps, almost losing your footing more than once on the way down because he tried to press her against the wall, to press her body against his, anything to make him feel good, to make you feel good - it wasn’t his fault!

You just scowled. “When this is over, you and I are going to have a very long talk.”

“So…long as I am with you…I do not care. Please, Lady Harrowhark, touch me.” Yandere!Holy Knight moaned. “Touch me, the light of my life, and let my desire for you burn inside of me forever more, a pyre that no can ever extinguish -”

“Aesir forgive me but shut the ever-living fuck up and sit down on the bed, Sir Palamedes.” You snapped impatiently. Yandere!Holy Knight quickly obeyed the command, not wanting to anger God’s Beloved any further because if you are angry, you will not touch him like you are doing now.

Seemingly satisfied with his obedience, you quickly rummaged around the workspace and collected supplies but not before you illuminated the secret room with a flick of your wrist. You threw a rag in a bowl of cold water, you pushed him on his back to lie down, and rung out the cloth, laying it over his face.

“This is going to hurt.” You warned him.

“I know.” He said.“

You need to keep still.”

“I know.”

“I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

“I know.” Yandere!Holy Knight whispered. “I know…you would never hurt me…as Reverend Sister Esther. No, the heretic would have. So please…do whatever you want with me just please let me feel you, please.” He pleaded. Instead of receiving an answer, he heard the clink of a knife being removed from its leather sheath, and his shirt being ripped open from the bottom to the top. Yandere!Holy Knight arched his back, moaning.

“Lady Harrowhark!”

“Shut. Up.”

That was the last thing he remembered before Yandere!Holy Knight lost consciousness. When he awakened, there was no trace of the fog in his mind nor the heat in his body. He could think. He could feel his pulse…it was normal. His eyes widened. Wait, if this is normal!

He shot up from the bed, the rag falling from his face. He saw you hunched over the desk, panting loudly and grunting before you turned around. In your hands was a large jar, filled with holy water and a writhing black mass of roots. He paled. What was that thing? Is that what the heathen had placed inside of his hand, letting it fester? What you had removed from his body with your holy magic? Dear Aesir.

When you turned around, saw him…you smiled. You smiled with those jeweled eyes and flushed face and blood sweat trickling down your nose and mouth. You staggered towards him, trying hard to keep yourself steady. And you did until you reached the edge of the bed….and you fell forward. Yandere!Holy Knight caught you. He hadn’t expected to feel as weak as he did. It took a tremendous amount of effort to pull you up from where you had landed, right on top of his legs, and repositioned himself…so that you could lay your head against his chest.

He remembered meeting with Esther in the cloister. She treated his hand, then…

Murky violet orbs widened in horror and shame as one fragmented memory after another fell into place, filling the gap between then and now. He looked down at you. How could he have called out to you like that, shamelessly lusting after you like the foolish, licentious sinner that he is. Yet you risked your health yet again, this time to save his soul from damnation.

Yandere!Holy Knight felt tears welling up in the back of his eyes, choking back a sob as disgust and guilt somersaulted in his stomach.

How could you forgive him after what he had done to you? What he might have done? He didn’t deserve it. It was his fault for allowing Sister Esther to get close to him when you told him to stay away from her. He turned to the jar that was rattling on the desk, the….seed, if he could even call it that, wriggle and tap its inky tentacles incessantly against the glass. It wanted out.

And as much as he wanted to destroy that thing with his own hands, you would never keep this foul thing unless you had planned to use it as the evidence they needed to convict Esther of her crimes against the Holy Temple of Aesir.

In a moment of selfishness, Yandere!Holy Knight took one of your hands and pressed his lips against the knuckles. He recited the penance of Lust in his mind twice, murmuring under his breath. He prayed for Aesir’s forgiveness, for your forgiveness, for you to wake up soon.

The Holy Temple needed you. You were the only one who could save the congregation from being condemned by the Empire. It was his home, your home.

He needed you. You were the only one who could ever quench the flames of his desire, even if you were to never feel the same towards him for the rest of your days. So long as you are by his side, he will never ask for anything else.

Taglist

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@mochinon-yah

@average-yandere-enjoyer

@thatstrangesheep

@lxdymoon0357

@faux-ecrivain

@cassanderasblog

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