#“Rise of Chow

mo0nfairy · 19 days ago

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ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ BLOMSTERTID, PART TWO !

summary :: Centuries-old mage, Y/N L/N, possesses magical abilities unheard of. A few citizens monopolize the remnants of magic they find, of which they now title “Hextech”. Hearsay of this power bleeds through all of Runeterra, until Piltover and Zaun find themselves in an anarchic war to obtain said power. Before Y/N can even blink, however, the humans neglect their plans when they realize they’d rather have Y/N instead.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 10.9k

content warnings :: NO SPOILERS! yandere!viktor, obsessive!viktor, g/n reader, violence/gore, s3lf-harm, (very light) s3xual implications, needles, vomit, & terminal illness.

viktor's yandere traits are . . .

worshiper, heroic, & obsessive

⋆ ｡ ˚ ⋆ ⸺ When the moon rises and the vibrant world eases, Viktor always finds himself dreaming of the same thing.

He imagines himself consuming the correct remedies and garnering the ability to walk, to run, to stand tall on his two feet. He is merely a child, but he is well aware of his weaker form. In the fragrance of these illusions, he can become capable and mighty; he can be the fearless warrior who protects his loved ones from lurking danger.

To heal and obtain strength — that is the haunting desire which paints his dreams.

The young boy now greets the sun in all of its blistering heat. The cloudless sky casts a shimmering glint upon the rusted scrap metal and bent screws of his handmade boat. Viktor’s frail hands place the creation upon the surface of a river stream. In the light of his childlike wonder, he imagines himself the captain, guiding his loyal crew across a grand sea overwhelmed with thunder and lightning. His dreams remain stagnant in his brain, though, where they have remained his entire life.

The jagged gears and sprockets hasten down the current before Viktor can bring himself to his wobbly knees. The boat has now accelerated to speeds little he cannot keep up with. When his crooked cane escapes from his grasp, he falls down with it. His nose aches from the harsh plummet against the ground and specks of tears begin to build in his bambi-brown eyes. He winces from the few painful jolts in his weak legs before he is finally able to stand once more.

When he searches, Viktor cannot find his beloved boat anywhere in sight. His eyes follow the stream ahead, which descends into an abysmal cave. He measures the weight of his options, but ultimately decides that his boat is too precious to abandon.

With a gulp, he carefully treads forward into the cave. Here, there is no light to guide him, only sound. And every drop of water and subtle echo of breath has his tiny heart hammering. He imagines some great, big, green-hued monster to crawl from the darkness and chow down on his thin bones. Viktor imagines the utmost worse to occur, but does not relent with his original intentions. He has to be brave, he asserts to himself.

When he rounds a corner, he spots a strange patch of light in the distance. Within this light, he recognizes the familiar cog of his boat peeking from behind a rock. He is moments away from cheering and celebrating the return of his greatest invention, until he notices the journey he will have to endure to retrieve the boat.

Viktor will have to squeeze himself through a narrow crack, threatening to release the avalanche of boulders from above. Still, he concludes his boat to be more important than his safety. He wastes no time in rushing forward to enact on such.

There is a struggle as he sinks down to lay on his stomach, but he captures success when he finds his small frame to fit perfectly through the tight gap. Chunks of rock protrude rudely into his emaciated form as he crawls, but he continues onwards. Viktor reaches his hand out, grasping air momentarily, before he finally lodges the wheel of his boat between his two fingers. With a soft “yes!”, he yanks the boat back into his possession.

Before he can leave, however, he finds something striking in his periphery. In its journey, his boat landed in a space overwhelmed with glistening crystals.

Viktor eagerly slithers himself into the expanse. Bringing himself to his feet, he proceeds to marvel at the sight before him.

The one fraction of the area that fascinates him the most is the great boulder directly in the center. It twitches and heaves with faded life, while radiating an aura of blue and purple luster. The opalescence is muted from its old age, but the sparkles still captivate him beyond belief. It does not take much to impress a boy raised in the lanes, after all. It is beautiful, Viktor thinks to himself.

And in the height of his desire for answers, he slowly places a hand upon the surface.

His vision abruptly goes dark and flashes of images then skim through his head.

Viktor sees a person, almost. They have jagged skin and colorful flesh, with swirling hues of blue and purple levitating from their open palm. The scars treading along their skin spell out some form of incantation. The letters are ineligible, but Viktor still attempts to grasp the meaning within the short spurts of clarity casted across his brain. Incomprehensible whispers in this language permeate from every corner of the cave, as though the bats have been assigned the task of delivering a message.

Viktor cannot grasp any of the statements spoken, but one word is emphasized with acute clarity.

Y/N.

There is a vision of a grand tree, bristling with life and color, before that image is replaced by his normal sight of the cave. The floors and walls surrounding him all rumble and vibrate, threatening to crumble. A few loose stones descend from the ceiling and nick his ragged clothing.

Viktor does not waste a second more before he is scrambling toward his point of entry. Squished through the skinny gap, around the several corners, and out the sunlit entrance — he has successfully escaped the crumbling cave with his boat held tightly in his grasp.

A thundering pain then sinks into his leg. The force brings him to the ground with a violent wince. When he looks to the source, he finds that his leg is in its normal condition. What he doesn’t find, however, is his cane. Somehow, he had endured the entire escape without the support of his cane, which has now been swallowed by the tumbling rubble of the avalanche.

Viktor tries to catch his breath and find a feasible explanation. Was it adrenaline that got him to safety, or possibly… Magic?

The topic of this “earthquake” spread throughout the Under-City, before ascending into the glamorous land of Piltover. Without wasting a beat, Piltover swiftly claimed rights to the cave and utilized the expanse for resources, all of which Viktor watched from the high surface of a neighboring water tower.

Seeing the men work themselves to the bone, shipping off samples of what was his discovery, Viktor makes a promise to himself.

He will fight tooth-and-nail to cross the bridge of Piltover. Then, he will reclaim possession of those crystals and protect them as his.

He will succeed, he solemnly swears to himself.

In the span of the years that followed, this mysterious creature, Y/N, has ushered Viktor to chase after his brightest dreams: to heal and obtain strength. They have been his light as he guides himself to this goal; his lantern through a violent blizzard.

The journey to success began when Viktor first dipped a toe into adulthood.

The remaining years of his adolescence were spent in a ridiculous back-and-forth cycle with several prestigious schools in Piltover. Viktor was an exemplary student, that has been made abundantly clear. However, the elites in the academies were wary of his background as an Under-City citizen.

Time after time, he persevered past every expectation of him and flourished with flying colors. Viktor was prepared to stand outside their offices, down on his knees with fresh coffees in hand for their approval.

It wasn’t until a few days after his eighteenth birthday were his efforts finally taken into account. It was through the eyes of Heimerdinger that Viktor finally received recognition, who offered the young scholar the role of his assistant.

Viktor accepted the offer with embarrassing speed.

The role of an assistant is not his dream, though. It is merely one stepping stone toward the finish line of his goals. These are facts he has to relentlessly remind himself of. Upon scrutinizing the failed efforts of a Talis scientist, however, he realizes how difficult this task is. Possibly bridging on the edge of impossible, if he is honest with himself.

After an abrupt explosion, Viktor was sent to study the materials used in Jayce’s experiments and verify their safety. He ventured into his isolated office and began his scrutinization of the notes and toolsets scattered around. A steel metal box, adorned with intricacies of blue and gold, calls out to his curiosity. Flicking the metal tab open, Viktor lifts the heavy lid and finds the very last thing he expected to see.

Held in copper claws are fragments of the crystals he discovered as a boy. All glistening and pulsating in those tones of blue and purple.

“Y/N…” The word crawls out strangled from his throat. Accompanied with his stuttering gasps, he has been rendered to a man absolutely breathless.

His hands tremble like a thundering earthquake as they take one of the crystals into his gentle grasp. And just like that, all the resentment and festering anger he harbored for Piltover had vanished. As though merely touching these shards provided him with the impossible tranquility found in forgiveness.

All he needed now was to return to you, then anything other than serene bliss can melt away.

Viktor offered (with a stifling fervency) to join Jayce in his efforts to learn more of this magic. From here, “Hextech” was born.

Many, many years have now passed since their partnership. In these years, only puny progress has been made in Viktor’s chase for his dreams. With what success they’ve grasped, they’ve managed to capture the attention of scientists and investors across the world.

Jayce, the born-and-raised Piltie he is, has claimed all credit for the perseverance of Hextech with loud, prideful words and his chest puffed out like a bird. He revels in the bouquets of applause and praise he is drowned in.

Viktor, on the other hand (and despite being the sole reason behind Hextech’s success), cannot find it within himself to care for Jayce’s entitlement. All he has ever cared for is you and the dreams you keep safely nestled in your palms. Everything else is immaterial.

2021 has now reached its lively Summer. Unfortunately, the goals Viktor set out for himself that year are miles away from fruition. His primary focus has been the runes he saw adorning your form and what definitions remain in every scratch. Translating the characters will lead to your location, he is positive of such.

With that being said, all these wasted days have been spent finding himself in the same dead ends he’s visited countless times. He can feel his worn body eroding with every passing second, with the glimmer of his dream now beginning to flicker with old, neglected light.

Home again, Viktor partakes in his evening routine before bed, a routine he has followed for years. The thick paper in his at-home office is used to its utmost value, where the ink of his pen bleeds his heart out onto the draped scroll.

If it weren’t for his broad vocabulary and expensive handwriting, you would think these scrolls were the works of a teenage girl gushing about her crush. In reality, it is Viktor releasing the pent-up emotions he’s forced into captivity during the hours at work. Here, within the safety of his home, all of these feelings can be exposed in all of its ugly brilliance. His sentences may be frivolous, but they are overwhelmed with an ardent need.

Without realizing, he sometimes finds himself unconsciously sketching your face from his memories as a boy. That breathtaking, tragically enchanting face has haunted him beyond belief. And that is especially the case now, as he signs off yet another letter to you with his signature “Yours Forever and Always, Viktor”. He takes one last longing glance to your features he sketched over the romantic words.

Propping himself onto his cane, he curls the scroll into itself. He then treads to his bedroom and rests the scroll on the flower bed just outside the window. Joining this letter is another gift he addressed to you.

Viktor takes hold of his handmade boat he carried with him into adulthood. It is now miserable and rusted, but remains one of the most sacred items he owns. He nestles it safely beneath the thick hedges of the flowers, ensuring no gusts of wind or fluttering birds can disrupt its placement.

These actions are taken with one intention in mind: garnering your attention.

Surely, from wherever you may be, you will catch sight of the boat and be reminded of the connection you formed with him long ago. He is sure of this, despite waking every morning to the same, untouched flower bed. Still, this neglect is not anywhere near enough to hinder his efforts.

Slowly, he situates himself into his bed and faces his body toward the window. Sleep is something that rarely ever finds him, but in the midst of these rarities, he sleeps like a restless child on Christmas Eve. One day, Viktor will wake to your heavenly silhouette peering at him through the window. He falls asleep with this prayer ghosting his lips.

Another day of fruitless work is what he is met with the following morning. No soft, jagged hands stroking his hair or crooked smile to rival the early-day sun.

These failures, mended with the countless rough patches Hextech has faced in recent months, have taken a perceptible toll on Viktor. Again and again, he rearranges the runes of the Hexcore and provides it with a multitude of subjects to learn from. Still, he does not earn even a glimmer of a possible translation. All this effort forged into finding your whereabouts has resulted in defeat, yet again.

The hours of the day drag on in agonizing lethargy. The walls of the headquarters could almost resemble the metal bars of a prison. Here, however, the office space provided by Heimerdinger’s connections and Talis House money was far more luxurious than a dank cell.

A window with intricacies molded into the surface provides a blinding light from their high-view point in the city. The gold spheres painting the marble floors and bright walls could almost resemble eyes scrutinizing his every move. The space is vacant, except for the wide desk built into the wall with notes and gadgetry scattered about the surfaces.

The room is dull in comparison to others in the building, yes, but neither he nor Jayce had time to concern themselves with appearance. Maybe… Maybe you’ll help with decorations when the time comes. Maybe you’ll adorn these boring walls with those opalescent crystals and shimmering jewels of yours. You can provide this room with life, just the same as you did for him.

So engrossed in the bewitching pondering of you, Viktor fails to notice another person in the room. Sky, he thinks he can recall her name as. She rambles nervously about nonsense he cannot be bothered to discern. It is only when she treads a little too close to the Hexcore is he finally brought out of his inner turmoil. Her elbow unintentionally nudges a nearby house plant toward the Hexcore.

A scolding bridges on Viktor’s tongue, but is replaced by a suffocating silence when the Hexcore clings to the plant.

A bolt of purple springs from the runes and clasps to the plant like a hand, twitching as it absorbs the energy from the leaves. When the potted plant wilts, the Hexcore bursts with new energy and flourishes with greenery that reaches the ceiling. It radiates in the colors of blue and purple he knows all too well.

From the illumination is a character of one of the runes. Viktor watches in enraptured amazement as said rune unfolds and spells out something tangible.

“SAN T RY”, the letters speak.

Santry? Maybe it is an incantation or a phrase native to the language you speak, he is not sure. Nonetheless, the heavy ache in his chest eases and welcomes the light of excitement.

His brain dares to assume you would then somehow blossom with the flowery, there to breathe life into the dream he’s spent years striving after. Much to his horror, however, all the thriving organic matter soon withers away. As the decaying fragments descend, Viktor rushes over, discarding his cane. He clings to the dead remnants piling on the floor as though it were you who died in his hands.

As quickly as it had begun, it has now ended. And through the shocked silence, he is sure he can hear the tortured remains of his heart die alongside this damn house plant.

Still, the tortured soul does not impede his intentions of translating the runes of the Hexcore. If anything, his motivation has endured an incredible increase.

His crafted boat and another written scroll have found their home on his flower bed, once again, but Viktor is far from his bedroom. He remains in his at-home office, grinding the hours of the past week into understanding the meaning behind this groundbreaking discovery.

Why was there such a dramatic reaction to biological matter? Does this serve as a step forward in the direction of his dreams or does this eradicate all his original effort? Will he have to scour through every note he has written in the past decade to find something that explains this revelation?

And could it… Is it really you?

The runes scribbled on his notepad may as well have been chicken scratch. Despite his unwavering intelligence, he still cannot piece together the meaning of the characters the Hexcore had given him. At this point, translating a mere syllable would be enough for Viktor to shout “eureka!” from the highest building in Piltover.

“Viktor.”

Time stands still.

The voice that permeates through the office is almost strangled, as though his brain can’t quite grasp what the voice actually sounds like. Still, it is an elegant conundrum of the most ethereal music he has ever heard. And he knows, he just knows where this beautiful melody has perfused from.

Oh, Y/N.

My angel. My dearest.

His brain begs for him to turn around and bless his vision with what he knows will be the most perfect sight he’ll ever witness. His body, however, has been reduced to that of a frozen statue, completely stiff and still.

“Look at me.”

The demand falling from your tongue erases all of that.

His body seems to move on its own, beginning to slowly, breathlessly, turn around. He knows it will be too much for his weak body to endure, yet still, he cannot stop himself. It is as though you’ve plunged a hand into his nerves and began conducting his movements like a puppeteer.

Viktor finds you standing across the room and a sob is yanked from his chest. Your figure has personified in a mess of blinding brightness and confusing colors — a watercolor portrait detailing every speck of the word perfection. It strains his eyes to look at you. Yet still, he cannot bear to look away. Not now, not ever.

What is clear in his vision, though, is what you present in your hands. You hold the rusted boat he crafted as a child, with your fingers exploring the gears and cogs plastered against the scrap metal. As you fidget, you tread closer to where he sits. And with tears seeping down his face, Viktor watches your every move in absolute devastation.

“I’ve been searching for this for quite a while.” You hold the boat in an admirable presentation. “For you, as well.”

His heart exhales, almost. As though something had been digging their tight nails into the gooey tissue and finally, finally eased their grasp.

When you bend down beside him, glorious face just inches away from his, Viktor can truly feel his freed heart melting down to puddled nonsense. Your hand then finds his cheek and you cup his boney face in your palm. Your touch feels like fuzzy static from the devices he tinkers with. Electrifying, and most imperatively, warm.

“My beautiful masterpiece.” Your voice still remains a mellifluous scratch and punctures his soul with every timbre and tone.

He can’t help but feel small beneath your gaze. Like a nasty insect. Weak, immaterial, and easy. Skittering across your flesh and ensnaring his prickly limbs around this grand sugar cube he’s stumbled upon. He is something so trifling in comparison to you. Potent, imperative, and intricate. Exuding saccharin with every step you take and indifferent to this foul pest lapping up any sliver he can get.

“How could you let this drag on so long, Viktor?” You question. “You were cut from the cloth of my flesh. Soaked in the rivers of my blood. There is no you if not me. You and I are one.”

Viktor has been rendered to a man overcome with twitter-patted hysteria. He is shocked he is even still able to breathe, no less, maintain consciousness in a moment of such frenzied elation. No words escape him in response; all he can do is stare and revel at the sight he’s been slaving his entire life just to find a glance of.

Another euphoria-induced beat passes before you do the unthinkable. With a few measured glances to his mouth, Viktor watches in astonished rapture as your eyes flutter close and your mouth subtly parts. Then, you lean into him.

Just before your lips touch, impaling him with the inevitable exaltation he’ll surely die from, he blinks and finds himself face-down at his desk.

Reality may as well have slapped him across the face.

A light, delirious gasp leaps from him as consciousness settles in. Viktor finds his lips puckered against his knuckles, where drool seeps from the corner of his mouth and onto the notes beneath his head. He buries his face into his hands with a jagged, frustrated groan.

Dreaming of kissing the partner of his dreams, is he a teenager again? Then again, you’ve always had your clever ways of making him feel as such. This romantic disposition of his did not flourish until the later years of his adolescence, of which he assumed were the normal changes every young man faces. Then, as a mature adult, he can continue his efforts of translating the runes with complete clarity.

Bridging on almost two decades later, these feelings have yet to cease. Viktor is still horrifically and irrevocably in love. Not even the promise of heaven could help fizzle out these emotions. What is heaven compared to you, anyway?

He peeks his gaze through the creases of his fingers and finds he had fallen asleep on his planner. In the ink (now diluted and splotched from drool), he finds the date of the fundraiser he had promised Jayce to attend. With a glance at the clock, he realizes he has several minutes to prepare himself until the event begins. Another groan rumbles from his throat.

All Viktor wants is to return to the dreamscape of your enchanting words and magic-spun lips. Is that too much to ask for?

Dusk has now begun to fade down the horizon, illuminating the artwork of Mel Medarda in a scintillating glow. The art is irrelevant to all, however, as scientists and engineers across the globe have traveled here to sell their million-dollar ideas to Piltover’s greatest investors.

Viktor now stands behind Jayce as they saunter through the gallery, stifling a grunt with every dry conversation he’s unnecessarily dragged into. The scientist they’ve found themself shackled in a conversation with trails on about his success in other nations. He is quite famous for his fruitful discoveries and resolute intelligence, but Viktor could not care less about what this stranger has to offer them.

Standing here, idle chatter and rich laughter perfusing from every corner, all Viktor can find himself thinking of is you. He juggles with the reality of the previous events, trying to differentiate whether it was another sugar-spun dream or a message sent straight from your pen. He’s never had a dream so explicitly vivid before, after all. Could it have been a sign? Was this your reciprocation? Do you truly possess the same feelings for him as he does for you?

“That sounds incredible. Doesn’t it, Viktor?”

A nudge from Jayce and Viktor is barely yanked back to reality.

“Ehh, yes. Yes, it does…”

Without another click, Viktor then returns to his favorite place: the thought of you.

That dream was the encapsulation of his greatest desires falling into his palms. The only proof he has that it was an actual dream and not reality were the current speeds of his fluffed-out heart. To witness you through his naked eye, to feel the genuine touch of your hand, to mold his needful lips against yours — it would kill him instantly. The fact that he is still alive now is all the evidence Viktor needs to realize that, unfortunately, it was just another dream in a sea of thousands.

This does not halt his brain from soaking in the contents of his dream, however. All he could think about in the midst of this stupid cocktail party was your face, your body, your voice. God, could there be anything so indubitably perfect in this world?

And your kiss, oh, the things Viktor would do to receive such vehement affection. Your presence is enough to kill him, yes, but your kiss would revive him, just to kill him all over again.

A delicious juxtaposition between life and death — that is what you are made of. This lethal, intoxicating essence swims through your veins and weeps from your soul; it is a weapon any sane man would be ecstatic to succumb to. Viktor surely would, he has no hesitation with his judgment. He merely thinks of your face and is moments away from collapsing to his knees.

A server treads by with a platter hoisted over their shoulder. On the surface are several gold-painted champagne glasses. Viktor has no second to think before the server is shoving one of the glasses into his hands, no regard for his resistance.

He makes the motion to grasp the server's attention and return the glass, but something about it stops him. Twirling the glass in circles and watching the liquid swirl with the motions, he finds himself entranced. Viktor has never been one to drink alcohol, as it does more harm than good for his feeble body. With this glass now in his hand, he can’t prevent himself from contemplating the flavor. And perhaps the flavor could even be similar to you, maybe.

Would your kiss be as smooth as the thick liquid? Would it sting like the bubbling effervescence of the champagne? Just like the bolts of fervent electricity he garnered from the Hexcore? Would it be rich? Sour? Sweet? Maybe a mouthwatering collision no one has ever tasted before?

Viktor’s mouth waters as these thoughts invade his brain. If he were correct, he’d bottle the essence and get himself drunk on the taste for eternity. Even if it was poison, he would welcome the paradisiacal venom with a sun-bright smile.

Just before his lips meet the edge of the champagne glass to truly test what his angel may taste like, something captures his attention.

The words “Hextech” and “sell” should never exist within the same sentence, yet Viktor hears them crystal-clear from the mouth of this scientist. All bubbly, blissful nonsense frolicking through his mind is brought to an abrupt cut.

Viktor has caught the man halfway through a proposition regarding the sake of Hextech.

“Just between us scientists, you can tell me the truth. You’re surely getting nowhere with your experiments in that cramped office, no?”

Viktor tries to intrude and bring an end to the idea before it is even spoken aloud, but he is rudely interrupted.

“Imagine how much prosperity and success you can bring to the Hextech name with me there! All the profit you’d earn with my skills and experience.”

His nails dig violently into his palm as he drags on with his proposition. Like hell will he let some greedy capitalists put his hands on what sliver he has of you. It hurt to simply let Jayce touch the Hextech materials, despite the fact they were originally in his possession in the first place. To send it overseas to god-knows-where would wound him in ways he would never heal from.

A brutal rejection bridges on Viktor’s tongue. Maybe even a foul remark to add insult to injury. When he glances at Jayce, however, he finds the man's expression to be scrunched into puzzlement. Almost as though he were considering this scientist's offer.

A sharp shatter then pulsates through the room.

Viktor looks to his hand and finds he had shattered his glass in the height of his fury, cold champagne seeping down his folded sleeves.

A few partygoers fall silent and look at the sudden intrusion of volume, but soon return to their chit-chat when nothing feasible comes from the noise. Jayce, on the other hand, wastes no time in trying to inspect the glass shards punctured into Viktor’s pale palms. He yanks himself away before he can place a finger on him, however.

“No!” Viktor asserts.

He is not embarrassed of his outburst, either, despite how composed he presents himself to be. Not when you are on the line. How could he ever remain calm with this prospect knocking on his door?

A sharp glare to Jayce and the man begins fumbling through an explanation.

“I-I never said we would take the offer, just that-”

“Just what, Jayce?”

Viktor’s voice increases in volume. Eyes follow, but he does not care.

“It-It’s just… I’m worried, Viktor. You are clearly not in good shape and I don’t think the future of-”

Viktor swings his frail arm behind him before surging it toward Jayce’s face.

The punch does not land, as Jayce dodges it with ease, ultimately resulting in Viktor to trip over his leg. He lands on the marble floors with a violent thud, piercing pain spreading through his sensitive body upon impact.

All eyes are locked on the two now, hushed whispers drifting through the silent room. As fast as it had begun, it was now over.

Jayce attempts to assist his partner, but Viktor bluntly slaps his helping hand away and brings himself to his feet. If he has proved anything over the past decade, it is not Jayce he needs. It is you and only you. When he is met with the possibility of losing you, he cannot restrain the rampant, infuriated emotions coursing through his bloodstream.

Viktor then limps out of the building with rage still perfusing from him like a thick perfume. Jayce acquiesces, but does not attempt to follow his lab partner. The Talis name cannot be tarnished, after all.

He apologizes to the scientist with shame plastered across his expression. With a paranoid glance over his shoulder, he speaks in hushed tones and proposes the topics they spoke of beforehand.

Meanwhile, Viktor hastens to the sanctity of his home. It is the only safety he has been nestled with in the trajectory of his life. It is all done by your hand, as his home is where you are. Yes, with a slyly-sewn excuse, he was granted permission to keep the Hexcore in his possession, of which he wasted no time in snagging away. Now, he will protect and nurture this fragment he has of you by whatever means necessary.

Viktor soon trudges past the threshold adjacent to his living room, the mahogany doors creaking as he does so. Sauntering through, he is then met with an instantaneous peace.

His library is the place he possesses the utmost pride for, since all books present have been written by his hand. Here, every etch of ink correlates to you.

You are not something he can contain within the whorls of his mind, no. You must be expressed in any form of physicality Viktor can garner. Writing assists him in translating the runes, but it also serves as another desperate attempt to assure himself you are real and not just some psychic phenomenon he experienced as a child. You are real, you must be. You do not have a choice.

Many of the books detail your physicality, as much as his fuzzy, muddled brain can decipher. Other books are unorganized gibberish regarding your whereabouts. The runes, the crystals, the Hextech — all this science is just stepping stones leading him closer to you.

The other pieces, the more hidden ones, are for more frivolous exertions. Nights when these fantasies cloud his mind, he jots them down in messy splotches of ink and marvels at the ideas he bleeds onto paper. Said ideas are too intimate for him to revisit without flushing like a young boy stepping into the world of puppy-love. Nonetheless, they assuage him on the lonelier nights cramped in his office.

All of these books overwhelm the several isles of shelves within the grand library. Through the warm wood and soft lamplights, Viktor rushes past and does not bother to drag his thin fingers across the leather spines, as he usually does in admiration of his work. Instead, he rushes to the set of double-doors opposite to the other doorway.

Through this entrance is his at-home office; the room in which most of his time is spent. The area is nothing short of dull, but serves its purpose — that being supporting Viktor’s hard work and delusional fits.

That is certainly the case now, as the man chucks his cane to the ground and collapses onto a neighboring sofa. The materials are bristly and jut into his skin uncomfortably, but he cannot find it within himself to care. Not when his precious Hextech is at risk of being sold off like livestock. Not when you are moments away from being shoved onto a ship and sent overseas.

“Ridiculous. Selling you? How dare he even consider it!”

Viktor’s gaze finds the rolling chalkboard situated just beside his desk. On the green surface is a sketch of your face, drawn perfectly centered in the mess of numerous equations and jotted formulas.

“There is not enough money in the world- in the galaxy for me to even consider disposing of you!”

He stands to feet, wobbling slightly, before he limps over the chalkboard. He rests a gentle palm upon the surface where your cheek would be.

“No… Never you…”

Viktor had not realized how shockingly realistic the drawing of you was until this moment. All the hours spent sketching your face have resulted in him becoming quite savvy in his artistic abilities, as it shows, to a degree where he finds himself captivated with the sight. As though you were standing right before him, just as you were in his dreams.

“Never you…” His thumb caresses the jut of your traced cheekbone. “Perfect, magnificent you…”

With a light thud, his weary head lands against the board, where your foreheads align. From here, the neglected taste of champagne then returns to his memory. Truly, how would you taste? What emotions would he be flooded with if his dreams weren’t so rudely halted?

Viktor is now breathing heavily before the chalkboard, practically panting against the rugged surface. The idea of kissing you is not foreign by any means, but as he is still fresh out of the arms of his fuzzy dreams, his body cannot restrain itself from reacting dramatically to the concept.

He then presses a languid kiss to your chalk-drawn mouth. Sure, the surface may not have the softness and jagged texture he is certain you possess, but the concept alone is enough to get his heart burning.

Viktor’s mind becomes overwhelmed with the thought of you, like some hungry parasite latched into the fleshy grooves of his brain. How you’d taste, like lapping up the juice seeping from the forbidden fruit. How you’d feel, like the warm blanket of heaven’s clouds embracing him. Viktor is overwhelmed with the contemplation of everything; all the madness and repose that would follow with your lips on his.

The kiss hastens, until he begins utilizing his tongue in the state of vehemence. Thick chalk pervades through his mouth, but he is too far muddled by the fantasies bleeding through his head to pay any mind. He is messy and inexperienced with his mouth, yes, but the feverish need seared into his affections eradicates any nervous ticks or fearful hesitation.

Viktor’s efforts are abruptly cut short when he is overwhelmed by a coughing fit. He failed to anticipate how his fragile body would react to the thick chalk. It is an inevitability he should have realized sooner, had he not been so blissfully blinded by the imaginary, dusty lips of his lover.

What was expected as a few coughs to rid his throat of the dust resulted in him choking on rugged gags. His body slams against the surface of his desk as a desperate means for support.

Blots of hot blood and chunks of chalk amalgamate and splatter out from his retches. Far too light headed to notice, a few drops of this excess land on the Hexcore. Immediately, it begins pulsating with new life. From this vibration, a heavenly aura of violet and blue perfuses and sways in languid circles. A new set of runes he has never seen before join the cloud of color, which spell out incomprehensible letters as they glisten and churn.

This sudden change soon grasps Viktor’s attention, who is now met with a new sense of clarity upon discerning the sight. When the revelation simmers, he may as well have died right at his desk.

“Oh, dearest…” A wide, almost manic smile stretches on his thin face. “Is it me you need?”

The emotions swarming through his body have rendered him weak, but he has never known strength like he does in this moment. Viktor should have known from the beginning: you have always been calling out to him. It was never the measly plants that triggered a reaction, it was him! It was always him!

And so fervently will he give himself over to you. Whatever it is you desire, Viktor will personally deliver on a golden platter. He will be your warrior and your servant; he will set the world ablaze to ensure your happiness.

“Y/N… I promise…”

Viktor collapses before he can bring this new revelation to fruition.

The sounds of a robotic beeping is what greets Viktor next. The steady rhythm guides him as consciousness pervades his body. Through his blurry vision, he finds white walls, white floors, and himself in a white bed beneath white sheets. Everything is stale in its dull, depressing appearance.

Turning his heavy head, he finds a figure seated beside him with their head buried in their hands. A glimmer of hope sparkles through him.

“Y/N?”

Jayce raises his head with sharp speed and Viktor is met with acute disappointment. He fails to notice the trepidation and pity in his partner's eyes.

“Viktor… The doctors, they, uh, they said…”

He sinks further into the mattress. His goals, his dreams, everything he has ever wanted — none of it will be his.

Even beneath the weight of shocked grief, all that permeates through his weary head is you.

The runes inked on your flesh, how he’ll never caress them. The crooked frame of your smile, how he’ll never earn it. The contours of your jagged hands, how he’ll never hold them. The symphony of your musical voice, how he’ll never hear it. Viktor will never be able to have the one thing that matters most to him and this fact punctures him worse than any weapon forged by man.

“I-I know- I know you don’t want to hear this right now, but…”

Viktor’s waiting gaze deepens. “But…?”

Jayce’s eyes dart around the room, searching for something other than Viktor’s eyes to look at. With a deep breath, he breaks the silence.

“Hextech is going nowhere, Vik. We just keep finding ourselves at dead ends and clearly, it's taking a toll on-!”

“Wait, what are you suggesting?”

“What I’m saying is…”

Jayce stammers before finding the words to speak.

“Some scientists arrived overseas and I gave them a tour of our office. I think we should-”

“You what!?”

“I-I just showed them around and they provided some guidance. All I’m saying is that I think it’d be best for us to-”

“Absolutely not! I will not give up Hextech!”

The beeping of his heart monitor accelerates.

“You’re not listening, Vik. There is no you, anymore.”

Beep, beep, beep.

“What is that supposed to mean!?”

Beep, beep, beep.

“With how much… time you have left, I-I made the decision to give your role to one of the scientists.”

Beep, beep, beep, beep.

“I’m sorry it had to be like this.”

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep.

“No, no, Jayce. Please- Please don’t do this.”

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep.

“I’m sorry, but I promise this is for your own good.”

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep.

“I will do- I’ll do anything, Jayce, don’t- don’t do this to me!”

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep.

“There’s nothing I can do, Vik. It’s out of my hands.”

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beepbeepbeep.

“We’ll be collecting the Hexcore from-”

BeepbeepbeepBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP-

“I WON’T LET YOU HAVE THEM!”

Viktor falls to the tiled floor, his shout spurting out like a glass shatter. Sharp and ragged, it is a tone he cannot recognize; the picture frame displaying the heart-shattering devastation of his unmet dreams.

The tubes strapped to his narrow limbs snap and spring into the air. Tears seep down the jagged juts of his cheekbones. Viktor’s slender, ghastly fingers grip the edge of the bed frame and he drags his limp body forward. Crusted fingernails dig into the ankles of Jayce, who abruptly stands from his seat and cowers away from the crazed man.

“They’re mine!”

The door bursts open and a gaggle of nurses and doctors follow the intrusion. They swarm into the scene like a school of fish darting away from the jaws of a great-white. Before Viktor can merely blink, they ensnare their hands around his thin body and restrain him to the cold ground. Despite his resistance, the needles of their syringes glint in the glow of the lamp.

Jayce mumbles another apology under his breath before he scurries away from the mess he has made.

The night passes quietly. So quietly, in fact, the staff that had stuffed Viktor with needles before had forgotten of his existence altogether. The door to his room has remained closed since their departure, and obliviously, they remain unaware of what remains beyond that threshold.

Just after the clock strikes three, the door peers open. A tiny squeak perfuses through the lengthy halls of the hospital, but the quiet night does not react to this intrusion. A head of brown hair peeks out from the opening. Assuring the coast is clear, Viktor takes a careful step out. He takes another, then once more, before he finds himself in a hurried limp out of the premises.

The streets are cold and unforgiving. Every street lamp and drunk pedestrian has his heart hammering. The sight of a horribly-emaciated man in a hospital gown will surely raise a few eyebrows, but nonetheless, he perseveres. As he stated before, nothing else matters when it is you on the line.

Viktor soon reaches the doors of his home. He wrestles with the key momentarily before the lock clicks and he’s barreling through the entrance. It is a weakened effort, but he rushes through his home and arrives at his office. When he finds his beloved equipment safe and sound, he releases a pent-up sigh of relief. His lanky hand rests upon the arm of the neighboring couch, as his body is just mere inches away from sinking into unconsciousness.

Viktor’s gaze, swaying with dizziness, then finds the rendition of your face he sketched on the chalkboard (which has since been smudged by the works of his mouth, but not that he’ll ever admit that to anyone). In a dazed attempt at finding your chalk-ridden lips again, Viktor begins to limp over to the chalkboard. In his efforts, his weak body fails him and his hands reach for his desk to maintain his balance. Here, he is greeted by the sight of the Hexcore, still glistening and pulsating with its hues of blue and violet. Still beautiful as ever, he thinks to himself.

He sits himself in the adjacent chair and continues to marvel at the runes illuminating the dim room. Viktor’s brain, always hungry, then treads toward the runes etched into your flesh, spelling out the same vocabulary scribbled across his desk.

As a child, he always wanted to be you. His mother often found him etching these runes with markers across his arms and legs, scolding him as she scrubs the doodles. As an adult, however, he found he’d rather be with you. Now, those inked stains have since washed away and he can’t help but ponder over their permanence.

An idea then flickers in his brain.

Viktor grasps the letter opener left languidly on the surface of his desk. With a few rushed breaths of fear, restless assurances begin permeating his brain. He no longer has a choice anymore. A second more of waiting and you’ll be ripped from his weak hands like candy from a baby. Spending his entire adolescent years without you was torturous enough. To do so for the rest of his lifetime will kill him before this illness does.

He faces this revelation head-on and begins reminiscing about the day he spoke to you. The day you truly spoke to him, no dreams or fantasies in sight. When you grasped one of the plants on his desk and gifted them life, before scribbling out a message just for him.

“SAN T RY”, you spelled out in magic runes.

Forever the mad scientist he is, Viktor has dissected every scratch and itch of this rune, trying so desperately to decode your letter. Now, things are different. There is no ‘tomorrow’ to start anew, there are no more second chances. All he has left is tonight. And he will stop at nothing to understand the words you whispered to him.

The tip of the letter opener punctures into his thigh with a wet squelch. A muffled groan of pained agony fights against his clenched teeth as he finishes carving the first character. Then, Viktor moves onto the next. Moist blood seeps down his thighs and spills onto the marble floors as he continues, spreading like the excess of a thick soup.

Sweat cascades across his body. His legs begin to quiver. The blistering ache almost becomes a second home. Still, Viktor refuses to relent and soon, he sits in a pool of his warm, oozing blood and gapes at his work of art. Sloppily engraved into his pale-white flesh are deep-red incisions spelling out your last distinguishable message.

A sense of pride fills his chest at the prospect of displaying his level of reverent devotion to you. At the prospect of earning his place at your side, to a degree where the pain seems like an afterthought. Huffs of lightheaded, delirious laughter fill the empty silence. Unbeknownst to him, a lazy finger makes contact with the Hexcore.

The Hexcore then begins to tremble, palpitating like the speeds of Viktor’s heavy heart. A light then floods from the runes and drowns the room in its blinding effort. Through the flashes of white, Viktor is overwhelmed with visions of an uncharted territory. Tall trees align the edges of a pathway, where whispers of incomprehensible incantations dance with the cold winds.

“SAN T RY”, the phrase that has haunted him for weeks, finally receives its final pieces.

A few bolts of prismatic lightning from the Hexcore and the word “SANCTUARY” glistens in a blinding presentation on his thigh.

And without another second wasted, that is exactly where he rushes to.

On the outskirts of the Under-City, Viktor stands at a clearing in a deep, overgrown forest. The trees that swayed in his vision from before are identical to those here, aligning the path he has been treading on. Blood continues to hasten down his thighs and into the dirt beneath his bare feet. Despite the searing pain, he continues forward. With the inevitability of losing you just upon the horizon, no pain in the world could falter his efforts now. The fear is more formidable than any torture he could endure.

As he continues limping forward, the ground suddenly begins to rumble violently. The force of it sends him to his knees, his frail hands digging into the soil for stability. A whirlwind then sprouts from the ground, forming a thick cloud of dirt and wind around him. Viktor cowers into himself in a desperate attempt at protection.

This tornado accelerates and spreads, engulfing him in its entire wrath. Roots then pierce out the soil and stretch into two tree trunks, chunks of dirt spattering upon the aggressive intrusion. The roots soar into the air and intertwine with one another, intricate grooves of warm brown slithering up their jagged bark. They soon meet and their limbs intertwine like two loving hands, forming an oval shape.

Just before he is sure the force of this whirlwind will take his body with it, the wind reaches its breaking point and bursts into the air. The storm has now been reduced to a gentle fog resting against the forest floor. The ground stops rumbling, the whirlwind eases, and Viktor can finally see the night sky in sheer clarity.

Trailing his vision forward, his attempts at standing are halted when he finds the newly-grown trees. The space within the oval has been filled by a sort of gray haze, almost like a portal. It is reminiscent of a surface of water, Viktor notes. Glistening like a midsummer lake beneath sunlight, with hues of violet and blue swirling around the edges. There are icicles descending from the leaves of the two trees like a weeping willow, as well, which sparkle in swaying hues of the same tones.

Scrutinizing further, Viktor is almost certain he can discern what lies beyond this newfound portal, but the mist is too distorted for him to reach a conclusion. When the image of you flickers through his mind, he garners strength he did not know he possesses. He then barrels past the threshold in animalistic speed. His vision is overwhelmed with a blinding white as he lands with a violent thump, before it eases back to its normal precision.

The clean pavement is harsh against his skin as he stands to his feet. Illuminated by heavy moonlight, Viktor finds himself on a quiet street. There are a myriad of shops and centers aligning the pathway as he saunters through. A library, a performance hall, an alchemist’s laboratory, a farmers market — an entire civilization has been cultivated right beneath the nose of the Under-City.

He limps over to several of the locations, pounding his fists on the door, calling out his lover's name, but none of his efforts are brought to fruition. Soon, he abandons his intention of entering the locked premises and continues onwards.

When he reaches the end of the street, Viktor discovers a tree that could touch the moon with its tall height. The trunk is almost as thick as a building with several holes punctured into the wood. From these holes, a blue and violet hued sap bleeds out and cascades into a fountain centered in front of the tree. Blossoming leaves adorned in these same colors stretch down from its branches and nearly graze the ground.

Through the leaves, golden lights flicker with warmth. Here, the broad branches of the colossal tree support the weight of several homes, all connected to one another with wooden bridges. One of the larger branches hidden beneath the canopy of leaves serves as a form of bridge. Surrounding this tree are towering mountains, which this bark-woven bridge leads to.

Viktor thought crossing the bridge to Piltover would reach the height of his amazement, but Topside riches have never left him this breathless. Then again, he has yet to find something that engrosses him with wonder the way you do.

When the tip of his foot collides with the edge of the fountain, he realizes he has been mindlessly wandering forward, too enthralled with the sights he has discovered to care for clarity. He attempts to scrutinize further, before his body is overcome with a sudden rush of lethargy. He collapses against the edge of the fountain and clings to the corners for stability. Blood seeps from his nose and oozes onto the pristine stone.

Before Viktor can scold himself for this disgusting weakness of his, two pairs of arms ensnare around his waist and hoist him to his feet. A sparkle of hope tells him it is you, but with flesh too smooth and bones too prominent, his delusions are brought to a halt before they could even run free. The appearance of these two remains a mysterious blur as they guide Viktor forward.

In his sluggish state, he watches his feet travel up the staircase wrapped around the trunk, limping past the lively houses, and across the bridge connecting the tree with the mountains. And passing this bridge was not reminiscent of his previous journey into Piltover, no. Had it not been these strangers keeping him upright, he’d have collapsed to his knees upon the newfound sight before him.

Nothing short of a palace has been built into the mountainside. Those familiar tones of blue and violet paint the expanse, accentuated with a rich gold. Stained glass windows reflect in the moonlight and irradiate the land in its colorful glow. Ensnaring the walls is a beautiful ivy, where Dusk-Petals and Moonflowers adorn the growing vines and blanket the intricate, elegant architecture.

A grand waterfall descends from the mountains above the palace and into the several rivers spreading throughout the land, meeting the fountain below in its journey, as well. The palace is almost a moat, but the sea of trees disturb any attempt of obtaining the title. The trees resemble the several he has already seen with drooping leaves and twinkling icicles, painting the land in heavenly hues of that familiar azure and violet.

It is far more extravagant and palatial than anything he has ever seen in Piltover. It is more grand than anything he has ever seen in his entire life, for the matter. He couldn’t conjure a better estate for you than this, as you deserve to rest in the pinnacle of luxury and opulence. And this palace is not lacking in those areas in the smallest slight.

Dragging forward (as Viktor has completely abandoned using his feet anymore), they pass through the stone-carved doors and enter the palace. Once through the entrance, Viktor begins to study the interior. And the interior is an almost perfect reflection of the exterior.

Blue and violet permeate the expanse through surrounding furniture and decor, most of which support the weight of art sculptures and trinkets Viktor fails to discern in his lethargic state. They go hand-in-hand with the spreading greenery, which you have evidently and happily allowed to perfuse throughout the entire place.

These details spread through the several twists and turns these helpful strangers drag Viktor through. They finally reach a halt in one of the numerous rooms.. Softly, they loosen their grasp and guide him to the ground. They promptly take their leave without a single word spoken.

A greenhouse is where he has found himself, he assumes. The walls and ceilings all consist of windows, with intricate white frames woven across all surfaces. The edges of the stone pathways beneath his feeble body are adorned with hedges and flowers, all varying in different colors. They compliment the wisteria drooping from several miniature trees, their thin branches adorned with several ornaments that exude a golden light.

Languidly bringing himself to his feet, once again, he finds one of the larger wisteria trees hovering over a pond. It resides in the corner with a small arrangement of rocks surrounding the edges, supporting the stream of a small waterfall leading into the pond. Here, birds surround the stream and bathe their feathers.

The embodiment of tranquility, that is how Viktor would describe this. He almost considers the possibility he had died in that hospital bed and this was the heaven waiting for him. All that is missing in his nirvana is you- oh, God, it’s you.

Simply shifting his gaze to the left, he finds a slab of stone residing in the middle of all this greenery. Upon the surface are several clay pots and cloth-woven bags overflowing with fertilizer. And tending to these products is no other than you.

A strange, overwhelmingly perfect light radiates from your body. Beneath this light, he finds you are draped in a cloak of varying adornments, all shimmering in opalescent hues. There are jewels and crystals sewn into your torso, pearls and wind chimes dangling off shoulders. There are feathers draped down your arms, with seashells aligning your ankles. Harp strings are woven around your every limb and tied into pretty knots. Your body is a centuries-old story told through the embellishments aligning your flesh.

And Viktor, oh Viktor.

No words could encapsulate the ethereal, deific, uncanny, godlike emotions this moment has overwhelmed him with.

There is no room to merely think with these feelings suffocating his brain. It is as though the melody of your love has swelled in their highest magnificence, the Dusk-Petals and Moonflowers blossoming into its most surreal beauty. It is the perfect moment.

Everything he has ever wished for conjured up into a single creature; the light at the end of the tunnel every sorry soul dreams of reaching — he almost doesn’t even believe it to be true. As though the creeping hands of his desires have ensnared their hands around his throat, allowing him one last morsel of illusory bliss before his life fades.

When you then turn over your shoulder, blessing him with the sight of your beautiful, tragically beautiful face, there is no denying the authenticity. This moment leaves a harsh toll on his physical state, as well.

Viktor’s eyes begin to roll back into his skull, but he strives against the force to continue indulging his vision in this glorious sight. Nausea pulsates in his stomach like a wrangling insect, but a few hard swallows keep the sickness at a weak bay. His knees tremble, threatening to buckle once again, but he maintains his posture with acute effort.

It is a battle against him and his body, of which inevitably, leads to failure. Throat pulsing with gagged coughs, Viktor then leaps to the ground and finds a nearby, empty plant pot. He empties his guts into the container. The excess looks like coffee grounds; all blood-stained and chunky. Guilt and shame are expected, but they have no room to thrive. Not when you are here.

He is, in fact, met with the very opposite when he watches from his periphery as you tread closer and bend down to his level. Weakness overwhelms him as he begins to digest more of your physicality. His body sways again from the weight of it all, beginning another descent back to the ground. You halt the motion by catching his cheek in your palm. The effort is enough to set his skin aflame, with a simultaneous bitter chill tickling down his spine.

His body is overwhelmed with these suffocating emotions, but is also blissfully light and peaceful. Horrifying euphoria stirred with devastating tranquility — a delicious juxtaposition.

And the way Viktor looks at you could rival the most devoted of religious followers finding the face of heaven. Eyelids lazy and drooping, framing the glassy tears building in his honey-brown eyes. His gaze is buried into you, more attentive than he has ever been with his brows furrowed into a weak, stuttering curl. Mouth hung agape in fervent shock, drool pools on his tongue and his bottom lip trembles like a child who skinned their knee.

He doesn’t even think before he’s leaning in to kiss you.

“This was not an easy effort, I can imagine.”

His intentions are bluntly interrupted, yes, but he could not have imagined a better way to be halted. A deific incantation, a call straight from heaven, a harmony the world's best musicians have devoted their whole lives trying to emulate — that is how Viktor would best describe the tones that drift from your lips. In fact, your voice catches him off guard to such an aggressive degree, he forgets he had even tried to foolishly kiss you in the first place.

“If I may ask, how did you find us?”

A flurry of words drift through Viktor’s head, toppling out of his mouth through stuttering gasps and pathetic attempts at the human language. It all becomes a mess of English and his mother tongue the further Viktor trails on of how he found the sanctuary, his first encounter with you as a child, and all the turmoil he gleefully endured just for this moment. Sprinkled in with gallons upon gallons of praise, of course.

There is some clarity, however. Fragments, albeit, but he does manage to establish coherency. One statement strikes abundantly clear.

“My Y/N, there is not a line in the world that I would not cross for you.”

And of course, inevitably…

“I love you.”

Those three words, heavier than the world he’s been blessed to stand on with you, continuously tumble out of his mouth. Viktor repeats the same sentiment again and again and again, each time possessing the same heart-shattering devastation.

You do not react, however. Despite his wishes for you to be overcome with euphoria upon receiving his confession of devotion, all you do is stare. You do not return his affection, either, but he is too muddled to notice this.

“You work beside Jayce Talis, correct?”

Viktor’s eye twitches. A flicker of betrayal catches flame, but the ignition is weak.

“Then, I am sure you have heard the Council speak about the influx of ‘Shimmer’, as they have titled it.”

The jealousy (that failed to overpower the miserable rapture, albeit) is eased instantly. If it is not Jayce you are concerned with, then what is it about Shimmer that has engrossed his beloved so?

“As gutted as I am to admit my faults, I am partially responsible for this distribution.”

Through the distorted daze of Viktor’s jubilation, he clings to your every words. You? Y/N? A drug lord? This does not make any sense…

“I am not aware how, but someone has grasped possession of my Dusk-Petals. They are only bred at my hand, so I fail to understand where they have retrieved them, but nonetheless, they have obtained them. They have derived the possessive component of my Dusk-Petals and have utilized the essence as the major component in this “Shimmer”. All for the sake of power and profit.”

Not a word is uttered from Viktor as your explanation settles. His darling has been so overcome with guilt and he was so oblivious! He attempts to scavenge the power to adorn you in reassurances, but beneath the weight of your light, he might as well have been a lifeless corpse on the stone pavements of your greenhouse.

“If I had a…”

Your gaze returns to his, expectantly. He nods along dumbly to every word parting from your mouth.

“Messenger, of sort, I may garner the opportunity to halt the expansion of this poison.”

A gasp, equivalent to that of one witnessing a murder, flees from Viktor’s chest. Yes, yes, yes, a million times, yes!

“Oh, my Y/N, you do not have to ask! Of course I will help you!”

He attempts to scoot closer to you, practically throwing himself into your warm arms. You hinder this effort.

“You… Y/N, you could shatter this entire world to nothing but scattered shards and I would crawl over the sharp glass with utter elation! As long as I can deliver whatever demand you send directly into your palms, I will do it all with a smile-!”

He interrupts himself with a coughing fit, rendered breathless from his own blabbering. He scrambles to wipe his hand of the inevitable blood that has spattered from his throat. In this effort, however, he is startled to find no blood at all. Not even a mere drop.

His gaze returns to you in all your heavenly form. You return his gaze, almost knowingly. His body cannot resist just melting beneath your attention.

“I love you, sweet angel.” Viktor confesses for the umpteenth time. “I cannot feel anything but my love for you.”

Your expression remains blunt and calm, as it remains stagnantly. Nothing short of utterly bewitching.

“Very well.”

Like the triumph of a curtain call, Viktor’s dreams have come true: to heal and obtain strength. After an entire lifetime, he is finally strong. Here, beneath the light of you, everything sings.

Now, his dreams have shifted. Viktor will be your loyal warrior.

No matter what it takes.

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

❝ I WILL LOVE YOU TILL I DIE AND

I WILL LOVE YOU ALL THE TIME . . . ❞

gif creds.

(you are free to imagine Y/N however you’d like to. nonetheless, this and this were my inspiration for what Y/N looks like, in case you were wondering. (nothing adhering to the gender or physicality, just their style and character!)).

tag list: @honey-beeuwu @mrprettycom @makangelo @thelonelyme @solavily @eldritch-bunny @decaffeinatedclodbagelweasel @orbitingmarswithp @frickidyfrog @phantomdomi @mermaidm0tel6 @numbu5 @applepinsss @anon34570 @biohazardousbunny @vogelaqwry @lorely788 @mellowangeltree @myathegoat @alix-37 @lavandercinnamon @vrnicky @mellowfishauthoreggs

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ghoulsbounty · 6 months ago

Note

hi i heavily request something where the reader and the ghoul(cooper) are travelling together and it’s night time, they’re outside trying to get some sleep. the reader is sleeping beside cooper but they get cold and they subconsciously move towards him and grab him, laying on his chest. HOW WOULD HE REACT? 🫶

Until Tomorrow

Cooper Howard (The Ghoul) x Bounty!Reader

Warnings: sliiiiight mentions of smut (18+), alluding to masturbation, a bit of angst, mentions of canon-typical violence/torture, control, small mention of barb if you squint, mention of sex work (not reader), Cooper is mean.

Word Count: 1.2K

A/N: This is just a little ficlet that I've left open ended in case anyone would like a part two. I didn't want to go full-guns blazing into a smut fic since you didn't specify, but I am more than willing to do so, Anon 🫡 I’d love to know what you all think to this, and feel free to send me more requests 💌

👉Read part two HERE👈

"What are you up to?" the Ghoul's voice pierced the eerie night, sharp and accusing. The darkness shrouded the makeshift camp, the bitter wind cutting through with relentless force. His eyes narrowed as he watched you approach, tension thick between you.

You dropped to your knees, wrists sore from the tight bindings he had reluctantly removed. The sand greeted you with a thud as you settled beside him, maintaining a cautious distance. You needed warmth, but you couldn't get complacent with your captor.

"It's freezing," you stated matter-of-factly, shifting against the sand to carve out a somewhat comfortable spot, however impossible. "You let the fire die."

The Ghoul glanced towards the extinguished campfire, a thin wisp of smoke rising lazily into the frigid night sky. The remnants of charred wood and ash lay scattered around it, the faint scent clinging to his clothes as he reclined against the dunes.

"I can start it up again," he offered, a sardonic smile playing on his lips. "If you fancy being deathclaw chow."

Your gaze widened as you glanced into the expanding darkness, the absence of the fire amplifying the encroaching shadows. Terrifying howls and snarls reverberated from the depths, prompting a chilling question: were the creatures lurking out there truly more fearsome than the man holding you captive? The notion of a swift demise by claws and teeth seemed almost preferable to the prolonged torment of captivity. While the Ghoul might not be the one to end your life, delivering you to the cartel as he had pledged would render him just as culpable. In that sense, he might as well be the one to pull the trigger himself.

After your first escape attempt, the Ghoul's demeanour turned even harsher, though the dehydration was a greater torture than any physical aggression. He justified his restraint, explaining that he refrained from inflicting worse harm only because you were required in perfect condition, and he took pride in fulfilling his bounties meticulously. However, his rationale did little to mitigate his rough treatment. To him, a few small bruises and the sting of restraints were acceptable, especially considering your spirited defiance.

But in the span of a few weeks, that defiance began to wane, and resignation crept in. You felt like a sacrificial lamb, resigned to its fate, being led to the inevitable slaughter.

"I'll take that as a no," he remarked, snapping you out of your reverie as he shifted beside you. Even he seemed affected by the cold, evident from how he huddled in his duster, arms crossed tightly over his chest in an attempt to retain warmth. You couldn't help but envy his layers, wishing for more of your own as you wrapped you arms around your torso.

You maintained silence, willing yourself to sleep as you turned away from him. Any further interaction felt uncomfortably intimate.

Cooper listened to the sound of your ragged breaths battling against the cold, your body trembling beside him. The wind was particularly brutal, the kind he would normally seek refuge from in an abandoned building. However, your sluggish pace throughout the day had resulted in him setting up camp in the exposed wasteland, devoid of shelter or respite from the elements. Your punishment, he had said, for dragging your feet.

He could endure it; he had endured it countless times before and would do so again. But for you, he wasn't so sure. Despite your initial bite, you had turned into a meek little thing in the palm of his hand. A small, niggling part of him wondered if he had been too harsh, but survival instincts dictated otherwise. When an animal showed its teeth, you put it down—figuratively speaking, of course, he couldn't risk losing his bounty caps.

This new approach seemed to have worked with you, perhaps a bit too well.

As you shifted beside him, turning to face him with closed eyes, Cooper felt like prey ensnared in the hunter's grasp, awaiting the next move. An uneasy panic gripped him at the sudden feeling of helplessness, but he willed his breath to steady. You released a deep sigh as you pressed your body against his side, and he stiffened at the unexpected closeness. Your arm draped across his abdomen, and a leg hitched and hooked around his thigh.

Cooper was nearly ready to question your apparent lack of brains when he noticed your breathing, deep and steady. His words died in his throat as he felt your arm tighten around him, drawing him closer to you like an anchor. It wasn't a conscious decision to seek him out; rather, a subconscious response to the biting cold, he reasoned. Yet, it did little to ease his discomfort as the warmth from your thighs spread over him, seeping into his core and igniting a sensation he hadn't yet entertained with you.

He found himself mesmerized, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest, his gaze drifting to your parted lips as you released another sigh. Your nose pressed against his shoulder, and he could swear he felt the warmth of your breath through the layers of fabric, igniting the burnt skin beneath.

This wasn't real, not to you, and certainly not to him. By morning, he would carefully remove himself from your embrace, restoring the intended distance your unconscious mind had breached. You would remain oblivious, and only Cooper would bear the weight of knowing how his muscles longed to reach out to you, to touch you without the shadows of anger and conflict looming over them. He cursed the memory from a distant life that surfaced in his mind—a loving touch beneath soft sheets, a foolish adoration for a lover turned stranger.

His fingers twitched, restrained by the firm crossing of his arms over his chest. If he could just maintain this position, he could endure the night. If he could ignore the sensation of your leg tightening around his thigh, your knee brushing against his growing arousal, he could make it through. He chastised himself inwardly for his weakness. He should push you away, keep you bound and isolated from him, be indifferent to whatever dangers might befall you because it would have been your own fault. But Cooper needed those caps. If he could just survive the remainder of this journey with you and keep his sanity intact, he promised himself a visit to the next inn, where he could seek solace in the comforting touch of those who were more than willing to accept a ghoul's money.

Still, he didn't expect anything to compare to the softness of your breasts pressed against his side. Something snapped within him at the sensation, a jolt of electricity coursing through his body. The wild thought crossed his mind that perhaps you were warming to him, not just seeking warmth for yourself. He had broken you, after all, hadn't he? Or at least, he was on his way to doing so. He couldn't help but wonder: if he woke you, would you pull away or press yourself closer?

A foolish thought, but one that haunted him nonetheless.

He lay in silence, listening to the rhythm of your breath as he stared up at the stars. Waking you wasn't an option; he wouldn't risk the inevitable panic and distress of you finding yourself half-straddling the monster who had stolen your freedom. He would let you sleep, indulging in the fantasy that you felt something other than contempt for him as he waited for the sun to rise. Until then, he justified to himself as his hand slipped from its restraint under his arm and found the buckle of his belt, it would be a shame for a solitary man not to indulge.

#cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x you #fallout #cooper howard smut #the ghoul smut #fallout prime #fallout fanfiction #cooper howard #the ghoul #fallout x reader #fic request

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 months ago

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Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 6: I'm The Resident Leader Of The Lost And Found]

A/N: Be sure to vote in the poll pinned to the top of my blog AFTER you finish reading! It will be available for 1 week 🥰

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon™️, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes, RIP Jace...unless...??

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “St. Jimmy” by Green Day.

Word count: 8.2k (she's a little chonky)

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

What happens to the people who turn? You know because you saw it back at Saratoga Springs, an EO from Oklahoma named Greg Flurry—Equipment Operator, he spent his days driving a forklift, everyone called him Snowflake—who returned from weekend liberty with a bite on his left wrist that he said was a gift from some drunk girl who attacked him outside of a 7-Eleven. You had all laughed and taken turns poking at the wound, making him wince: a ring of tiny bruises, not deep at all, the skin only punctured in a few spots, corporeal gemstones of trapped-blood amethysts and sapphires and rubies. Snowflake rubbed it down with a splash of Grey Goose vodka—the same kind your Mama always drank—and didn’t think of it again for the rest of the day.

On Tuesday, he felt fine; but the bite mark, paradoxically, was not healing. On the contrary, it was turning dark and angry, maroon trails along the paths of veins that shuttle blood back to the heart. Snowflake got a shot of antibiotics at the med clinic and was back in the driver’s seat of his forklift before lunch.

On Wednesday, he had a headache and nausea that wouldn’t go away. Snowflake attributed this to particularly questionable chicken fried steak from the chow hall. At night he tossed and turned in his bunk, and when Rio went to check on him, Snowflake was burning up with fever, sweating through his sheets, staring blankly through pupils like pinpricks. You, Rio, and Parker carried him to the med clinic.

On Thursday, in the early hours of the morning, Snowflake began to decompose. But he was still alive. His skin turned grey and sloughed off, his body purged itself: vomit from his throat, diarrhea from his intestines, blood beading out of his pores like sweat. His corneas went cloudy. His lungs flooded with decay-dark mucus. Snowflake sobbed and shrieked as you and Rio sat with him and held his disintegrating hands, as the corpsmen phoned every hospital they could to try to get him transported. All the ambulances were unavailable. All the hospitals were already overwhelmed. They gave the corpsmen peculiar guidance: Palliative care. Prepare to restrain him if he becomes a danger to others. The virus appears to be transmitted via bite wounds.

“Virus?” Rio had said, dropping Snowflake’s hand. “What the fuck kind of virus does this to someone?”

The corpsmen had shaken their heads—We don’t know—and attempted to administer narcotics intravenously. Snowflake received no relief. His blood vessels were collapsing, dissolving, turning to a noxious soup beneath what was left of his skin. Becoming a zombie is not unlike radiation sickness. It rots you from the inside out, and you can feel everything.

As the sun was rising, Snowflake died. And by then you were glad; it was the most merciful outcome. The corpsmen covered him with a sheet and called around for a morgue. They were full too. As you all stood in an exam room trying to understand what had just happened to Snowflake here, what was going on in the world outside Saratoga Springs, the fresh corpse sat up on the table. You had screamed and clutched for Rio; he shoved you behind him. The corpse, still covered with the sheet stained with black and brown and red, followed the noise of your voice and staggered towards you, snarling and groaning, arms outstretched, teeth clicking as they gnashed beneath the sheet. The corpsmen tried to grab him, then shrank away when the ghoul clawed at them, putrefied fingers peeking out from beneath the linen. The zombie lurched closer, and Rio struck out: colossal knuckles to a soft skull, the monster sent hurtling headfirst into a wall. The body plunged to the floor and, enveloped by a puddle of its own bodily fluids, died for the second time.

And Rio had glanced down at where Snowflake had been bitten—now indecipherable on his black, gangrenous wrist that jutted out from beneath the sheet—then turned to you and said: I guess it only takes once.

~~~~~~~~~~

You doze against Aemond’s shoulder as Baela drives the Honda Odessey across Indiana, goldenrods and dogwood trees, green weeds growing tall and wild, red bloodstains on pavement. Visions of the past come to you in spider-thread thin fragments of dreams.

Building dams of sticks and pebbles in the swamp-colored creek that runs along Kentucky State Route 1087. Balancing atop rusted railroad lines that once connected coal mines like ligaments link bones, bare feet, box turtles and milk snakes, autum leaves falling into your hair. Scratching black-ink battleships into the pages of your fifty-cent Walmart notebook as teachers drone on about things that mean nothing to you, things that will not take you away from here, Shakespeare, the Krebs cycle, the Tet Offensive, Spanish words for colors and animals. Mama glancing up at you as she scrubs dishes in a sink nearly overflowing with bubbles, too nonchalant to intend to be cruel: You’re lucky you ain’t too beautiful. Do you know what happens to beautiful women? Marilyn Monroe, Jackie Kennedy, Natalie Wood, Anna Nicole Smith? Horrible, horrible things. And then they die.

Once in a while you pass a car or truck or SUV coasting east as you roll west, strangers who wave and give you nods of grim, transient greeting. Good luck. I’m sorry you’ve lost people. I hope you live. At a Speedway outside of Kokomo, Aemond, Aegon, Rio, and Luke draw Uno cards to see who will attempt to siphon gas from the three vehicles you find there with closed fuel caps. Aegon loses with a blue four. The Kia and Toyota are empty; there’s almost a full tank left in the Ford. You refuel the Honda Odessey and scrounge through the convenience store for supplies. Helaena seems to have developed a sort of fixation with pain pills, hoarding Advil and Tylenol. Aegon finds a few more packs of Marlboro Golds. He puffs on them, windows down and breeze blowing, neon green plastic sunglasses shielding his eyes, as Baela skirts around Indianapolis. Even from fifteen miles away, you can see the billowing smoke from the fires, hear the manmade thunder of explosions.

“Bet people are having a great time there,” Aegon murmurs as he takes a drag, embers glowing and blonde hair thrashing in the wind.

Baela follows the course he plotted, swinging just south of Peoria, Illinois to avoid the nuclear power plants between there and Chicago. You cross the Mississippi River and into the southern tip of Iowa over the Fort Madison Bridge, the toll booth occupied only by a carcass that buzzards are pecking apart, a zombie that someone else already put a bullet in…or perhaps the man did it to himself. Maybe he didn’t see a point in sticking around to watch the dead inherit the earth. You cannot agree. Each day you find more reasons to stay alive in this treacherous new world. It’s like when you were back in Soft Shell, Kentucky. You can’t give up, you can’t surrender. The only way out is through.

The black Honda Odessey—a good soldier, having taken you six hundred miles and into the vast flat vacancy of the Midwest—at last runs out of gas as you are approaching Bonaparte, founded in the 1830s as a lumber mill on the banks of the Des Moines River. You unload the minivan and trek into town; you will find somewhere to spend the night and then in the morning head south to Route 2, which you will follow all the way across Iowa to the Nebraska border.

The first house you try is at the edge of town, eggshell-colored vinyl siding and an empty gravel driveway. Rio tries the front door—locked—then tells everyone to back up. He kicks it once, no dice, gets ready to try again. Then the door opens. A woman with wide fearful eyes stands there with two boys cowering behind her, maybe ten and twelve.

“Please don’t break the lock,” the woman says softly. “We need it. Sometimes they try to get in.”

“Oh hey, lady, I’m sorry about that. We didn’t know anyone was home. You okay in there?”

Her voice is so quiet you can barely hear her. “Please leave us alone.”

Aemond climbs the steps of the front porch, taps Rio’s shoulder to tell him to back up, and kneels in the doorway so he isn’t so tall. He asks the woman: “Do you need supplies? Food, medicine?”

“Please leave us alone,” she says again.

“My name is Aemond, and those two are my brothers Aegon and Daeron, and that’s my sister Helaena, my cousin Luke, and then Rhaena and Baela. The big guy is Rio, and the girl over there…” He smiles as he gestures to you. “We like to call her Chips. Everyone is healthy, and everyone is here by choice. We’re going to the West Coast, Oregon and California. Do you want to come with us?”

But the woman shakes her head almost violently. “We’re safe in the house. We have to stay. My husband is a long-haul trucker, but he’s on his way back to us.”

“How do you know he’s still alive?”

“Go away. Please just go away. Before they see you.”

The woman shuts the door and you hear her throw the deadbolt. You leave like she asks you to; but not before Aemond collects an armful of supplies you can spare and places them in a pile on the porch for them to take inside once you’ve vanished.

The sun is sinking into the west as Helaena lights candles in Bonaparte Baptist Church and Rhaena shakes out dusty, mothball-smelling tablecloths to use as blankets. Luke finds gallons of grape juice and bags full of tiny flat bread wafers in the cabinets of the kitchenette, once used for sinless communions. It’s Daeron’s turn to stay awake for first watch. If Jace was still alive, it would be his too; instead, Aemond takes his place and refuses all offers of relief. You lie down on a pew with thin violet cushions and are thinking that you’ll never get comfortable enough to fall asleep when you are abruptly swallowed by omnipotent, black nothingness.

You jolt awake sometime in the middle of the night, a bad dream you don’t remember and don’t want to. Daeron is perched on the altar and using a hunting knife from the cellar back in Distant, Pennsylvania to sharpen the sticks he’s gathered into arrows. Baela is sitting with Aemond, their backs against the wall and voices hushed so as not to wake the others. Aemond is telling her that everything is going to be okay, that he’s still here, that Jace is gone but he’s not going anywhere, and candlelight is flickering across his scarred face, and he’s afraid but he doesn’t show it. He can’t. Too many people need him.

Oh, you realize; and it doesn’t feel awful at all, doomed or apocalyptic, a curse or a plague. It feels better than anything you knew existed. I might fall in love with him after all.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Aemond, take a look at this,” Luke says, offering him the binoculars. You have walked several miles on Iowa State Route 2, an asphalt atoll in an ocean of emerald green flora, buffalograss and prairie roses, ash trees growing over defunct power lines.

Aemond peers through the binoculars. It’s a small farmhouse about a quarter mile off the road, rugged and weatherworn, besieged by a flock of zombies. There is something large and rectangular flapping in the wind like a white flag of surrender. “Hm,” Aemond hums sympathetically. “It’s a shame. Poor guy.”

“What do you see?” you ask, and he gives you the binoculars. The zombies, approximately thirty of them, do not appear to have breached the interior; they shuffle through the yard and up and down the steps of the porch, smack their palms against the wood siding, leave stains of gore on the boarded-up windows. None appear to be aware of you yet. The bedsheet that hangs from the attic window has a message painted on it in something dark and viscous, perhaps motor oil:

One alive inside

I can hunt, fish, and fix things

Please help me

God bless you!!!

“We should be able to get to Cantril before dark, it’s about twelve more miles,” Aegon mutters, pondering his map. “Boner-party. Who names a town something like that?”

Aemond stares at him. “Bonaparte. Like Napoleon.”

“Who?”

You pass Rio the binoculars, then say to Aemond: “We’re going to help him, right?”

“We sure as hell aren’t,” Rio replies as he studies the farmhouse. “You want to risk our lives killing all those bastards? I don’t.”

You turn to Aemond, incredulous, but he concurs with Rio. “It’s too dangerous.”

“What’s going on?” Baela says testily from where she’s sprawled on the pavement sipping a half-full plastic gallon of bruise-colored grape juice. She’s already exhausted, but you have no way of transporting her.

Rio points across the field. “There’s a sign saying someone’s trapped inside that house. Tough fucking luck, ain’t it?”

Baela stares at the farmhouse uneasily, her brow furrowed. Rhaena fans her with a paperback copy of Catching Fire. Daeron has wandered off the road to collect more sticks to sharpen and fill his quiver; Helaena is with him picking wildflowers.

“That was us,” you tell Rio. “We were stranded on that transmission tower and we would have died if we’d been left there. But we weren’t. Someone saved us.”

“Things were different then,” Aemond says, unemotional, uncompromising. “We had the Tahoe. Now we’re on foot, and we’d have to kill each of them individually. And there’s no way to make a fast escape if something goes wrong.”

“So we’re just going to leave him?” Aegon says doubtfully, his large ocean-blue eyes flicking between you and Aemond. He stuffs his map back into his shorts pocket and scratches at the tattoo on his forearm: It’s not over ‘til you’re underground.

Rio groans. “Come on, man, we don’t even know if anyone’s still alive in there! What if he’s dead already? What if he got bit or starved to death or fell down the steps and snapped his neck or something?”

“What if he’s not a good guy?” Aemond adds.

“There’s a Trump 2024 sign in the front yard,” Luke says. He has the binoculars again. Aemond opens his hands, an I told you so sort of gesture. Luke amends: “Not that anyone deserves to get eaten alive or transformed into a walking corpse. But, you know. I figured I’d mention it.”

You are not swayed. Had you stayed in Soft Shell, Kentucky, you might have believed the same things. “People deserve to have the chance to start over.”

Aemond’s eye is on you, narrow and seeking, desperate to understand. “Why are you so fixated on this stranger?”

“He hunts, he fishes. What are we going to do when we get out into Wyoming and Nevada where towns are fifty miles apart and there’s hardly anywhere to scavenge for food? What are we going to eat when the beef jerky and Skittles run out?”

“You said everyone hunts where you’re from.”

“Not literally everyone. I don’t hunt.”

“You can shoot.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know how to track animals. And even if I killed a deer, I wouldn’t know how to dress it.”

Aegon blinks at you. “To what?”

“To remove the skin and organs and everything.”

“Oh. Okay. That makes more sense.”

“It’s too dangerous,” Aemond repeats. Rio is nodding in agreement. Baela’s lips are pressed into a thin, thoughtful, rigid line. Daeron and Helaena have returned to the road to see how the discussion unfolds.

“There are about thirty zombies out there,” you say. “I can take fifteen. I just need you guys to do the rest.”

“Everyone here is my responsibility.” Aemond is severe, but he isn’t angry.

“Then you’re responsible for their humanity as well.”

“I can’t justify risking our lives for this.”

“I’ve killed people, living people, and I didn’t like how that felt. Make no mistake, this is killing too, just by omission instead of with bullets. We’ll all have to carry that weight. The man in that farmhouse hasn’t threatened us. He’s helpless, and he’s trapped, and if we don’t save him, who else is going to do it? What if it was you in there? What if it was me?”

Aemond, frowning, contemplates the house that has become a prison. Rio looks at you, one eyebrow raised. You gaze stoically back. He sighs. “Okay, what the hell, let’s rock,” Rio says.

Baela holds up her Ruger in one hand, slips her hammer out of a belt loop of her shorts with the other. “I’m on board.”

“You shouldn’t be on anything except bedrest,” Aemond tells her.

“I can take fifteen of the zombies myself,” you say again. “I have two M9s, thirty bullets total. I won’t need more than that.”

“I can take ten,” Daeron says.

“Shut up,” Aegon replies, though his tone is gentle. “You can’t even donate blood.”

“I can take ten,” Daeron insists, clutching his compound bow. “At least ten.”

Aegon swings his golf club around. “I can take…like…probably approximately three.”

Rio grabs his face and squeezes his sunburned cheeks as Aegon giggles and slaps at him. “You won’t get the opportunity, Honey Bun. Stay in the kitchen and bake apple pies until Daddy comes home from work.”

“You really think this is the right thing to do?” Aemond asks you. It’s not a challenge, only a question. He’s at war with himself, you can tell. He’s trying very hard to treat you like someone he’s not terrified to lose.

“Yes. Absolutely.”

He pulls his Glock out of its holster. “The gunfire will attract more of them.”

“Then we’ll have to move quickly.”

Aemond turns to Baela, still wilted on the pavement. “You, Rhaena, and Helaena will follow behind us with Luke and finish off any zombies we missed.”

Baela gives him a weak, acquiescent thumbs up, breathing heavily. “Got it.”

“Helaena, you still have your Ruger, right?”

“I won’t need it,” she murmurs, wildflowers tucked into her long blonde hair, watching a ladybug skitter across her knuckles. Aemond is exasperated.

“I’ll make sure she’s okay,” Luke promises. He’s using his binoculars to scout for any threats on the horizon, additional zombies or approaching strangers. Evidently, there are none.

“The grass,” Helaena says. “It makes it hard to see the snakes. Watch your step.”

Aemond replies distractedly: “I think we have bigger worries at the moment, babe.” As Rio pumps his Remington and Luke fumbles nervously with his Marlin .22 to make sure it’s fully loaded, Aemond walks a few yards away from the others and gestures for you to follow him. Aemond’s voice is low, the blue of his eye river-clear and blade-sharp. “I want you to stay near Rio.”

You give him a small, teasing smile. “So you won’t worry about me?”

“So I’ll worry slightly less.” He brushes a piece of buffalograss from your hair, his fingers lingering there longer than they need to. “Rio’s the biggest, he’s the best fighter. And if one of those things catches you by surprise, he’ll be able to crack its skull no problem. So keep close.”

“I’ll try, but sometimes it’s more complicated than that.”

“Please work with me. I’m giving you what you want.”

To be useful, to be merciful. “Thank you, Aemond.”

“Thank me by not letting anything bite you. Not today, not ever.”

“Well, except you of course.”

He laughs, the tension in his face breaking; he skates his thumbprint over your cheek and kisses your forehead, swift like a reflex, unthinking, instinctive.

“Good to go?” Rio asks with a grin, holding his Remington with both hands.

Aegon’s golf club is resting across his shoulders, and you have a sudden vision of Jace doing the same thing with a baseball bat, a vengeful ghost peering out from beneath his curls with cunning dark eyes and a smirk. “Yeah, Chipotle, you’re leading the charge here.”

“No she’s not,” Aemond says, striding to the edge of the road. Across the field is the farmhouse, the white bedsheet S.O.S. still whipping in the wind. “I’m in front. Everyone else is behind me.”

“Oh yeah? Then who’s gonna watch your blind side, huh?” Aegon jogs over and whacks Aemond’s left shoulder with an open palm, beaming up at him. “Don’t worry. You’ll still get to be the hero. I was born talentless.”

“You have talents, Aegon,” you say. “You can sing.”

“Not relevant in a zombie-riddled apocalyptic hellscape, Cow Chip.” He and Aemond start across the field, then you and Rio, then Daeron, darting around in your peripheral vision, nocking sharpened sticks like arrows. Luke, Baela, Rhaena, and Helaena trail at a distance.

You have closed half of the gap between the road and the farmhouse—and Daeron has already felled several zombies—before the beasts begin to turn around and notice you. They do not understand danger; they only understand hunger, and they lurch towards you with teeth gnashing and claws outstretched, strips of decaying flesh hanging like sleeves from their arms. You hate the way they move, like they’re trying to imitate life, like they are receiving some sinister transmission that reverberates inside them, like they are soulless vessels to be used in the darkest ways.

You stop, plant your feet in the earth, and raise one of your Beretta M9s. Your eyes find the sights; your finger settles on the trigger. You are rusty at first: a miss, a bullet in a rotting shoulder instead of a skull. Then you click into a rhythm and the zombies drop as they stumble towards you, infected dark blood spewing, brains pouring out onto the soil. When your clip is empty, you shove the first M9 back into its holster and pull out the other.

Daeron is putting his makeshift arrows through eye sockets, Aemond is firing his Glock, Rio is erasing entire heads with the grotesque power of his Remington. Aegon is swinging his golf club around wildly. His Marlin .22 hangs from its strap across his back, but he’s hopeless with it; his aim quite literally could not be worse. You hear other gunshots too, maybe Luke. A stranger appears from the front door of the farmhouse: red flannel shirt, roomy jeans, tan work boots, long messy russet hair pulled back in a man bun, almost as big as Rio. He is carrying an axe and begins helping to cut down the remaining zombies. Rio realizes you’re no longer with him and turns around to find you.

“I’m good!” you shout, waving him forward. “Go, go!” Rio nods and takes off again towards the farmhouse, blasting his Remington 12 gauge like a cannon.

Your ankle snags on something, a gnarled root, an old piece of farm machinery. You fall hard, hitting the ground and knocking the air out of your lungs. Your M9 is flung from your grasp. You roll onto your back and sit up to see what you’re caught on. It’s the grasping hand of a zombie, an old man, long white hair and dead milky eyes, only a torso, nothing below the ribcage except a tangle of dirt-coated intestines. It is scrambling towards your legs, jaws rattling, teeth covered in the blood of the other people it has eaten.

You shriek and try to kick it away. You reach for the empty M9, rip it out of its holster, and hold it by the barrel so you can use the grip, the heaviest part of a pistol, to bash the zombie’s skull in. But you aren’t Rio; when you strike the zombie’s head, it keeps hissing and scrabbling towards your flesh that sings to it like a siren, irresistible, divine.

I can’t let it bite me, I can’t let it bite me—

There is a boom and the zombie drops face-down to the earth. You are saved; you are free. You turn to see Rhaena standing beside you, clutching her tiny Ruger in trembling hands…but her eyes are closed. Slowly, petrified, they come open, one after the other.

You gape up at her. “Did you aim?!”

Rhaena shrugs guiltily. “I don’t remember how.”

“Jesus Christ. Well thanks, I guess. Glad you missed my pelvis.”

She laughs shakily. “Yeah. Me too.” Rhaena holsters her Ruger and helps you to your feet. By now, everyone else has realized you’re in trouble and are sprinting over, including the new guy.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” you say, holding up your arms and skimming your palms down your bare legs to show them you haven’t been bitten. “No need to despair. Rhaena rescued me.”

Aemond gets to you first. “Can I see?” he asks breathlessly. You give him your hands and with his fingertips, he reads you like Braille: palms, forearms, throat, jaw, gingerly turning your face away from him and then back again. He exhales, relieved. “Good job, Rhaena,” Aemond says, and she smiles. Baela uses her hammer to smash the skull of a zombie that’s still squirming. Aegon yanks a snarling toddler to its feet—Pokémon t-shirt, left leg missing, wearing one of those child leashes—and swings his golf club so hard its whole head pops off and rolls away into the buffalograss with sick wet thumps.

“I thought you couldn’t kill the kids,” you say.

Aegon spits on the corpse’s collapsed, headless body. “It’s different now. These monsters ate Jace. Fuck ‘em all.”

“I can’t thank y’all enough,” the axe-wielding stranger says. “I was sure I was going to die in there like a rat in a trap. There’s a hog farm on the property behind mine, and I think the…you know…all the meat attracts zombies. A pack of them saw me in the yard and followed me to the house, and when they’re in a group like that, they seem…well, I just couldn’t get rid of them. Alone they wander wherever, but a hoard has structure, it has a mission, and they were waiting me out. I didn’t have my guns, I didn’t have my truck…”

“What happened to them?” Rio asks.

“I got robbed, that’s what happened.”

“No!” Baela says. “Really?”

“A week ago, five men I’d never seen before broke in while I was sleeping. They must have drugged my dog, who knows with what—she slept for twenty hours, have you ever heard of something like that?—and locked me in my bedroom. By the time I kicked the door down they were gone, and so were quite a few of my earthly possessions. It was nice of them not to murder us, I guess. I have a couple boxes of ammo left, but that’s all. Mostly 9mm.”

“That’s exactly what I need,” you say.

The stranger gives you a curious, appraising glance. “I’m very glad to be able to assist you, ma’am.” Then he finally gets a good look at Aemond, who is glaring at him. “Lord almighty, what the hell happened to your face?”

“A piece of sheet metal fell on me.”

“He stitched it up himself,” Luke says. “I watched. It was wild.”

The man is impressed. “You’re a doctor?”

“No, no, no,” Aemond amends. “Just an intern.”

“He’s basically a doctor,” Baela says.

“Well, you’ll be useful to have around, I expect.” The stranger offers his hand and Aemond, somewhat unenthusiastically, shakes it. “I’m Cregan Stark.”

“Aemond Targaryen.”

“Targaryen?! That’s a heck of a name, sir.”

“It’s Greek,” Aegon says.

“Where are y’all headed? Not all the way back to Greece, I hope. That’d be a hike. And a swim too, I guess.”

Aemond smiles tightly, polite but guarded. “Not that far away. We’re on our way to the West Coast, California and Oregon.”

“And you’re on foot?! You need horses.”

“We haven’t come across any that are still alive.”

“Do you want to travel with us, Cregan?” Luke asks amiably.

“I reckon I would, for now at least. I got nowhere else to be and no one to care for.” Cregan looks to Aemond. “That alright with you, doc?”

“Sure,” Aemond replies ungenerously.

“My folks got a trailer over towards Cantril, and a truck parked out back too if nobody’s stolen it yet. We can stay the night there if you want and then drive west in the morning.”

“Cantril! That’s on our route!” Aegon exclaims, he of the map and the gel pens.

Aemond narrows his eye at Cregan, suspicious. “If your parents are so close, why aren’t you staying with them? Why didn’t they swing by to check on you and see you were in trouble here?”

“Well, ‘cause they’re dead,” Cregan says, and Aemond is abruptly remorseful. “When all this started, I went over to get them and they were out in the front yard, just bones. All the flesh was chewed right off. But I found their wedding rings in the grass, and Mama’s pearl necklace that her Grammie gave her when she got married, Mama never took it off as long as she lived. It looked like a string of rubies.”

Aemond swallows noisily. “I’m sorry.”

“Ain’t nothing I can do about it now,” Cregan says, staring out over the field and biting his lips so they don’t quiver.

“Did your parents have guns?” Rio asks hopefully.

Cregan chuckles and shakes his head. “No, that’d be swell, wouldn’t it? Daddy got all his guns taken away when I was in high school.”

“Taken away…?” Baela echoes.

“Yeah,” Cregan says casually. “After the methamphetamine conviction.” He whistles, and a dog comes loping out of the front door of the farmhouse. It’s huge and mean-looking, fur the color of ashes or smoke. It goes directly to Cregan and noses his hands; you are reminded of how Aemond searched you fearfully for injuries. “She’s half-German Shepherd, half-grey wolf. Her name’s Ice.”

“Does she bite?” Aemond asks tentatively.

“My little princess?! Hell no! I wish she did, then maybe those robbers wouldn’t have gotten what they wanted. But she knows when those things are around.”

Aegon pats her angular, steel-colored head. Ice puts back her pointy ears and closes her eyes, basking in the attention. “Hey, fuzzball. I’m going to call you Blue Raspberry Icee.”

“You can call her whatever you want to as long as she’s allowed to come with us.”

“She’s welcome if she sniffs out zombies,” Aemond says.

Baela is struck by a thought. “Cregan, what kind of truck did your parents have? I hope it’s big. We’re a lot of people.” She’s resting her hands on her belly. And we’re about to add one more.

“A Chevy Tahoe,” Cregan says. You all begin chattering excitedly, then have to explain why.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Y’all like fishing?” Cregan asks. He’s cooking dinner for everyone with his dead parents’ Coleman butane camping stove, only one burner, each course prepared individually. You are all seated around him on the living room floor, sipping cans of Coke and Sprite—what Cregan calls “pop”—and eating turkey-flavored instant stuffing that came out of a cardboard box. Now Cregan is working on Hungry Jack mashed potatoes, tiny white flakes like snow that puff up in boiling water. Rhaena is staring at the pot with horror. Baela scarfs down her stuffing like she’s been starving to death. Flashlights illuminate the room in dim ocher like a setting sun, the roof vents open to let in cool night air. The trailer smells like cigarette smoke and dust and mildew. Piled haphazardly in corners are old newspapers, mounds of unfolded clothes, empty boxes and plastic bags, VHS tapes—Star Wars, 80s rock concerts, Clint Eastwood movies—and unwashed cups.

Aemond chuckles like it’s preposterous. “No.”

“Garth Brooks?”

“No.”

“NASCAR?”

“Who watches NASCAR?!” Aegon says.

You smile. “Everyone’s got a driver where I’m from.”

Cregan, vindicated, thumps a closed fist against his chest. “I was a Jeff Gordon guy. His car reminded me of a box of Froot Loops or something.”

“My brother Denver covered the inside of the garage with Dale Earnhardt Jr. stuff. I got obsessed with Juan Pablo Montoya for a while, he was cute.”

“So you chase the dark-haired fellas,” Cregan says, grinning, still stirring the potatoes. Everyone else’s wide, perplexed gazes fly between you and Cregan as they eat their Stove Top stuffing from Styrofoam bowls.

You titter nervously. “I don’t usually chase anyone.”

Aegon notices a taxidermied largemouth bass mounted on the wall, approximately fifteen pounds. “What the fuck,” he whispers, dismayed.

“WWE?” Cregan asks you.

“Oh, Rey Mysterio, no question. He was cute too.”

Cregan snorts. “He literally never took off his mask!”

“He was cute underneath it. I could tell, I have a sense for these things.”

“I’ll let you live in delusion.”

“I thought wrestling was real back then. When he’d get beat up and covered in fake blood, I’d start crying because I figured he’d die. Who was your favorite?”

“John Cena.” Cregan waves an open hand back and forth in front of his face. “You can’t see me!” You both burst out laughing. No one else gets it.

“It’s John Cena’s signature move,” you explain.

“Hm,” Aemond says, but he’s watching you and Cregan with deep grooves in his forehead and a solemnness in his lone blue eye, tapping his chin restlessly.

“Now, we might not have any butter…” Cregan picks up one of the containers scattered around him, a plastic jug of Great Value powdered coffee creamer. “But this makes for the best potatoes on the planet.” The others watch, stunned, appalled, as he adds several heaping spoonfuls to the pot.

You smile wistfully. How is it possible to be so nostalgic for a place you once believed was killing you, wringing you dry until all your blood dripped onto the floor and you were left a husk, a ghost, a myth? “My Mama always did that. She put it in mac and cheese too.”

Cregan serves you first, taking your empty stuffing bowl and returning it nearly overflowing with Hungry Jack instant potatoes. “Here’s a taste of home.”

And he’s right; you take a bite—hot enough to burn your tongue, smooth, rich, soupy in texture—and it’s just like being five or ten or fifteen again, when this was your idea of luxury, a good day, lounging on a sagging couch torn to hell by the cats and watching The Simpsons or Malcolm In The Middle with your brothers. Cregan scoops Hungry Jack into all the bowls. Baela digs in enthusiastically. The others, following your lead, take cautious tastes, shrug, and decide it’s tolerable for one night. Cregan grabs a new pot and dumps a box of Rice-A-Roni into it, along with the packet of seasoning, a bottle of water, and a single spoonful of coffee creamer for good measure. As the rice cooks, he distributes one can of barbeque-flavored Vienna sausages to each guest. Rhaena pops hers open and immediately begins retching. Aegon feeds his to Ice.

After dinner, Cregan compiles all the extra blankets and pillows he can find, then supplements with bath towels and bedsheets from the closet in the hallway. The trailer is small, only one bedroom; you all agree Baela should get it. She will share with Rhaena and Luke, as she always does now. She doesn’t like sleeping alone. Cregan offers to take first watch, a gift in return for being rescued from a slow death by deprivation. Aemond agrees, but only because Rio—with a wink and a knowing smirk—volunteers to stay up too. Rio will keep tabs on this almost-stranger; Rio is the only one big enough to knock Cregan around if such an occasion ever arose. Aemond tells them to wake him up halfway through the night so he can take over and let them rest. You say you want to do the second watch too, and this time Aemond doesn’t argue.

Helaena gets the couch and Daeron curls up on the olive green carpet beside her, Aegon claims the tattered old recliner, you arrange your pillow and blanket—thin, scratchy, a weak blue mottled with dark stains you can’t identify—against the wall on the other side of the living room. Rio is teaching Cregan how to play Uno on the small plastic folding table by the kitchen, only spacious enough for two. Ice is stretched out beneath the table with her grey muzzle resting on her paws. At the moment, Aemond is supervising; he’s still trying to decide how much he can trust Cregan.

Aegon wanders over to you then bends down, his hands on his knees. “This place is revolting,” he whispers.

“It’s alright.”

“Where did you grow up? Alcatraz?” You laugh, and Aegon gives you his pink CD player, Ava still written across the top in rhinestones. “Just in case you need to get away for a while. It’s wasted on me. I’m going to be unconscious about two seconds after my head hits the pillow.”

“I’ll take good care of it.”

“If you see any meth lying around, you let me know. I’m always in the market for new ways to shorten my life expectancy.”

“I’ll keep any such discoveries to myself. I enjoy you too much.”

Aegon recoils, lets that sink in, then beams as he saunters back to his creaking recliner.

“Hey, Chips?” Luke says, approaching you shyly. He’s holding his Marlin .22. “I’m really sorry to bother you, but my rifle was shooting way to the left today, and I don’t think my aim’s that awful.”

“No problem.” You take it and remove the remaining bullets so there’s no chance the gun will accidentally fire, then examine the sights. “Can you get me Baela’s hammer?”

“Sure.” Luke dashes off and then returns with it moments later.

“You said it was skewed to the left?”

“Yeah, exactly.”

You take the hammer and tap the rear sight a few times. Luke watches you, fascinated, troubled. When he speaks, his voice is soft and miserable.

“I’m sorry I’m so bad at everything.”

“You know, this is the only possible scenario in which someone like you is worth less than me.” You give him an encouraging smile. “I didn’t go to a fancy school. I work with my hands.”

“But you’re smart, Chips. You could have gone to college if you wanted to.”

How would I have paid for application fees, or to take the SAT? How would I have gotten Mama to fill out the FAFSA? What school would have given me a scholarship with my mediocre grades in standard-level classes? Who would have driven me to school and helped me move in? How would I have bought books, shampoo, tampons, a laptop? Where would I have gone if I had trouble finding a job after graduation? What if the people there saw through me? What if they shrank away from the frayed threads I’m built of? There is no point in saying these things. The gulf between you is too great; it will only confuse Luke and hurt you. “I wouldn’t have known where to start.” You reload the Marlin .22 and pass both the gun and the hammer back to him. “I think it’ll work better now.”

“I bet you wish Jace was here instead of me,” Luke says, and it shocks you. “Everyone does, except maybe Rhaena.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Jace was a good fighter, and he was smart, and brave, and capable, and I’m just this…this weak scared loser who only knows how to write screenplays. And what goddamn use is that? Hollywood doesn’t even exist anymore! Scraps of Tom Cruise are probably stuck in some zombie’s teeth right now!”

“Luke, I’m glad you’re here.”

“I shouldn’t have left Jace,” he whispers, distraught. “I betrayed him. He was always protecting me and I couldn’t even save him once.”

“We did everything we could. And we all left Jace, not just you. It was me and Rio who said it first. You haven’t earned the blame.” If Jace’s ghost comes knocking, it won’t be your door he opens, Luke.

“Okay,” Luke replies softly.

“Baela is very, very grateful to still have you and Rhaena, Luke. She told me.”

Luke stares at you, doubtful, hopeful, wanting to believe. “Really?”

“I swear she did. I think you two are keeping her sane. The world, the baby, Jace…sometimes what’s most valuable to people are simple things, kindness, gentleness, compassion, support. I can kill zombies, sure, but I’ve never been good at knowing the right thing to say. You are.”

“Okay,” Luke says again, but he seems more at peace now; perhaps even the tiniest bit proud. “I guess I should go make sure Baela has everything she needs before I go to sleep.”

“That sounds like a good plan.”

Luke walks a few steps, then turns back towards you, smiling. “I think you know the right thing to say once in a while.”

“Maybe.”

“Definitely,” Luke insists, then disappears down the shadowy hallway and into the bedroom.

Aemond arrives at last with his blanket and pillow, arranges them beside yours, then joins you where you sit cross-legged on the floor. “You didn’t stay with Rio today when we rescued Cregan,” he says; not an accusation, a statement, a surrender of sorts.

“No. I didn’t.”

You must be visibly preoccupied. Aemond asks: “What are you thinking about?”

You decide to tell the truth. “How you were never supposed to meet me.”

“What do you mean?”

You point to him. “Rich boy with a beach house on a cliff.” Then you tap your own heart. “Poor girl who grew up playing with sticks and box turtles.”

“And that’s why you like Cregan so much.”

“It’s nice to have someone around who speaks the same language, sure. It’s nice to not have to explain things or think up lies so I can fit into other people’s idea of what the world is. But I don’t like Cregan more than I like you. Not even close.”

Aemond smiles, a warm glow like fire from under his scarred skin. “I’m glad I met you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Even if it wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“I’m sorry I’m not…” Someone sophisticated, seductive, experienced, bewitching. “I’m sorry I don’t already know how to do everything.”

“I don’t care. I would have liked you however you were when I found you.”

You look up at him skeptically. “Really?”

“Yes. Zero boyfriends or ten or twenty, I would want you the same way I do now.”

It hits you so suddenly you can’t stop the tremor in your voice, the shimmering tears in your eyes. “Aemond, please don’t die.”

“I’ll do my best.” He lifts the CD player from your lap and offers you an earbud. You accept it and slip it into your right ear as he puts the other into his left, then clicks the play button on Aegon’s pink Sony Walkman. What you hear are the opening ukelele plucks of Riptide, and you are spirited back to 2013: middle school, oversized hoodies and ripped jeans, hair you have no idea what to do with, the librarian letting you browse music videos on YouTube during lunch because you never cause any trouble, taking bites of your sandwich—one piece of Wonder Bread folded in half, a glob of Skippy peanut butter—and chewing slowly to make it last longer.

Aemond lies down and you rest your head on his chest as he covers you both with his blanket, circles his arms around you and pulls you in closer; and through the music you hear him mutter: “I wish this disgusting Hoarders trailer had two bedrooms.”

You laugh, burrow deeper into him, let his warmth and the drumming of his heartbeat lull you into darkness, still and serene, a place that exists beyond the world and the fear that it is ending.

When you open your eyes again, Aemond is up and speaking in hushed voices with Cregan and Rio in the kitchen, but he hasn’t tried to rouse you yet. I shouldn’t be awake, why am I awake?

Because someone is shining a flashlight directly into your face. You blink and swat at the blinding yellow-white gleam, your eyes aching, your vision hazy and distorted.

“He must check below the racks,” Helaena says. She is on her hands and knees and peering down at you like a bird of prey, like a goddess on Mount Olympus.

“What…?”

“He’s tall, so he won’t look, but that’s where it is. Below the racks. He must see it. Promise me you’ll make him see it.”

“Who’s tall…?” Aemond, Rio, Cregan?

“Promise me!” she hisses fiercely.

“Okay, Helaena! Okay. I promise.”

She crawls away without another word, climbs onto the couch, clicks off the flashlight, and tumbles back into the abyss of sleep with her back to you.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Chevy Tahoe—2001 instead of 2023, a dull rusty red instead of glossy dark blue—barrels down Route 2 past fields of soybeans ravaged by deer and rabbits, high feral weeds, tree branches entombing power lines and houses and barns, leaves freckled with cicadas and caterpillars, hay bales and archaic churches, life in shades of peridot and malachite and bloodstone and jade. Baela is driving, Ice has her big shaggy head hanging out of an open window, Cregan is examining Aegon’s map…and meanwhile, Aegon and Rio are singing along to the Enrique Iglesias song blasting through the speakers as one of the mixtapes spins in the Tahoe’s CD player, pretending to serenade and propose marriage to each other.

“Bailamos, let the rhythm take you over, bailamos

Te quiero amor mío, bailamos

Gonna live this night forever, bailamos

Te quiero amor mío, te quiero!”

Up ahead there is something in the middle of the road. No, not something; someone, parked across the double yellow lines on a small black motorcycle. As you approach, this person—made blurry by the distance—removes their helmet and seems to wait for you.

“What’s up with that?” Baela asks apprehensively, slowing down from her previously brisk eighty miles per hour.

Aemond frowns at the figure and then scans the fields on either side of the road. “I don’t know. Luke?”

Luke stands up through the sunroof to get a better look with his binoculars. “Oh my God, it’s…it’s…”

“Jace!” Baela screams, and slams on the brakes. She bolts out of the Tahoe before remembering to put it in park; the SUV rolls along sluggishly until Rhaena yanks the gear lever into the proper position. Now everyone is pouring out of the doors and rushing to him. Jace is laughing; he embraces Baela as she crashes into him and sobs into the curve of his neck. Jace is wearing jeans and a leather jacket despite the heat, safety precautions for the motorcycle. If he were to fall off, he’d keep most of his skin.

“I was hoping I’d run into you guys. I didn’t know if I was too far ahead or falling behind.”

Aegon gawks at him, sputtering. “How did…? How are you…?”

“You showed me your map, idiot,” Jace says; but he sounds relieved. “Route 2 all the way across Iowa, that part was pretty easy to remember. I figured if I could get here, I might be able to find you. If not, I’d just surprise you in California.” He grins, huge and teasing, ecstatic tears glittering in his eyes.

“The river,” Luke says, thunderstruck. “We thought you were dead…we left you…Jace, I’m…I’m so sorry we left you…”

“Hey, I get it. The bridge situation was fucked, there was no way you guys could fish me out. The river washed me miles downstream, way too fast for the zombies to keep up. I eventually got dumped on the shore near where some people had set up camp for the night. They were living out of a school bus, about fifteen of them. They heard me coughing and moaning, hunted me down, and dragged me back to the bus. Super nice, right? I told them about the zombies, and we relocated in a hurry. They were headed for a town up near Chicago, Rockville or something, so they took me with them and then one guy gave me his bike and taught me to ride it so I could go west. It’s a Honda Rebel 300. It can get 70 miles to the gallon. I’ve barely had to siphon any gas! And the siphoning hose my new friends gave me is the kind with a pump. No more Uno roulette, bitches!”

“I can’t believe you’re okay,” Baela whispers, tears flooding down her face.

“Don’t cry, I’m here, I’m back, everything’s the way it should be again. Now how’s my baby doing…?”

You, Aemond, and Rio exchange astonished glances. Luke snaps out of his shock and runs to hug Jace and Baela, and Rhaena follows him. Daeron searches the horizon for movement, for danger. Helaena rips the pristine white petals off a bloodroot blossom one by one.

For the first time, Jace notices Cregan. Ice stands beside the flannel-wearing Iowan on the pavement, wagging her long grey tail. She barks at Jace uncertainly. “Who the fuck is that?”

“Oh yeah, that’s Cregan Man Bun Stark,” Aegon says. “And his anti-zombie wolf Blue Raspberry Icee.”

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #hotd fic #hotd fanfic

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javierpena-inatacvest · 10 months ago

Text

Chapter 19- Good Luck, and Goodnight

Summary: It's the night before your wedding at your rehearsal dinner. Things are prepped and ready for the big day tomorrow, everyone couldn't be happier for you and Javi, and if you were any more excited to marry your future husband, you're convinced you'll explode. Everything seems to be going perfectly, that is, until it's not.

Word Count: 12.5K (Lil Shawty for me tbh)

Warnings: SMUT(18+) unprotected p in v sex (wrap before u tap), oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, big fat breeding kink, getting cockblocked by your dog (Sorry, Bear), mentions of death of family members, Javi putting his preemptive girl dad skills to the test (and passing with flying colors), mentions of anxiety/panic, lack of sleep due to said anxiety, Javi can't stop calling you Mrs. Peña and telling you how excited he is to get married, Javi once again setting the bar in the sky for all men

A/N: I am literally so sorry from the bottom of my heart this chapter has legit taken a month (January has kicked my ASS). I am so excited for their wedding, but I figured we'd get a little sneak peak before the big day arrives!! As if this series wasn't already self indulgent enough, I too, have been cockblocked by my own dog more times than I would like to count (please tell me I am not the only one), and got approximately 3 and a half hours of sleep the night before my wedding 🫠 (forever anxious girlies (gn) rise up!!!) ily each and every one of you so much, thank you for all your love and support 🥺💕

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Perfect.

That was what your morning felt like as you blinked the sleep from your eyes, stretching your arms over your head to wake yourself to the vision of the bright, golden sunrise spilling through your curtains, casting towering shadows on your bedroom, soft July breeze floating through your open window.

Birds singing their melodic morning songs, wind gently rustling the trees outside your window…

“Hhhhhhsssssmmmmmggggggggg”

“Mmmmmmgggggghhhhhhhhhggg”

…The sweet, synchronized snores of your future husband and dog snuggled next to you, still sound asleep as their bodies laid splayed across the better half of the bed with the majority of the comforter and sheets tangled between them, leaving you with a sliver of mattress and a tiny corner of blanket.

Well, it was almost perfect.

You couldn’t help but giggle at the sight of your two favorite boys happily snoozing away as the world began to wake around them, pressing a soft kiss onto each of their heads before sleepily shuffling your way to the bathroom.

You had barely made it two steps before Bear’s ears perked up, tail thumping against the mattress to see at least one of his favorite humans was awake, and better yet, able to feed him breakfast. He sprung off the bed, happily trotting behind you as he followed you to the bathroom, patiently sitting by the toilet as you peed, since you had quickly learned that personal space no longer existed after Bear had become a permanent member of your home.

“Gimme a second, ya goof.” You smiled, laughing to yourself as you flushed, maneuvering around Bear’s big body to wash your hands before the two of you meandered to the kitchen, leaving Bear wagging and shaking in excitement as he sat by his bowl, wiggling even faster as he watched you dump his food into his dish and began to chow down.

Leaving Bear to munch on his breakfast, you snuck your way back to the bedroom, softly closing the door behind you before crawling back into bed, sneaking through the sea of tangled sheets to find Javi’s body, his presence warm and inviting as you nestled up next to him.

Your hands slid up his bare chest and over the broadness of his shoulders until your hands met his jaw, gently cupping the unshaven stubble of his cheeks, swiping your thumb back and forth against his scruff skin.

Javi’s body began to stir, his arms now wrapping around you to pull you on top of him, your stomach resting against his as he squeezed you against his body, making you erupt in sleepy giggles.

“Good morning, sleepy head.” You whispered against his skin, planting soft kisses across his patchy beard while his eyes began to slowly flutter open, quickly joined by a tired grin growing between his cheeks.

“Good morning, Mrs. Peña.” He rasped, his greeting making you pull back to see the boyish smirk plastered all over his face, the hands that had been resting on the small of your back slowly snaking their way down to your ass, and giving it a little squeeze.

“Almost Mrs. Peña, you dork. One more day.” You giggled, your face growing warm at the realization that in 24 hours, that name would be your reality and your forever for the rest of your life.

“Close enough.” Javi grinned, leaning up to press a soft kiss against your lips, practically feeling his sleepy smile against your mouth. “Fuck, I can’t believe we’re getting married tomorrow. I can’t wait. I can’t wait for you to be my wife,” he pressed another kiss on your cheek, making you giggle, “I can’t wait to be your husband,” he paused, making you giggle even louder as he began trailing his lips down your neck, the hairs of his mustache tickling your skin, “to spend the rest of my life with you,” you squealed as Javi flipped you onto your back, your head landing on your pillows as he hovered over your body, gently tugging your oversized shirt over your stomach, letting his hand creep up your skin, “have a family with you, fuck a baby into you.” you could feel the subtle shift in his tone as his hand palmed at your breasts, kneading your soft flesh, making you let out a soft moan, whispering his name.

You and Javi had agreed on two conditions in attempts to keep your ever growing baby fever somewhat at bay- One, you were married, and two, your new house was completely finished and ready to be moved into. Tomorrow, the first half of your agreement was about to be fulfilled, and with the second half only a few weeks away, the prospect of legitimately trying for a baby was on the horizon, the two of you had been absolutely insatiable about the idea.

“Javi, please…”

“Please what, Osita? Tell me what you want, Hermosa. You want me to give you a baby when I give you my last name too, huh? Show everyone you’re mine with that ring on your finger and our baby growing inside you?” Javi rasped, tugging your sleep shorts off your hips, sliding them down your legs and hit the floor as he situated himself at the edge of the bed, gently nudging open your knees to reveal the arousal that had begun pooling between your legs, soaking your folds and inner thighs. “Sure looks like that’s what you want, isn’t it, sweet girl? Fuck me, you’re so fucking wet already.”

“Jesus Christ…Yes, oh my god.” You whimpered, already feeling your mind go blank as he settled himself between your legs, draping his arms over your thighs pinning you to the bed, kissing closer and closer to your core, letting his lips ghost over your clit, making you shutter.

“I know, Osita. Almost, baby. As soon as we’re married and this house is finally done, I’ll give you everything you want. I promise.” He smirked, watching the desperation spread across your face as he licked one long, broad stroke through your folds, tongue pressed flat against your sensitive bundle of nerves, already aching and throbbing without barely being touched. Almost painfully slowly, he began to work his mouth around your clit before taking his two fingers and collecting the slick dripping from your entrance, soaking his digits before pushing them into your heat, the sensation making you audibly moan in pleasure.

Javi took his sweet time, pumping his curved fingers in and out of your cunt, hitting the soft, spongy spot inside of you over and over as his tongue danced across your clit, swirling and sucking in the way he knew made you lose your mind in the best way possible, relishing in every moan and whimper that escaped from your mouth. Your hand shot down to his head nestled between your thighs, tugging at the sleepy curls of his dark brown hair, looking for some relief as you felt the tingle at the base of your spine begin to grow, slowly creeping its way through your body.

It never failed to shock you how quickly Javi was able to make you cum without even trying, how he had memorized every twitch and tug of your body beneath him, that he had learned all the ways to make you fall apart over and over again like his life depended on it. It also never failed to shock you how much the smug grin that spread across Javi’s face as he knew you were getting close made you lose yourself even more, the lust swirling in the deep brown of his eyes staring up at you with delight, practically begging for you to cum for him.

“Fuck, oh fuck- Just like that Javi, fuck, oh shit- holy fuck, you feel so good, baby.” You whimpered, your hand still buried in the locks of his hair as he pulled his face away, the smirk under his mustache covered in your slick as his fingers continued to languidly pulse inside you, now feeling your cunt clench tighter and tighter around them.

“That’s it, sweet girl. I know you’re close, Hermosa, can feel how fucking tight you are around my fingers. Cum for me, Osita, I’ve got you, baby. Cum for me and then I’ll fuck you so good I swear I’ll fucking beat your birth control and knock you up right now.” His words hummed deep in his chest, the thought of his promise alone making you writhe in the tangled sheets of your bed, your pussy beginning to flutter as he dove back between your legs, his leisurely pace now becoming almost as frantic and desperate as you were.

His mouth latched around your clit, tongue flicking and and prodding at your sensitive nerves as his fingers worked in tandem, fucking deeper into you with each thrust of your hand, trying to use his other arm to keep you in place as you bucked your hips, instinctively needing to grind your bottom half against his face, feeling your sweet release beginning to spread through you.

It wasn’t long before the coil inside you had completely snapped, your orgasm spreading through every inch of your body as you cried out Javi’s name, his fingertips digging into the meat of your thighs as he relentlessly worked you through your high, only stopping as the the cries of his name transformed into ragged moans and breathless pants, you fingers gripping so tight on your sheets, you were convinced your knuckles were turning white.

In one swift motion, Javi had already shifted from between your legs to on top of you, ripping his boxers off his hips, letting his already hard length rest against your thigh as his mouth crashed into yours, the sweet and tangy taste of your slick still fresh where your lips became a mess of tangled tongues and teeth. His broad palm kneaded at the soft flesh of your breasts, rolling your pebbled nipples between his fingers while the other reached between your bodies, stroking his length before lining himself up with your entrance, the delicious stretch of his fullness making you whine as he bottomed out inside you, his hips flushed against yours, letting you feel every inch of him inside you.

“Javi, holy shit, fuck, baby.” You whimpered, your brain already beginning to short circuit as Javi began to thrust his hips, the lewd noises of his cock sliding in and out of your pussy already filling the room between your moans and whines.

Javi buried his face in your neck, sucking at your pulse point as your arm draped around his back, digging your fingertips into the strong muscles of his shoulders as his pace began to quicken as he felt your arms wrap around him.

Suddenly, Javi’s arm snaked under your back, lifting the both of you up as you settled into his lap, your legs straddling over his as you came chest to chest, foreheads resting against each others while he continued to fuck into you over and over. His palm spread splayed across your bare back while the other snaked around your waist, keeping you steady while you swirled your hips on his length and your bodies melted into one another's.

The damp curls of his sweat ridden hair brushed against your face as he turned his head up to kiss you again, your lips locking while your bodies moved in sync, the perfect motion of each push and pull bringing you closer to the edge of release.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect. My perfect fucking wife. Gonna be a perfect fucking mom for our kids. Oh fuck- Fuck, I love you so much, Osita.” Javi grunted, his grip on your body growing tighter as he could feel you beginning to tighten around his cock, throwing your head back in pleasure as you felt the coil in your belly begin to tighten again.

It felt like a moment where nothing else in the world existed besides the two of you, so blissfully unaware of anything else besides the sweet sensation of getting lost in each other. It was a moment you could have gotten trapped in forever- until you heard the familiar creek of your bedroom door swing open, making your eyes go wide in panic.

“Javi, Javi-” You whispered frantically, trying to catch your breath and get his attention as he continued to thrust into you, completely unaware of the scene that was beginning to unfold behind him. “Javi!” You panted again, this time tapping your hand against his back, the action combined with your clear change in tone enough to snap him out of his current state.

“What? What’s going on? Are you okay?” He gasped, trying to catch his breath alongside you, scrunching his brow in confusion at the terrified look on your face as you stared across the bedroom.

It was only when Bear let out a happy “woof” from the foot of your bed that Javi immediately understood your terror, realizing your dog had just walked in on the middle of you two having sex.

“Oh fuck me…” Javi muttered, the two of you frozen in fear as you looked at each other, “I thought you closed the door after you fed him this morning.”

“Well obviously I thought I did too…” You grumbled, looking back and forth between the stark contrast in Bear’s blissfully unaware state and Javi’s very aware and embarrassed one.

“What do we do?”

“I don’t know, Jav, just like, go find a way to get him out of the room and then close the door so he can’t get back in.”

“He’s gonna see me naked! I don’t wanna traumatize him!”

“Oh because him watching us have sex is gonna traumatize him less? Take the blanket at the end of the bed if you’re so worried.”

“Jesus Christ…” Javi sighed as you got off his lap, scooching to the edge of the bed as he wrapped the blanket around his waist, making Bear perk up and happily thump his tail on the floor where he had been sitting, staring up at you. “Hey, bud, let’s get you out of here, okay? C’mon!”

Bear was nothing if not the world’s happiest, most playful dog, so as soon as he saw Javi crouching down, trying to coax him out of the bedroom, Bear took it as his turn to pounce, jumping up to tug at the blanket Javi was using to shield himself and catching it in his teeth, promptly ripping it off Javi’s body and leaving him completely naked as your dog pranced around your room with his new “toy”.

“Bear, no! Give that back! Fuck!” Javi shouted, trying to cover himself with one hand and chase Bear with the other, leaving you erupting in laughter at the comical sight beginning to unfold in real time in front of you. “Oh, so you think this is funny now? No, Bear, drop it!” Javi groaned, finally getting a grip on the blanket Bear had taken as he released it from his mouth, Javi frantically scrambling to wrap it back around his waist.

“... It is a little funny…” You snickered, trying your best to contain your giggles as Javi rolled his eyes, letting out a huff of frustration as he started to herd Bear into the hallway again. Throwing one of the balls that Bear had left behind in your bedroom, your dog quickly scampered away in a hasteful chase while Javi quickly shut the door behind him, triple checking to make sure it was locked. Javi let out a few deep breaths, the two of you laughing to yourselves, only to be interrupted by whines and scratches coming from the other side of the door.

A small frown spread between Javi’s cheeks hearing the sad noises whimpering in the hallway, looking back at you with even sadder puppy dog eyes than you were convinced your dog would be giving you from outside your bedroom. You sighed, giving him a slightly annoyed look, knowing that for as much as you loved your dog, Javi had a soft spot for Bear like no other, and the thought of leaving him sad and alone without the two of you was making him crack quicker than you had anticipated.

“Javi, he’s a dog, I promise, he’ll be fine.” You sighed, reading the concerned look plastered across Javi’s face with his back pressed to the bedroom door.

“I know… He just sounds so sad. I don’t want him to think we’re mad at him.” Javi pouted, his frown growing even bigger as Bear’s whines became louder and louder.

“Javi… Seriously?” You sassed, knowing that any other time you would have relished in the sweet sentiment of how much Javi loved your dog, but right now, that was the last thing your horny brain really seemed to care about.

“Fine, fine.” He huffed, dropping the blanket and making his way back to the bed, climbing his way back on the mattress, hovering over you. His lips met yours again, trailing down your face and collarbone as you reached between your bodies to wrap your hands around Javi’s cock, beginning to stroke him in hopes your efforts would help get him hard again after the incident with the dog had not done him any favors.

Over your muffled moans and wet kisses, Bear’s pathetic whines carried through the door, becoming harder and harder to ignore as Javi’s dick was becoming less and less hard.

“You’re not gonna be able to stop thinking about the dog, are you?” You laughed to yourself, your grasp dropping from around his cock, still soft despite your efforts, Javi’s head dropping into your shoulder in defeat, letting out a frustrated exhale in silent agreement.

“I’m sorry…” He grumbled, now flopping over next to you on the bed, burying his head in his hands in embarrassment.

“You are such a softie, Javier Jesús Peña. Literally and figuratively.” You giggled, playfully crossing your arms over your chest and raising an eyebrow at Javi. You couldn’t even pretend to be mad, because as much as you wanted to be, the way Javi was too sweet for his own damn good with your dog had you imagining what he’d be like as a dad, and that- that was enough to melt you in a puddle faster than a snowman in the middle of July. “Alright, let’s get dressed. As much as I hate to admit it, I think this is the universe’s way of telling us we probably have more important things to do on the day before our wedding that wrangle our dog out of our bedroom so we can fuck.”

You let out an overdramatic grunt as you pushed yourself out of bed, fishing Javi’s oversized t-shirt off of the floor and throwing it over your top, followed by your sleep shorts and tossing Javi’s boxers back to him as he stood sheepishly by the door.

“I’m not that big of a sap…” Javi grumbled reluctantly, shuffling his underwear over his hips rolling his eyes at you as you met him by the door, draping your arms around his neck and pressing up on your tiptoes to plant a soft kiss on his unshaven stubble.

“You 100% are, even if you won’t admit it. And that,” You paused, pressing another peck of your lips to his, “Is reason number 3,452 why I love you so much.”

“3,452? That’s it?” He teased, playfully shaking you in his grasp before wrapping his hand around the back of your head, pulling it closer to his bare chest as he buried a kiss in the messy roots of your hair. “Seems kinda low.”

“Better watch yourself, Peña, or I’ll make it 3,451.” You smirked, giving him a little nudge as you reached over to the doorknob, letting Bear stampede into your room and hop up onto your bed, gleefully wiggling at the sight of his two favorite people. “And you, mister, are so lucky that you are so cute and that your dad can’t say no to you. Whaddya say, stinker, should we take you for one last walk before your mom and dad get married? And then hopefully you’ll be tired enough by the time we get back to let us finish what we started?”

“You are fucking ridiculous, you know that right?” Javi grinned, gently cupping his hand over your cheek, rubbing his thumb against your skin.

“A ridiculous woman who is about to be your wife, so that’s on you, ya goof.”

“God, I love you.”

“I love you, too. Let’s go get married.”

When Javi had asked you to marry him, there had never been a shred of doubt in your mind that your answer would be anything less than a resounding yes. There hadn’t been a single shred of doubt or worry since he slid that ring on your finger last November, and you knew that your plans for a small wedding with your close friends and family on the Peña ranch was the perfect way to celebrate the beginning of the rest of your lives together.

You had no fears or worries that tomorrow was going to be anything less than perfect, not a single care or stress in the world.

But everyone else’s stress was enough to make you age another 40 years before you even had the chance to say “I do.”

Your family had flown in from Chicago earlier in the week, followed by the Murphy family, staying in your nearly finished new home to help the two of you prepare for the big day, although the word “prepare” seemed to have quite different definitions depending on who you asked.

To your mom, Connie, and sister-in-law, prepared meant steaming your dress, triple checking the amount of silverware for dinner, harassing you about finally getting your nails painted and creating her 407th checklist of to-do’s since landing in Laredo on Wednesday.

To Steve and your brothers, it meant barely remembering to bring their suits with them on the plane and asking Javi to come out to the bar with them to have some fun before the wedding instead of working on either of their speeches they were supposed to be giving.

To your nieces and the Murphy girls, it meant forming a ferocious girl gang of 5 and constantly pestering anyone they could find to take them to Mr. Chucho’s to go play with the cows and the horses since wedding planning was clearly not as fun as being at the farm with the animals.

To your dad and Chucho, it meant staying as far away from the whole situation as possible and being forever thankful there was at least one TV set up in your new house where he could watch ESPN in peace.

And to you and Javi, it meant the best you could do was take a deep breath and pray that one way or another, you would survive everyone’s stress and all made it to live to see your wedding day.

With less than 24 hours to go, everyone in the wedding had found themselves gathered at the Peña ranch for final preparations, your rehearsal dinner, and getting all the girls settled to spend the night at the ranch to get their hair and makeup done the next morning, while the boys would migrate to your new house, considering the most getting ready they had to do was fix their hair and put on their suits. While everyone else was busy with dinner, decorations, or in your brother’s case, distracting everyone else from doing what they were supposed to be, you had found a moment to sneak away into Javi’s room where you were planning on staying for the night, looking for at least a few moments of peace and quiet amongst the chaos.

“You doin’ okay, Mrs. Peña?” Javi’s soft voice cooed from the doorway of his old bedroom, watching you sort through your 3rd bag of things you had packed to make sure you were prepared for tomorrow morning, quietly laughing to himself at your meticulous packing and organizing.

The familiar sound made your head turn, letting out a quiet sigh and smile of relief to see it was your future husband standing in the doorway, and not anyone else asking you for something or plans about tomorrow.

“I’m okay, this is all just-”

“A lot?” He chuckled, making his way into the room to sit next to your bags spread across his old bed, outstretching his arms to pull you in for a hug to try and distract you from the stress he could feel radiating from all the way outside the door, knowing you had probably needed a break from all the hustle and bustle happening outside from last minute set up and rehearsal dinner.

“Yeah, a lot.” You huffed, feeling your body sink into Javi’s embrace, savoring in the familiarity of his warmth and savory scent, feeling the tension ease in your body as you remembered the reason for your wedding holding you tightly in his arms. “I know everyone is just trying to be helpful, and I don’t want to you to think I’m not excited because I am, I’m so excited to marry you, it’s just that-”

“Shhhhhh, baby, it’s okay. I feel the same way. C’mere.” He smiled, pulling you closer to him, squeezing you just tight enough to make you burst into giggles before releasing you to grab your hands in his, gently tracing his thumbs along your skin in delicate circles. “Just think, tomorrow, we get to get married and spend the whole day celebrating the fact that I get to spend the rest of my life with the most beautiful, stunning, amazing woman on the face of this earth, and then after that, we get to spend 10 days in the Bahamas, just me, my wife and the beach, without a worry in the world besides how long we wanna sit in the sun, what drink you want in your hand and where we wanna fu-”

“There they are! Shit, you were right, Steve, you know the man well.” Your brother David’s voice rang from down the hallway, quickly followed by the footsteps and sounds of your other brother Charlie, and Steve.

“Hey! Lovebirds! Remember that party that we’re throwin’ for y’all? Probably would be good if you were there for it instead of makin’ out in here. You got the whole honeymoon for that.” Steve teased, knocking on your door, the boy’s laughter and snickers was enough to make you and Javi whip your heads around, rolling your eyes at the goofy gang the 3 had become since meeting for the first time a few days ago, you and Connie both agreeing that the group was no better than a pack of middle school boys with the ability to drink beer, happily confiding in their shit talking shenanigans to pass the time to distract from the wedding formalities they needed to be kept most up to date on.

“Yeah, dude, Mom’s been looking for you for like 15 minutes. I’ve already had my wedding and I don’t need to suffer her wrath again.” Charlie smirked, taking a sip of his drink while Steve and David snickered to themselves.

“Don’t you two idiots have anything better to do than annoy us and drag Steve into it too?” You groaned, turning around and crossing your arms over your chest to face the 3 Stooges in your doorway.

“No, not really.” David shrugged, finishing off the rest of his beer.

“Perfect,” You sighed, voice oozing with sarcasm, “Tell mom we’ll be out there in 5 minutes, okay?”

“Alright, timer’s set, gentlemen,” Steve cackled, waving his wrist in the air and pointing to his watch, “and God knows I’ve walked in on you two enough times that I won’t be the one coming to get you when time’s up.”

“Jesus Fucking Christ, Murph. Get the fuck outta here, or I’m gonna pick one of the cows outside to be my best man instead of you.” Javi grumbled, resting his face in his palm, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers as he shook his head.

“Honestly, kinda sounds like an upgrade…” David smirked, slapping Steve on the chest before turning over to Charlie and gesturing towards the hallway, your brothers now scampering away in laughter as Steve chased off behind them.

“Just think, tomorrow, they’re officially your brothers, too. Lucky you.” You huffed, rolling your eyes as you stepped back into Javi, laying your face on his chest while his arms wrapped around you again, pulling you in for one more hug as he kissed your forehead.

“I’d take 100 of your brothers if it means I get to spend the rest of my life with you.” He smiled, bringing his hand to your cheek and tilting your gaze up towards him.

“100? Really?” You teased, raising an eyebrow at him, the two of you laughing at the idea of multiplying your siblings times 50.

“On second thought, 2 is just fine.”

“Good thing Patrick’s not here, because I think at this point if he was, they probably would have found a way to take my wedding dress and put it on a horse.” Even though a soft smile settled across your face at the idea of your brothers (and apparently, now honorary brother, Steve) scheming up some sort of stupid prank, Javi could feel the twinge of pain hidden in your voice, knowing how desperately you wished your late brother was here to celebrate your wedding with you. “He would have really loved you, Javi. I really wish he got to be here.”

You couldn’t help but feel a sting in Javi’s silence as well, knowing how much he missed his mom, too. How deeply he wished that she knew he was finally happy, and had found someone to spend the rest of his life with that she would have loved just as much as he loved you. “I wish your mom got to be here, too. Maybe she could have helped calm my mom down a little.” You smiled at Javi, the two of you both trying to fight the tears that had begun welling in your eyes at the void you wished more than just their memories could fill.

“She would have loved you so much too, Osita. So fucking much.”

You held each other just a little tighter before pulling away to wipe the wetness pooling in your eyes, You paused for a moment, letting out a quiet sigh and laugh, knowing Patrick would have promptly kicked your ass for crying about him at your wedding and told you to stop being such a baby about it, just like Javi knew his mom would be throwing a fit knowing he was spending any waking moment before his wedding not cherishing every moment he could with his bride to be.

“I love you, Jav.” You sniffed, staring up at him with watering eyes and a sympathetic smile.

“I love you too, Osita.” He smiled back, his big brown eyes locking with yours in a soft, loving gaze.

“Okay, well, we should probably head back out there so my mom doesn’t lose her shit and Steve doesn’t harass us anymore.”

“I wasn’t kidding when I said the cow may be a better choice.”

“Listen… I never said it wasn’t”

As the two of you made your way to the back patio where everyone was gathered, you were quickly greeted by your mom and Connie, who had very early on taken it upon themselves to oversee that everything about your rehearsal dinner ran as smoothly as it could to ensure no hiccups tomorrow at the cost of nearly driving you up a wall from their constant and loving pestering.

“Okay, one last thing and then we’re done, I promise.” Connie grimaced, bracing herself for your less than enthused reaction to what you were convinced would definitely not be her final request of the night.

“We think that we should run through the ceremony one more time, just to be safe.” Your mom chimed in, nodding her head in agreement with Connie.

“Like the ceremony that we practiced 3 times an hour ago?” You replied, trying your best to hide your annoyance with their over preparedness, Javi’s hand snaking around your waist and giving your hip a little squeeze of reassurance knowing you were trying your best to keep it together.

“Okay listen, yes, but-” Connie began to rebuttal, only to be cut off promptly by your mom.

“It’s your brothers, sweetie. I love them, but let’s be honest, they’re idiots. I don’t trust them to remember how to put their socks on correctly in the morning, let alone walk down the aisle for your wedding.”

“Unfortunately, I think I may have to put Steve in that category too. I think the girls have it down better than he does.” Connie groaned, all of you now looking across the deck to see your brothers and Steve, David with a beer bottle balanced on his head and the other two chucking empty cans at him to try and knock it off, very quickly nodding in silent agreement that your mom and Connie were definitely not off base about this request.

“Yeah, okay, fair point.” You laughed, your eyes widening at your idiot brothers, their honorary 3rd member, and the one shared brain cell between them. “Sorry that they roped Steve into the Completely Clueless Carnival of Stupidity.”

“I’m sorry that my husband is a 12 year old boy who keeps egging them on.” Connie sighed, shaking her head at the trio. “Word of marriage advice, Javi? This?” She pointed over at Steve, now cheering and high fiving your brothers as he whipped an empty can at David, knocking his bottle off his head, “Not helping anyone get laid any time soon.”

“Duly noted.” Javi chuckled, shaking his head at his idiot friend, “I’ll remind Steve that he is a very lucky man.”

After a few minutes of wrangling, Connie and your mom were able to herd everyone back to the field where the ceremony was taking place, quizzing all members of the wedding party about their positions and timing to walk down the aisle after explaining for the 6th time, mostly because 5 out of the 6 times, your brothers had completely forgotten at what point they were supposed to make their appearance.

Even though it was the 4th practice round tonight, you couldn't keep the excited butterflies in your stomach from churning as you met Javi at the end of the aisle, staring up at the lovestruck gaze in his sweet brown eyes while he took your hand in his, softly mouthing “I love you” just loud enough for only you to hear, knowing that the next time you met him here, it would be the real thing.

With your mom and Connie satisfied enough, everyone was set free to disperse and enjoy the rest of the night for the next few hours, until it was time to send everyone their separate ways before the big day.

As you and Javi were making your way back to the patio, the two of you felt little hands tugging at the back of your clothes, whipping around to see the girl gang of your niece’s and the Murphy’s, all staring up at you and Javi with scheming grins and puppy dog eyes.

“Auntie Bear? Uncle Javi?” Your niece Olivia questioned, placing herself at the front of the group to signify herself as the unofficial leader, making you already aware she was going to try and persuade you of something given her syrupy tone.

“Yes, Miss Olivia?” You replied, crouching down to her level, knowingly raising an eyebrow at her, giving her a little smirk.

“Wellllll, we were all wondering if maybeeeeee, you and Uncle Javi could go take us to see the horses before we have to go to bed?” If Olivia’s eyes couldn’t have been any wider, the rest of the girl’s sure were, practically pleading with you and Javi as they playfully pouted, chanting a chorus of “please, please, please, please, pleaseeeeeee?”

“I don’t know girls, it’s starting to get late, we may not have a lot of time.” You responded, pushing yourself back up to stand as you looked over at Javi, running his hand over the back of his neck with a sheepish grin.

“I mean… We probably have enough time.” He muttered with a little shrug, looking back over at you, trying to hide the puddle he was turning into as the girl's adorable begging began to melt him. Hearing his response, the girls started to squeal in delight, jumping up and down before tackling Javi with hugs of gratitude.

“Thank you, Mr. Javi!” The older Olivia screeched, beaming with joy as her younger sister snuck between her and Javi, wrapping her arms around his leg with such force it almost took him to the ground.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re the best Uncle Javi!” Your nieces squealed, now joining Abby on Javi’s free leg and trapping him in their grasp.

“Alright well let’s not break Uncle Javi before we make it to the barn.” You laughed, peeling the girls off of him as they giggled and squirmed. “How about this? Why don’t you guys race to the gate, and we’ll meet you over there?”

“Okay!” The girls shouted in unison, quickly toppling off of Javi and lining themselves up in a racing position.

“On your mark… Get set… Go!” You yelled, sending the group dashing through the tall grass in a fit of joyous laughter and leaving you snickering at Javi, recovering from his full fledged attack from the giggle gang.

“I already know what you’re gonna say…” Javi grumbled, following behind you and the girls towards the barn, rolling his eyes at the smug look you had plastered on your face from cheek to cheek.

“Oh, yeah? And what am I gonna say, Jav?” You smirked, giving him a playful jab with your elbow, patiently waiting for your future husband’s admittance to having the biggest soft spot known to man.

“They’re just- They all looked so sweet and I didn’t wanna tell them no! They’re so cute.” Javi muttered, trying to defend himself from your interrogation, without having to directly admit the truth that the both of you knew all too well.

“Sooooooo, what you’re saying is…” You bit down on your lip, knowingly shrugging at Javi, trying to hold back your grin.

“... I’m a softie, you win.” He sighed, trying to keep himself from smiling at his defeat, even though well aware of the fact without having to admit it out loud.

“Who would have thought, once the world’s most sought after DEA agent to hunt down the cartel is now getting married and providing pony rides to his future nieces.” You teased, giving him another poke before he had you squealing too, picking you up and slinging you over his shoulder, carrying you through the field and spinning you around before placing you back down, giving you a playful shake.

“Not me. But I couldn’t be more happy that I’m wrong about it. Not a day goes by where I don’t think about the fact that I’m the luckiest fucking guy on the planet that you helped me prove myself wrong.”

“I couldn’t be more happy you proved yourself wrong, too.”

The promise of getting to see the horses of the Peña ranch had the girls wiggling with excitement, goofy grins on their faces as they watched you and Javi approach the barn gate in hightented anticipation of getting to interact with the animals.

Fortunately for the girls, Javi was more than happy to let them have free reign of the barn, letting them pet any horse they pleased for as long as they wanted, even letting the girls sneak each of them a few more treats than they should have.

Unfortunately for you, you hadn’t braced yourself for the absolute puddle you were planning on becoming as you watched Javi interact with your nieces and the Murphy’s. As if it wasn’t already sweet enough that the girls completely adored him, Javi was so thoughtful and patient with each and every one of them, taking the time to answer their questions, tell them the horses names, and hoist the younger girls up on his hip so they could see too, carefully cradling them in one arm and pointing out things with the other that made their little faces beam with joy.

At one point, he had propped up Brianna to sit on his shoulders, both of their faces lighting up as he watched her lean in to pet one of the horses and then pull back in delight to clap at her bravery, only to tap Javi’s head shouting “Again! Again!” as your other niece stood next to the both of them, cheering Brianna on as she squealed in satisfaction before Olivia was begging for you to come join in on the fun. You had to physically brace yourself as you walked over to the trio, because the sight of Javi and the giggling girls alone was making you weak in the fucking knees, let alone how he looked with a toddler hoisted up on his shoulders.

“Auntie Bear, look at how pretty the horses are!” Olivia squealed, grabbing on to the edge of the stall to peek over and see the horses inside. “Uncle Javi can you lift me up one more time so I can see pleaseeeeeeeee?”

“Of course, kiddo.” Javi grinned, reaching up to take Brianna off his shoulders, giving her a little raspberry on her belly on the way down before passing her off to you trying your best to keep your cool while your heart and ovaries were casually exploding into a million little pieces. “Up ya go.” He grunted, lifting Olivia up to rest at his waist, holding her closer to pet the horse.

“I think that she’s my favorite. I like her spots.” Olivia smiled, petting the horse as Javi held her.

“You know who else's favorite horse that is?” Javi chuckled, watching Oliva lean over to press a quick kiss into the horse’s nose before pulling her back up, watching her head curiously tilt at his question.

“Who?”

“Mr. Chucho’s.” He answered, laughing as he watched her face light up in excitement, grinning with glee.

“Really?! Auntie Bear, we have to go tell Mr. Chucho that we have the same favorite horse! Can we go tell him?”

“Absolutely, Cutie Patootie. We should probably start heading back anyway, we don’t want sleepy flower girls for tomorrow, do we?”

“But I is not even tieward.” Brianna pouted, letting out a long yawn after the end of her sentence, rubbing her eyes in contradiction to her statement, you and Javi quietly smirking at each other at your sleepy niece, gently resting her head against your chest.

“Of course you aren’t, Lil Miss. Liv, why don’t you go get the other girls and start heading back, okay? You guys can say goodbye to the horses on the way out.”

“You got it, Auntie Bear! C’mon you guys, let’s go, let’s go!” Before you could barely finish your sentence, Olivia was grabbing the rest of the girls, practically dragging them through the barn, the gaggle of girls racing past the stables and out the barn door as you and Javi trailed behind with Brianna sleepily situated in your arms. You were no less than 10 feet out of the stables before you could feel Brianna’s little snores against your chest, quietly laughing to yourself as you kissed her head, pulling her closer to you.

“Not sleepy, huh? God, you are getting heavy though, especially with your sleeping dead weight.” You laughed quietly to yourself, readjusting Brianna in your arms before looking over at Javi, his eyes wide and enamored, quietly watching you hold your niece, letting his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he gulped before speaking.

“You uh- do you um, want me to hold her? If, um, if she’s heavy.” Javi stammered, trying to maintain his composure watching you cradle Brianna, unable to shake the image of what you would look like holding his baby in your arms, and how desperately he wished it was.

You paused, looking over at Javi, trying not to blush at the awestruck look on his face, knowing he didn’t need to say a single word to hear what was running through his brain, and how much it made you want to say fuck it to your already agreed upon plans to hold out on trying for a baby until after tomorrow and your house was finished. God, at this point, you’d give this man a baby yesterday, every moment he spent with your nieces or the Murphy girls only making your ovaries weaker and weaker at what a good dad you knew he was going to make.

“No, I’m okay. Plus, I think if I watch you hold her, I’m gonna lose any last ounce of self-control that I have.” It was also taking every last ounce of self-control to keep your ridiculously goofy grin from spreading any further across your face than it already was, looking Javi up and down with a little eyebrow raise, watching a smug smirk grow between his cheeks. Leaning in just a little closer, Javi wrapped his arm around your waist, planting a soft kiss in your hair and whispering in your ear.

“And that would be a bad thing because…”

Before you could even respond, you could feel the weight in your arms lessen, Javi reaching across your body to scoop Brianna into his grasp, gently cradling her over his broad shoulder and rubbing her back as she nestled against him with a little sleepy yawn.

“Okay, well that isn’t fair in the slightest, is it?” You playfully pouted, crossing your now freed arms over your chest at Javi, the image of him carrying Brianna turning you closer and closer into a human puddle with every passing second.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Osita.” He smirked, shooting you a quick wink before hoisting Brianna up and wrapping his hand around the back of her head, cuddling her against his chest as he trotted back towards the house, leaving you a dumbfounded, lovestruck, baby craving mess in his wake.

Javi seemed to have no problem testing every last bit of strength you had- carrying Brianna, playing with the girls, being the cutest damn thing you’d ever seen interacting with your nieces and the Murphys? If this was meant to be a test of your strength, you were quickly realizing that you were turning out to be nothing if not a weak, weak woman who needed to make that man father almost as fast as you were about to make him your husband.

As the fluorescent pink and orange sunset began to dip below the horizon, the sky shifting from colorful pastels to star speckled darkness, the festivities of the night were beginning to wind down- As hard as they had tried to fight it, your flower girls had barely made it 5 minutes after getting back from the horse barn before they were asleep in the lawn chairs scattered around the yard, your mom and Connie had finished their 15th round of surveillance to make sure that everything was in place for tomorrow, and your brothers and Steve were about 3 beers deeper than they should have been considering they were going to have to be both coherent and presentable in a few short hours.

As much as you or Javi didn’t really care about the tradition, everyone else had insisted that the two of you spend your last night before the wedding apart- you and the girls at the Peña ranch to make things run more smoothly as you got ready in the morning, and all of the boys and Javi at your new house, now close enough to being completed that it was an option to house people for the night.

The boys began to pile into the party of cars parked in the driveway, ready to transport them back to the house, while the girls had gathered your nieces and the Murphy’s to tuck them into bed, leaving you and Javi the last two out on the patio, the twinkling string lights hanging above the deck shining down on the backyard where tables and chairs lay waiting, ready to be decorated and filled with family and friends for your big day tomorrow. You couldn’t help but let out a quiet, content sigh, gently leaning your head onto Javi’s shoulder as his arm wrapped around your waist, rubbing soft circles into your hip.

“I can’t believe we’re actually gonna get married tomorrow.”

“I know, me either. Fuck, I’m so excited. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you. God, I’m the fucking luckiest man alive.” He grinned, his grip digging just a little tighter into your side, playfully shaking you in his grasp.

“I’m gonna miss you tonight and tomorrow morning. I wish the marriage police weren’t on us about not sleeping in the same bed the night before the wedding.” You grumbled, gesturing back towards the house, Javi quietly laughing to himself knowing exactly who you were referring to without even having to say, both your mom and Chucho insisting the two of you indulge them in following through with the idea for “good luck’s sake”, if nothing else.

“I know, baby. Although, I do think it may not be considered good luck to fuck the bride the night before the wedding.”

“Speak for yourself…” The two of you snickered, shaking your heads at your remark.

I’m gonna miss you too, Osita. The day will go by fast, I promise. And the next time I see you,” he paused, gently turning you to face him, his palm cupping your cheek while his sweet chocolate eyes looked you up and down as a goofy grin spread across his face, “you’re gonna be my wife.”

No matter how many times you told it to yourself, it still didn’t quite feel real-

Tomorrow, Javier Peña was going to be your husband.

Your stomach turned and flipped in anxious anticipation, butterflies dancing excitedly in your stomach as you let the looming reality start to sink in more and more, realizing that the day that you had been waiting for since the moment you had met him was so close, that you could almost taste it.

Heat crept through your cheeks as Javi tilted in his head, leaning in to let his lips press against yours, lingering to take in every last bit of you he could as he kissed you, the familiar warmth and taste of him only making your heart beat faster as you tugged him in closer, letting your open mouths slowly turn into a dance of tongue and teeth, melting into each other like you were the only two things in the world that existed.

Well, at least for a moment.

“Javi. Ehhm. Ehhmmmmmm. Javi! Javier!”

The two of you practically jumped out of your skin to see Chucho standing right next to you, completely oblivious to the fact that he had probably been watching the two of you make out much longer than he had wanted to, trying to find a way to capture his lovestruck son’s attention without completely scaring the shit out of you.

“Jesus Christ, Pops!” Javi gasped, eyes going wide as he breathed heavily, his cheeks turning pink as he sheepishly shot his view away from his dad, now standing in front of you with a smug eyebrow raised, arms folded across his chest. “Maybe a warning next time, huh?”

“I tried to. Several times. Dios mío, you two. You can kiss her all you want tomorrow, mijo, but right now, I’m in charge of taking you back, so you can let la novia déjala tener un momento de pez. (the bride have a moment of peace.)” He chuckled, shooting you a quick wink, your face equally as red as Javi’s as Chucho teased him. “Say your goodbyes and then get your ass in the car before I send Steve out to get you, or worse, her dad. Good night, mija, sleep well. Don’t keep him too much longer.” He snickered, giving his soni a few pats on the back before heading back where he came from, leaving you and Javi frozen in embarrassment.

“Fuck me…” Javi whispered under his breath, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck, letting his fingers brush through his dark curls, looking over at you with a guilty pout, “I’m so sorry.”

“Listen… Not the first time, and I’m sure it won’t be the last…” You grimaced, the two of you letting your faces shift from uncomfortable guilt to snickering smirks, shaking your heads at Chucho’s impeccable timing. “Okay, as much as I don’t want to, I should probably let you go before my mom, or even worse, Connie and Steve walk out on us too.”

“Very fair. Un beso mas, por favor (One more kiss, please).”

Gently cradling your cheek, Javi’s hand slid across your jaw, his thumb swiping at the soft skin of your cheek as your lips met in a tender kiss, lingering just long enough to be interrupted by the honk of a car horn blaring from the driveway, desperate for Javi’s attention.

“Something tells me they’re waiting for you.” You teased, pressing up on your tiptoes to kiss Javi on the cheek before resting your head against his chest, tangling your arms around his waist for one last hug before you said goodbye. “I love you, Javi. I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Peña.”

“See you tomorrow, Mrs. Peña. I love you, too.” With one last kiss buried in the soft swept curls of your hair and a final squeeze in your embrace, making you giggle and squeal as he picked you up off the ground, shaking you in his grasp.

With another longer and louder honk, Javi reluctantly made his way to the truck, making sure to give you one last look over his shoulder, mouthing one last “I love you” to tide you over into tomorrow as he disappeared to be whisked away by the dads and brothers, the only thing standing in your way of officially becoming Mrs. Peña was the one last sleep that brought you to your wedding day.

While you were surprised, you couldn’t have been more thankful that the ladies residing in the Peña ranch for the night were insistent on making sure you get to bed as soon as possible, leaving you with an extra few hours of quiet, alone time before the big day tomorrow.

You had triple checked you had everything ready and set out, and once you had washed your face, put on your pajamas, and checked everything one more time, you settled into bed, curling up into Javi’s plaid sheets. The familiar and comforting scent of him was still hidden in the bed, the smell just enough to help your eyelids slowly blink heavier and heavier with a soft smile between your cheeks. You couldn’t help but replay the image of walking down the aisle to meet Javi over and over again in your head, picturing his handsome, giddy grin greeting you as he took your hand in his, counting down the moments until “I do” becoming easier than counting sheep. So easy, in fact, that you had fallen asleep in a matter of moments, peacefully drifting to sleep as you waited to be woken by the soft glow of tomorrow’s sunrise.

That’s why you were so surprised when you woke up to what you assumed was the next morning, wondering what time it was if it was still so dark outside, thinking you must have woken up an hour or two early out of anticipation. You rolled over, tossing in the warmth of your sheets to peek at the bright red numbers glowing on the alarm clock next to you.

Well, it was morning, but 1:47 A.M. wasn’t the time you were exactly hoping to see.

The first thing that came to your mind was shock when you saw the blinking red number flash in your face as your eyelids stretched open- how had you only been asleep for 3 hours? The next thing that came to your mind was something that you were not expecting- and that was pure panic.

There was nothing about tomorrow that was making you feel nervous in the slightest. Everything was planned and ready, everyone was excited and happy, and most importantly, you couldn’t be more thrilled to finally get to marry Javi and start the rest of your life together with him.

So why the fuck were you wide awake and anxious as hell?

You let out a groan, stretching your arms above your head as your body tensed, tugging the comforter over your head as you forced your eyelids back shut, willing yourself to fall back asleep. You took a few deep breaths, scrunching your face in frustration as you could feel your body only coming more and more awake, your heart beating faster and faster as you realized falling back asleep wasn’t going to be as easy as you thought.

Maybe I just need to go to the bathroom.

You threw the sheets off your body, groggily stumbling out of bed towards the ensuite attached to Javi’s room. Not even bothering to turn on the lights, you forced yourself to pee in the dark, hoping the lack of light would trick your body into wanting to go back to bed, but it was no use. Getting up to go to the bathroom had only made you more aware of how awake you now were, anxiously pacing back and forth between your bed and the bathroom, trying to think of ways to help you fall back asleep.

2:26 A.M.

The new time you had found yourself reading on the alarm clock was now making your anxiety skyrocket, wondering how you had already been awake for almost a half an hour with no sign of falling back asleep in sight. It also didn’t help that your mind was now beginning to race, the nagging thought of trying to power through tomorrow, the most important day of your life, with only 3 hours of sleep only adding to your stress.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, your leg was bouncing in sync with your rapid heart rate, wondering how the hell you were going to get yourself any sleep before the sun rose. Letting your back flop against the mattress, you let out a huff of frustration, burying your head under all of the pillows on Javi’s bed, desperate to find any remedy to ease you back to sleep. You sat there for a few minutes, but of course, with it being of absolutely zero use, you were back to sitting up, looking around the room for any sort of solution to your sleepless night.

Boring books. Perfect.

Eyeing the shelf across the room, you grabbed the most uninteresting looking book you could find, quickly settling on the well worn copy of The Hobbit, based on sheer volume alone. Clicking on the lamp resting on the nightstand, you let the warm glow of the light illuminate the room, shadows dancing against the walls as you tried to settle back between the sheets, opening up the book and letting your eyes graze back and forth the tiny ink print. Even though you were taking in the words on the page, you knew for a fact it wasn’t even close to actually reading, glancing back and forth at the blaring red number of the alarm clock every 2 minutes, as if you were going to magically will yourself to fall asleep and make it morning.

After a failed half hour of staring at the book, you now felt even more frustrated than before, feeling the panicked tears beginning to well in your eyes as the clock crept close to 3:00 AM and you were wide awake as ever. Burying your head in your hands, you could feel your chest growing heavier with each deep breath, slowly feeling like a pile of bricks had been set on top of you as you began to sob quietly, feeling the inevitable panic and defeat wash over you.

You weren’t falling back asleep.

As you rolled over to face the cold and empty half of your bed, you wished with every bone in your body that Javi was there next to you, able to pull you close and promise you that everything was going to be okay, and even if it wasn’t, at least you’d have him there with you instead of the empty and lonely void of his dark childhood bedroom.

At this point, the thought of even just hearing his voice seemed like it may provide you with some relief, but the last thing you wanted to do was wake Javi up and have him suffer sleeplessly with you. But right now, it seemed like the only thing in the world that was going to make you feel any ounce of better was hearing Javi’s voice lull you back to sleep, showering you with reassurance that you’d be okay before the big day tomorrow.

You sat up, wiping the tears streaming down your cheeks with the back of your hand, getting out of bed to nervously pace back and forth across the room, debating the idea of calling Javi as a last resort for sleep before sunrise.

The war of pros and cons raged in your mind with each anxious step across the worn, creaky floor, arguing with yourself about calling Javi at the ripe hours of 3:00 AM to cure your desperate need for sleep. For as terrible as you felt about waking him up, you found yourself quietly creeping down the hallway, closer and closer to the phone tucked away in the kitchen, your fingers gently punching the digits to his phone number and bringing the phone to your ear, nestling it between your neck and shoulder as you impatiently chewed at your bottom lip so hard you were convinced it was going to bleed.

You were in shock that you were in such a panic to the point you were about to wake up your future husband in the middle of the night, only hours before the day of your wedding, but what shocked you more, was that you heard Javi’s voice answer his phone halfway through the first dial tone, and he sounded just as wide awake as you.

“Osita? Baby, are you okay? Is everything alright?” Obviously worried by your 3:00 AM phone call, you could also hear the worry and stress rumbling low in his chest as he spoke, the relief of finally hearing his voice bringing even more tears to your eyes as the reality of the situation only sank deeper and deeper into your conscious.

“Javi, I- I’m really sorry, I didn’t wanna wake you up, but I- I just- I’m wide awake and I’ve been up for like, 2 hours and can’t fall back asleep and didn’t know what to do, I tried everything and I-” You paused, trying to stop the sniffling through your sobs to hear the muffled response on the other end of the line. “Jav, are you- Javi are you laughing?”

“Yeah, because I can’t fucking sleep either.” He quietly chuckled, his admittance suddenly lifting a weight off your shoulders, realizing that you weren't crazy for being wired and wide awake the night before your wedding. “I’m sorry, I promise I’m not laughing at you, Hermosa, I’ve been up for a while too and I can’t fucking fall back asleep. I can’t believe that you’re up too.”

“Wow, lucky us.” You snickered, smiling at Javi’s muted laughter through the other end of the phone. “I miss you, Jav. I wish you were here. I’m convinced that’s the only thing that’s gonna help me fall back asleep.” You paused again, this time with no response from Javi, cocking your head in confusion as you listened to the rustling and shuffling from the other end of the line. “Jav? Are you there?”

“I’ll be over in 15 minutes.”

“Wait, what?” You responded, scrunching your brow, wondering if you had heard him correctly. “Javi, are you sure? It’s already so late and I-”

“Listen, I would like to think it’s way worse luck for the bride and groom not to get any goddamn sleep the night before their wedding than it is for them to sleep in the same bed. We can just talk on the phone if you don’t want me to, but-”

“Javier Peña, you better get your handsome ass over here ASAP.”

The two of you quietly laughed to yourselves, feeling your cheeks warm in a soft smile, an instant calm flooding your body at the thought that you were only minutes away from having Javi by your side, knowing even if you couldn't sleep, your night would be a lot less lonely with him there with you.

“Wait, how are you gonna get here without waking everyone up?”

“Not my first time sneaking out, Osita.” You giggled at his response, practically hearing his smug smirk through the phone.

“Sneaking into your childhood bedroom the night before your wedding? And they say true love is dead. Don’t keep me waiting, Romeo.”

“God, you’re such a dork. I love you. I’ll be there soon.”

“I love you too. See you soon.”

As the dial tone went silent, you hung the phone back on the receiver, leaning back against the wall of the kitchen, letting out a sigh of relief, you felt the anxious weight off your chest lift, the racing of your heart shifting from stress to sweet solace.

At least if you weren’t going to sleep, you weren’t going to have to do it alone.

Quietly, you tiptoed back into your room, carefully treading across the creaky and worn wood planks of the ranch floor to avoid squeaks, shutting the door behind you as you made it back to the bed, resting your head against the windowsill as you patiently waited for the familiar rumble of Javi’s truck treading down the driveway.

It wasn’t long before the bright flash of headlights shone through the panes of your window, illuminating your room and casting shifting shadows against the walls, the crackling gravel crunching under Javi’s truck tires coming to a halt as his car parked along the side of the house. The gentle slam of the car door shutting made your heart skip a beat as you cracked open your window, peaking your head outside to see Javi’s broad figure sneaking towards you through the darkness.

“Well, fancy seeing you here.” You snickered, gently pushing open the window for Javi, scooting out of his way as he hoisted himself up through the frame, letting out a little grunt as he flopped over into the bedroom. As he stood up, he immediately wrapped his arms around you, one around your waist tugging you closer to him, and the other cradling the back of your head as you rested it against his chest.

You weren’t quite sure what it was- his familiar scent, his warm embrace, the feeling of home being wrapped up in his presence, but whatever it was, it had every single emotion that had been bubbling up inside you since 1 A.M. coming to fruition, instantly beginning to sob tears mixed with relief, stress and overwhelming exhaustion the second your head met the soft cotton fabric of the t-shirt laying over his chest.

“Hey, hey, baby, it’s okay. It’s okay, I’m right here, I’ve got you. Shhhhhh, don’t cry Hermosa, it’s okay.” Javi whispered, pulling you closer to him, running his fingers through your hair and leaning down to press a kiss on your head, holding you while you let everything out.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t wanna spend the night before we got married waking you up at 3:00 in the morning just because I couldn’t sleep.” You muttered through your shaky breaths in between tears clinging onto Javi’s shirt, feeling the wetness pool on the cotton where your head had been resting.

“Osita, baby, look at me.” Javi paused, peeling you off of him just enough to force your gaze on him, his hand now cupping your jaw while his thumb rubbed against your cheek, wiping away your tears to see his soft, sweet smile staring back at you. “I don’t care. I don’t care if you wake me up at 1 A.M., 3 A.M., whenever the fuck you wanna wake me up, because today, I get to wake up knowing I get to spend the rest of my life with you. I get to spend the rest of my life as your husband. I get to fucking marry you. I think that’s worth a lifetime’s worth of 3 A.M. wakeup calls. C’mere.” He cooed, carefully picking you up and carrying you over to bed, laying you in the sea of sheets and blankets before climbing in himself and nestling up next to you, his hand splayed along your back, tracing small circles with his fingertips while your arm draped across his stomach as you laid on top of him, snuggling as close as you could into his body.

“Thank you.” You whispered, your warm breath tickling Javi’s neck as you nestled your face in his shoulder, the faint thumping of his heartbeat syncing with yours as your breaths became longer and deeper in Javi’s embrace.

“For what, baby?”

“For being the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Javi couldn’t help but quietly laugh to himself, a smile spreading across his face as he looked down at you, curled against his body, watching your eyelids start to droop heavier and heavier with each blink, the telltale signs of sleep slowly beginning to wash over you the moment you were finally snuggled up next to him. It was as if your brain and body knew all you needed was to have him beside you to send you off into slumber.

“Thank you for making me the luckiest man in the world.”

Even as you felt yourself starting to drift in and out of consciousness, you could still feel the heat creeping through your cheeks, a soft smile pursed between your lips, wrapped in the warmth of Javi’s body pulling you closer.

“Can you believe we’re getting married tomorrow?”

“Even better, Hermosa, we’re getting married today.”

“I keep forgetting it’s way past midnight at this point, holy shit. Happy wedding day, you goofball,” You paused, letting a prolonged yawn escape from your mouth before letting your eyes fall all the way shut, “I wouldn’t wanna spend the rest of my 3 A.M.’s with anyone else but you. Te amo, Javi.”

“Te amo más, Osita. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“Even when we’re old and gray and I have saggy boobs?” You giggled, another yawn disrupting your sleepy laughter as Javi gently shook you in his grasp, lovingly rolling his eyes at your remark.

“Especially when we’re old and gray, no matter how saggy your boobs are.”

“You’re about to make a life long commitment here, Jav, you gotta love me when I’m old, senile and saggy, no backin’ out now.” You teased, only making the two of you snicker more.

“I will love everything about you for as long as I live, pendejo, saggy boobs and all.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

A promise that had granted you permission to finally put your body at ease, sleep washing over you in soft and rolling waves with each inhale and exhale pressed against Javi’s chest, slowly fading into slumber without even realizing.

It wasn’t until the golden glow of sunrise began to spill through your windows that you found yourself stirring once again, squinting at the beaming rays bursting into your room and willing yourself awake, flooded with relief that it wasn’t the dead of night that had greeted you. Rolling your shoulders and stretching your limbs, you forced yourself through your sleepy fog, shifting over to face Javi’s side of the bed.

“Good morning, sleepyhead. Thank God it’s actually morning. Jav? Javi?” Flopping over, you woke to find Javi’s space empty, his broad frame and sleepy smile nowhere to be found to kiss good morning and greet. Sitting up, you peeked across the room to find the bathroom empty, and the window you had left open last night closed shut, Javi’s truck no longer parked in the driveway, disappearing like a thief in the night. Looking back over at the tangled sea of sheets left on his side of the bed, a bright yellow post-it note caught your eye, carefully placed on top of his pillow, taking his place in his absence.

Reaching over with another yawn and stretch, you carefully picked up the paper, hovering it over the goofy grin on your face that had made its home there the second you had seen Javi’s scratchy writing scribbled across the bright yellow note.

Morning Hermosa,

Sorry I left without saying goodbye, figured it was easier if I was gone before everyone woke up and spare us the grief of everyone giving us shit for spending the night together. I know you’re sleeping good because I woke up 3 inches of bed and barley any sheets, since you were buried in a nest so deep I’m convinced you were hibernating.

Even when you steal all the blankets, I couldn’t be more thankful that I get to spend the rest of my life with you. You are my heart, my soul, everything I never knew I need and am so glad I found. I can’t stop thinking about how beautiful you’re gonna look today. How lucky I am that you’re gonna be my wife. I love you so much, Osita. Till we’re old and gray.

Let’s get fuckin’ married, baby

-J

What you were convinced were the first of many tears today beginning to well in your eyes, one little yellow post-it from your future husband had your heart already bursting at the seams.

In all your years of life, there had been few things you had found yourself absolutely sure of. Life had thrown you more curveballs than you ever thought you could manage, and you had been more than happy to put yourself down and out for the count. That was until a tall, handsome stranger threw you the biggest curveball you could have never prepared for- that for once in your life, you were finally sure of something.

You loved Javier Peña more than life itself. And today?

You were gonna marry the shit out of him.

@cool-iguana @rhoorl @whyjuliaaa @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24 @3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo @endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @messinadress @milly-louise @jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled @pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @nastiasnow @vee-bees-blog @hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr @amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

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allthecanadianpolitics · 1 year ago

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Toronto's mayor is appealing for calm and calling for a ceasefire in the Israel-Hamas conflict Friday as Toronto police's hate crime unit investigates a vandalism incident at a downtown Indigo store. This comes after weeks of protests in the city's streets, alongside a rise in tensions on university and college campuses, amid the ongoing bombardment of the Gaza Strip following Hamas's attack on southern Israel on Oct. 7. Many GTA rallies have called for a ceasefire to stop the climbing death toll — a sentiment Mayor Olivia Chow shared in a statement Friday. You can read Chow's full statement at the bottom of this story.

Tagging @politicsofcanada

#cdnpoli #canada #canadian politics #canadian news #palestine #ceasefire now #palestinian genocide #israeli occupation of palestine #toronto #ontario

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corroded-hellfire · 1 year ago

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practically begging for a drabble in the universe as as you wish where they finally get the place to themselves and don’t have to be quiet

You say drabble, @munson-blurbs and I write over 5k words. Please enjoy this little glimpse at what happened right after part one 🥰

Warnings: smut, p in v, unprotected (wrap it up), oral, m and f receiving, older!eddie, babysitter!reader, breeding kink

Words: 5.1k

[As You Wish masterlist]

Eating outside in February in Indiana wouldn’t be your first choice, but when your last class gets out after everyone else has had time to claim indoor spots to chow down, you’re forced to eat your lunch at the picnic table that’s getting most direct sunlight. At least you’d been able to grab a nice hot bowl of soup to keep you warm. The sun comes out from behind a cloud, and you think that maybe your luck is changing when you look up and see Peter strolling over to you.

“Not again,” you groan under your breath.

“Hey,” Peter says as he takes the seat opposite you. His smile looks genuine enough, but you know it’s hiding the smarmy intentions beneath.

“Hi,” you reply before shoving another spoonful of soup in your mouth.

“Aren’t you cold sitting out here?” Peter takes his hands out of his pockets and blows his hot breath on them.

No, I’m perfectly comfortable, you moron, you think to yourself. Peter is a nice enough guy, but ever since he started hounding you about why you wouldn’t go on a second date with him, he’d been insufferable. Why couldn’t he just let it go?

“A little,” you admit. “Couldn’t find a space inside.”

“My car is parked just over there,” Peter says, nodding his head in the direction of the parking lot to your left. “You can eat in there; I don’t mind.”

“No, thanks. I’m fine here.”

Peter sighs and tilts his head to the side as if he’s a confused puppy. “Why are you afraid to be alone with me?”

You almost choke on your latest sip of soup. “Afraid? I’m not afraid, Peter. I’m alone with you right now, aren’t I?”

Peter shrugs and it takes everything in you not to roll your eyes.

“So, why no second date then?”

The moment the words leave his lips, you drop your spoon into your bowl with a clang and bring your hands up to rub over your face.

“Peter,” you say with a deep sigh, “we’ve been over this.”

“I just want a straight answer from you,” Peter says, as if this isn’t something you’ve already given him many times over.

“How about a list?” you snap, unable to hold back your frustration any longer. “You talk with your mouth full. You called nursing a ‘girl major.’ You stared at the waitress’s chest the entire time she was at our table. And when the people next to us started speaking Spanish, you mumbled something about learning to ‘speak American.’ Which, Uncle Sam, isn’t even a God damn language. So,” your voice is rising and attracting the attention of other students, but you couldn't care less, “if you would kindly fuck off, maybe you can leave with your testicles intact.”

With that, you gather your food and rush off to the nearest payphone. Your fingers, still slightly numb from the cold, dial the number as though on autopilot. To your utter relief, he picks up.

“Scott’s Auto Body, this is Eddie speaking.”

It’s been two days since you two hooked up, devouring each other carnally in his bed while his wife wasn’t home, and you were left unsure about how to proceed. Yes, Eddie had confessed that he had feelings for you–feelings much deeper than the lust that had consumed you that evening. But, as with anything, there were consequences to these actions. And what if the consequence was that he no longer wanted you around? That you only served as a painful reminder of the way he broke his marriage vows?

“Yo? Anyone there?”

You clear your throat, forcing yourself to speak into the receiver. “H-Hi. It’s me.” You bite your lower lip and cringe. Me? How the hell is he supposed to know who ‘me’ is?

“Hey,” Eddie says, and you could swear there’s relief flooding his tone. “How are you?”

The concern in his voice mixed with the fact that he knew it was you simply by a stuttering greeting has you flustered and gripping the phone even tighter.

“I’m okay,” you manage. There’s a beat of silence before Eddie replies.

“Are you?”

“Do you remember that time you told me if I, uh, wanted to bail on something, or…”

“Is someone bothering you?” His tone is firm but kind and it reminds you all over again of why you fell for him.

“More annoying than anything,” you admit.

“Is it that prick you went on a date with months ago?”

Did you mention that recently? Or did Eddie remember that from when you told him a few weeks back?

“Unfortunately,” you say.

Eddie sighs. “Jesus, take the hint, pal.”

“Oh, he’s had more than hints,” you tell him. “He’s been given very direct answers multiple times.”

The only sound that comes from the other end is the faint banging and scraping from the garage. You lick over your cold, chapped lips as you wait for him to say something.

“Where are you?” he finally asks.

“Having lunch on campus. It was peaceful at first.”

This time there’s no silence as Eddie quickly shoots back with, “Do you want me to come get you?”

“Only if you’re on your lunch break. I’ll even buy you something to eat,” you offer. “What are you in the mood for?”

“You.”

The answer and how he gave it so immediately has your face burning despite the bitter breeze blowing outside. You shuffle your boots on the ground and take a self-conscious glance around, as if someone could hear what he just said to you.

“Eddie,” you lightly admonish.

“Love when you say my name.” The way he clears his throat after the admission has you wondering if he meant to say it aloud at all. It gives you butterflies either way. “Be there in twenty, pretty thing.”

Before Eddie gets there, you grab two sandwiches for you to split. To save yourself any possible embarrassment, you pretend that Eddie’s infectious grin is more for the food than it is for you.

It’s more difficult to do this when roaming eyes accompany his smile; the chocolate hues soaking in every last millimeter of your body. “Hi,” he murmurs, reaching over to help you with your seatbelt. You don’t need any assistance, and he knows this, too, but it grants him the opportunity to brush his fingers against yours.

“Where to?” he asks, unwrapping his sandwich from the thin plastic covering and taking a bite. The nickname ‘baby,’ is on the tip of his tongue, but he has to hold back. At least until the two of you figure out what the fuck is going on.

“Home, please,” you say softly, tearing off a piece of your own PB&J. You silently curse yourself for getting such a childish sandwich, but considering the way Eddie’s practically inhaling his, he doesn’t appear to be bothered.

He’s only driven a few blocks when he breaks the awkward silence, leaping right onto the back of the elephant in the room. Or car, rather.

“So, um, about what happened on Saturday,” Eddie starts, but you quickly cut him off.

“I know…you’re married.” You lower your head, too heavy with shame. He’s going to say that I shouldn’t babysit the boys anymore. He’s going to call it all a huge mistake. “It never should have happened.”

You feel your head move slightly as Eddie takes his forefinger and turns your chin to face him. “But it did. And I’m not mad about it.” His voice is firm, confident…it’s something you’ve never witnessed before when he’s talking to his horrible wife.

“…you’re not?”

Eddie shakes his head with a small smile, unable to hide his amusement at your obvious surprise. “Not even close. I’m only mad that we can’t, y’know, actually be together.” His hands grip the steering wheel tighter as he says it; it can’t be a coincidence.

But we can, you think, pressing your lips together in an effort to silence yourself, just leave her and be with me.

Instead, you nod and mumble, “I know.” You take another small bite of the sandwich, hoping the sticky peanut butter will glue your tongue to the roof of your mouth and keep you from saying something stupid and clingy.

Eddie looks at you with wide eyes. “Do you…do you regret it?”

It’s a loaded question. Do you regret letting Eddie Munson fuck you in his marriage bed—the one he shared with his wife—splitting you open while moaning about how good you felt? Not at all. Do you regret that it stirred up feelings that can’t be reciprocated because of his marital status? Absolutely.

“No, I just wish…” you trail off, forgoing your original thought, lest it sound like an ultimatum. Instead, you pose a question of your own. “Saturday night, when you told me you cared about me…how did you mean that?”

He sighs, coming to a complete stop at the stop sign. Throwing the car in park, he turns to you with a look of longing and desire.

“Like this.” Eddie leans in and kisses you, tucking his upper lip under yours. His hand caresses your cheek, and he finishes it off with a soft bite to the plush of your lower lip.

The honk of an irritated driver snaps you both from your passionate stupor, and Eddie uses his right hand to shift gears and his left to give a one-finger wave. You assume that that’s the end of the conversation until he speaks again.

“I’ve cared about you since I saw how great you were with my kids,” he admits. “Tried to convince myself that it was just because, y’know, if something happened to you, it would affect them, but…”

“But?”

“But it was so much fuckin�� more than that.” He doesn’t have enough time to list all the ways he cares about you, the ways he dreams of loving and protecting you. “And now that I really know you, shit, I can’t imagine a world without you in it.”

Eddie stops the car again, ignoring the angered shouting of the person in the vehicle behind you as he turns on the flashers. Before you can open your mouth to ask what he’s doing, his lips are on yours again. His large hands cup your face, the callouses giving you goosebumps as they glide over the soft skin of your cheeks. The butterflies in your stomach seem to float up into your head as you feel lightheaded when the two of you separate.

Not wanting to truly bring that wall down and let him see just how much this is affecting you, you attempt to play it cool—hide how flustered his tender kiss has you.

“And, uh,” you say, clearing your throat before you continue, “what you said about wanting to hear the noises I make…?”

Immediately, Eddie’s eyes darken, and it ignites a fire in your otherwise cold body. He leans in towards you and his voice is low and silky as he says, “I wanted to hear every. Single. Sound.”

It’s getting more difficult by the second to restrain yourself when he makes you want to climb into his lap right then and there.

“And do you? Do you, um, still want it?”

A groan comes from deep in his throat as his eyes never leave yours. “So fucking bad, baby.”

The intense hunger his eyes hold almost has you snapping and throwing yourself at him, but you manage to hold onto that last single thread of restraint you have. Instead, you figure this would be better in a place that isn’t being invaded by the frigid air or when anyone could look in at you two since you’re still in the middle of the road.

“Is anyone at your house?”

Instead of giving you an answer, Eddie puts the truck into drive and presses down on the gas pedal so hard that you think it will fall through the floor of the car. The sudden speed has you pressed to the back of your seat, and you laugh at how impatient he is to get you back to his place.

“Fuck, I love that laugh,” Eddie mumbles more to himself than you.

When you get to the house, it’s so hard not to tear into one another on your way to the front door—even with the biting chill in the air. But there are neighbors and the last thing that needs to happen is someone assuming anything is going on between Eddie and the babysitter and make Brittany out to be some kind of martyr.

As soon as the door is closed behind you though, Eddie has his chest pressed up against your back, his warmth seeping into you.

“Fuck, baby, I don’t know where to touch you first,” he growls in your ear.

“How about…here.” You reach down for his hands and bring them under your shirt. Sliding them up your tummy, you settle his palms right on your breasts. There’s a big goofy grin on Eddie’s face as he gently squeezes at the bra-covered flesh.

“Love these, sweet girl.”

Closing your eyes, you let your head drop back against Eddie’s shoulder as he fondles you.

“You have any idea how many times I thought about your hands on me like this? And other ways?” you ask, your breath bitching when his thumb brushes over your nipple.

“And what about your hands on me?” Eddie asks before pressing hot kisses against the side of your neck.

“Mmm, thought about that too,” you admit. “But I mostly thought about my mouth on you.” You unzip his coveralls and drop to your knees, pushing his boxers down so you can take him in. Precum pearls at the tip of his cock, threatening to drip down the shaft along the thick vein that runs through it.

You wrap your hand around the base, giving kitten licks to his leaking slit.

“Don’t tease me, please,” Eddie whines, cupping his own balls briefly just for the extra sensation.

You move them out of the way, settling in a bit more. “You mean like this?” you ask salaciously, pressing little kisses along the underside of his erection before sliding your tongue along it.

The man whimpers like a damn puppy, clenching his fists and flexing his thighs in a feeble attempt to hang onto his sanity.

“O-Okay, yeah, please, fuuuuuck,” he groans as you take all of him into your mouth. His legs twitch, and his knees nearly buckle and have him crumpling to the ground. “Yeah, right there…shit, thas’ perfect.”

Eddie’s pretty moans encourage you each time you bob your head and envelop him in the warmth of your mouth again. One of his hands rests gently on the top of your head; not grabbing or forcing, simply resting there as if he needs to be touching you in every possible way that he can.

“Christ,” Eddie says with labored breath as he looks down at you with heavy-lidded eyes. “I’ve imagined those pretty lips wrapped around m-my cock so many times. But fuck…nothing beats the actual sight of it. Love watching as I disappear inside your sweet little mouth.”

His words have you moaning around his cock, sending delicious vibrations throughout his body. It’s enough to have him teetering on the edge. The hand that isn’t resting in your hair comes up and rubs over his face as he drops his head back and stares at the ceiling with unfocused eyes. Whimpers spill from Eddie’s lips like a prayer, and you start to move your head faster, trying to let your jaw hang looser.

“Shit, baby,” Eddie manages through panting breaths, “I-I’m not gonna last.”

Keeping up your motions, not pausing for a moment, you moan around him to let him know what you want. You’ve dreamt — both daydreams and sleeping dreams — about him finishing inside your mouth and you need it to come true.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks. Another moan around his throbbing dick is how you deign to respond. “So close, princess. Being such a good girl for me—shit. My sweet girl has such a sinful tongue.”

His words have you practically dripping, and you need nothing more than for Eddie to peel your soaked panties off of you. One of your hands slides up and cups his balls, which has him practically keeling over.

“Fuck! Babe, I’m gonna—I’m gonna, shit, I’m cumming.”

Eddie’s warm release fills your mouth, and the tangy taste is like heaven on your tongue. You make sure to milk him for everything that he’s got before you pull off and swallow it all. A little bit dribbles down the side of your mouth, but you catch it with your thumb and pop it into your mouth, making sure to get every last drop.

“Holy shit,” Eddie says, trying to catch his breath. “C’mere.” He tosses his coveralls and boxers aside and helps you off your knees and into the bedroom. “Show me that perfect fuckin’ body of yours.”

Anyone else ever saying that to you in your life would make you self-conscious and be tempted to hide yourself. But Eddie makes you feel safe and desired in a way you never thought possible. He wants to see you like this. It’s a dizzying thought.

You comply, heat blooming up your body towards your face as his gaze is trained on you while he makes himself comfortable up against the headboard. Every little movement, his eyes track it. It’s like you stripping down bare is a class he has to take and he’s the most studious student there ever was. By the time you’re slipping off the last offending item—your drenched panties—you’ve already forgotten that the heap of your clothes is there at the foot of the bed.

Crawling up the mattress to him, you’re about to straddle his waist when he shakes his head. He scoots down a bit so his head is resting flat against his pillow.

“Want you to ride my face, sweet girl.”

The request catches you by surprise and you can’t help the pinch that forms on your brow.

“Are you sure?”

Instead of a sexy or witty remark, Eddie looks you dead in the eye so you know how serious he’s being. “If you don’t sit on my face right now, I will die.”

Leave it to Eddie to bring the theatrics into the bed with you. Still, you give him a skeptical look as you raise an eyebrow.

“You might die if I do,” you say.

“Bullshit,” Eddie says as he reaches for you. Despite your reluctance, you let him pull you up higher towards his mouth. Eddie knows you though and can tell there’s something else you want to say. He looks at you imploringly, doe eyes blinking up at you.

“No one’s ever even eaten me out before you did,” you admit. It surprises Eddie, but he puts a pin in that for later—right now he really needs you to sit on his face.

“Well, let me show you what you’ve been missing out on, babe.” He gently tugs you up so that your pussy is hovering over his mouth. “Now, I’m gonna eat you out, and I need to hear your beautiful noises, yeah?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Fuck,” he moans as he wraps his hands around your thighs and lowers you onto his lips. His tongue glides through your folds and fucks in and out of your hole. You seize the opportunity to grind your exposed clit against his nose.

“Eddie, feels s’good,” you whimper.

Eddie moves away for a second, and you frown at the loss of sensation. “I know you can be louder than that,” he grins before resuming his previous position.

Nerves flood your body. You’re not used to being loud during sex; no guy before Eddie had even given you that urge. You will yourself to relax and let him take care of you, your hands gripping the headboard as you ride his face.

“Yes, Eddie! Holy fucking shit,” you cry out, feeling his hold on your thighs tighten. “You’re gonna make me cum all over your face.”

Eddie just gives a muffled hum of approval, moving his tongue but keeping his head still so you can keep rhythmically pressing your clit against his nose. His tongue is magic, fucking in and out of you like he can’t get enough.

Your release hits you hard, and you lean back to brace your hands on his thighs as you ride out your high, practically screaming your moans loud enough for Peter to hear back on campus. Ironic that his persistence for a second date drove you into the arms—and bed—of another man.

You keep whimpering “Eddie” over and over again as you come down, a pathetic little mewl that has him melting. He gently lays you on the bed and hovers over your gorgeous body, pressing kisses to your lips, smearing them with your own slick.

“Love how you say my name, sweetheart,” he murmurs, a slight growl in his voice. “Also love how you taste.”

The word “love” plays on a loop in your head. You want to hear him say it about you. You want him to make love to you, not just fuck you. Could that fantasy ever come to fruition?

The touch of Eddie’s hand on yours interrupts your longing thoughts. He brings your palm to his cock, and you instinctively wrap your fingers around the hardened length.

“Got me hard again, baby,” Eddie hisses, “like a damn teenager or somethin’.”

You can’t hold back any longer, and the words spill out of you. “Inside me, Eddie,” you plead. “Please.”

“You don’t have to beg, but I’d be lying if I said I hated it.” He smirks, watching as your hand glides up and down his erection. He hasn’t been this turned on since…well, since he came home to you wearing his clothes two nights ago.

“Please, need you inside me, wanna feel how nice you fill me up.” You open your legs wider, and Eddie situates himself between them. Your pussy clenches around nothing, desperate for some friction.

He’s got one hand on your right breast, the other holds his cock. “Ready for me?”

“Yes, yes, God yes.”

You feel him push into you, and you instinctively arch your back. His calloused hands slide around your waist as he gives slow, gentle thrusts until bottoming out.

“How’s that? Y’good?”

“So, so good.”

His thrusts get deeper and more intentional, and he grins when he hears the small moans escaping your lips.

“E-Eddie?” Your voice is a strong whisper; it’s all you can manage with the way he’s pounding into you.

“Yes, princess?” A shiver snakes its way down your spine at the nickname. Princess. You’re Eddie’s princess.

You stumble over your words, flustered by the new pet name and anxious about how your next request will be received. “Can you, um, say what you said the other night?”

Eddie’s brow furrows in confusion as his hips keep a steady pace, unruly thatch of pubic hair deliciously grazing your clit. “I said a lot the other night, baby,” he chuckles. “You’ll have to be, uh, a little more specific.”

You try and push away the embarrassment, reminding yourself that you’re safe with Eddie. “When you said y-you were going to fill me so good and knock m-me up,” you try again, squeezing your eyes shut in anticipation of a bad reaction.

Eddie groans and gives an involuntary hard thrust of his hips. “Holy shit, you’re telling me you like that?” He throws his head back when you nod. “Fuck, baby girl, you have no idea how hot that is to me.”

“So hot,” you agree with another feeble nod of your head.

Eddie grips your waist and flips the two of you so he’s leaning back against the headboard and you’re in his lap. “Shit, Princess. You want my babies, huh? Want me to fill you with my cum, huh? Won’t let any drip out of you, gotta keep it all in there.”

Your eyes practically roll back in your head. All you want is his babies, to walk around with a swell to your belly because Eddie Munson fucked you until he got you pregnant.

“That’s it,” he continues through gritted teeth, “I know you can take it. Such a good girl, wanting all of my cum.”

“Y-Yes, Mr. Munson,” you whimper pathetically, “I’m your good girl.”

Mr. Munson has his brain short-circuiting, and his hips snap upwards at a rapid pace. He wants this to last forever, but the way you look and feel has him on the edge of release once more.

“Fuck, ‘m gonna cum. Call me ‘Mr. Munson’ again, baby,” Eddie pleads, pupils blown wide as he begs to hear your beautiful voice.

“Mmm, want your babies, Mr. Munson!” You watch as he throws his head back at the sound of your moans, keeping his frantic pace. “Ri-Right there! Yes, yes, yes!”

The two of you come down from your highs together, you slumped against his chest and his hands resting on your bare back.

“M’pretty sure that’s the best sex I’ve ever had,” Eddie finally manages through heaving breaths.

You peek up at him with incredulous eyes. “Really?”

“Hell fuckin’ yes.” He leans down and presses soft kisses along the expanse of your neck. “Everything about you turns me on so ridiculously much. It’s insane. The more I learn about you, the hotter you get.”

You grin to yourself and nuzzle your head against his chest. “Was the best for me, too,” you admit.

“Yeah?” Eddie cocks an eyebrow in disbelief. There’s no way he can compete with the younger guys throwing themselves at you…is there?

“Are you kidding?” You look up at him with a shy smile. “All you have to do is look at me and I get wet.”

“Good to know,” Eddie says with a playful smirk. He turns away for a moment before whipping his head back around, peering at you dramatically. “How ‘bout now?”

You press your lips to his in what’s supposed to be a romantic kiss, but your smiles get in the way.

“Hey, uh, did you…” he starts, clears his throat, and then tries again. “Was I really the first guy to eat you out?”

You nod, downcasting your eyes in embarrassment. “No one ever offered, but I never asked or anything, so…”

Eddie takes your chin in his hand and pulls your gaze back to him. “You never have to ask me,” he murmurs, nudging his nose against yours. “I love being able to make you feel good. If I ever turn down eating your pussy, call an ambulance, because I clearly need medical attention.”

Giggling, you go to rest your head on his shoulder when you catch sight of the clock on his bedside table. “Oh, I have to go get the boys,” you say, trying not to sound too disappointed.

“Pretty sure we left a trail of clothes around the house. You go get the troublemakers; I’ll clean up.”

You nod and lean up to press a tender kiss to his lips. He cups your face in his hands and just stares. “Don’t want to let you go,” he murmurs, just short of a whine.

“I won’t be long,” you whisper against his lips.

“Hurry back,” he calls out dramatically, but he’s only half-joking. All he wants is you in his bed, tangled in the sheets, touching each other like you’ll never get enough.

You reach for your purse and dig out your keys. “Wait, I don’t have my car. You picked me up from campus.”

“Take my truck, baby,” Eddie offers, taking his own set of keys from the coveralls laying on the ground and tossing them to you. “We can take the kids to the park or something then the Munson men will bring you back to your car.”

“Such gentlemen.” You giggle when Eddie bows, still fully naked.

It feels like a scavenger hunt to find all the articles of clothing you’d shed, but you’re finally able to get dressed and dart out of the house to pick up Ryan and Luke from school.

When you return back, small Munsons in tow, the scent of just-fried bacon wafts past your nostrils.

“That is the best smell in the world,” Luke declares. He walks towards the kitchen as if he’s in a trance.

You follow behind him and Ryan and see Eddie washing a frying pan out in the sink.

“Daddy!” Luke clings to Eddie’s hips, surprised to see his dad home early. He squeezes him tight, and Eddie has to swallow his emotions before turning around to greet him.

“Hey, buddy.” He drops the pan and sponge in the sink and scoops Luke up and presses a kiss to his head, then ruffles Ryan’s hair.

“Bacon smells good,” Ryan says, peering at the counter where the strips lay on oil-soaked Bounty sheets.

“Thought it could be a snack for the ride to the park. How’s that sound?” Eddie asks, already knowing the answer.

Both boys cheer, with Luke breaking out into some sort of kung-fu inspired happy dance. His little feet shuffle back and forth along the kitchen tile while his little hands punch the air.

Eddie just laughs and tells his sons, “Go change out of your school clothes and grab your heavy coats.”

Once they’re out of the kitchen, you raise an eyebrow at Eddie and speak softly to him. “Hungry after such a vigorous workout?”

“A little.” He chuckles and gives a shrug. “But really, I was paranoid that it would smell like sex in here.”

You giggle and cover your mouth, worried that you’re too loud. The last thing you need is for the boys to ask what’s so funny.

“You’re so fucking cute,” he whispers, kissing just under your earlobe.

Ryan and Luke come back into the kitchen before you can respond, so you just stand there flustered. It goes unnoticed, since the boys ramble on as the food gets packed up, sneakers are tied, and doors are locked.

“This is the best day ever!” Luke announces, opening the car door and climbing into his booster seat.

“I agree.” Eddie throws a wink in your direction, and your stomach does a flip as you buckle your seatbelt.

Maybe there is more than just lust between you and Mr. Munson.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #older!eddie #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fan fiction #request #AYW #AYWS

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detectivestucks · 9 months ago

Text

Overnight Training

18+ content, Minors do NOT interract

Pairing: Kakashi x F!Reader

Summery: Your adopted baby brother Naruto isn't being treated fairly by his Sensei as he prepares for the third Chunin Exam. You go over to Kakashi's house to give him a piece of your mind.

Warnings: NSFW, gaslighting, spanking, slapping, fingering, oral, unprotected penetration

Word Count: 4.5k

Anon Request

The smell of Ichiraku ramen wafts through the air and into your nose like a welcome friend on your way towards the noodle shop. You see a familiar pair of legs dangling off the stool as you approach, ready and waiting for you to pay for their meal.

“Hi Naruto!”

“Hi Y/N-san!”

“How ya doin kiddo?” you say as you tousle his blonde hair.

Though he was a royal pain in the ass, you took a liking to Naruto shortly before he enrolled in the Ninja Academy. He was loud and crazy, and terrorized the village plenty, but then one time you caught him between acts of corruption. You saw the sad orphan who just needed attention and you took it upon yourself to become a sister figure to him. You’d chase down shop owners who were rude to him, gossiping wives spreading false rumors about the boy, and yes, you went toe to toe with Iruka several times while he was at the Academy. The latter may have resulted in a brief relationship but ultimately caring for Naruto was your primary concern and Iruka couldn’t appear to be favoring the boy more than he already was. The two of you had started talking on and off now that Naruto was no longer at the Academy but now you have a new sensei to worry about.

The infamous Kakashi Hatake, the Copy Ninja. You were less than thrilled to find out he would be responsible for your baby brother because of his reputation as being ruthless. Naruto needed a nurturer like Iruka, not a solider like Kakashi. Lord Hiruzen assured you it would be fine but you had your doubts, hence why you began checking in on Naruto more than ever.

“I’m doing really really well! I learned all kinds of chakra control stuff and I made it through the second exam!”

“That’s wonderful!”

“But now I’m trying to learn a cool new jutsu for the third one and Kakashi-sensei is too busy with Sasuke to train me!”

“What?! He’s not helping you train!”

“No” He crosses his arms in front of him. “I’m relying on some pervy old sage guy who said he’d train me.”

Your stomach sinks knowing who he’s talking about. “His real name wouldn’t happen to be Jiraiya, would it?”

“Yeah! That’s the one! But he spends most of our time looking at girls instead of giving me directions.”

“...I bet he does.” you murmur under your breath.

“Look Naruto, Jiraiya happens to be a really great ninja. You’re lucky to have gained him as a sensei.”

“You think so?!”

“They don’t call him one of the Legendary Sannin for nothin.”

“Wow! Really?”

“Really. And while you train with him, I’ll go give your Jonin Leader a good talking to. Remind him that he has three genin he’s responsible for, two of which made it to the final round.” You say in a firm tone as you accept your bowl of ramen.

“Yeah, yeah. Just don’t go dating him like you did with Iruka-sensei. That was embarrassing.”

The heat on your cheeks rises as you nervously tuck your hair behind your ear. “It’s not gonna be like that. Iruka is…well…sweet,” you blush “But Kakashi is such a, well…”

“A Jerk!”

“Naruto! Don’t say that about your sensei!”

“Why not? You were going to.”

“Was not!”

“Were to!”

“Just eat your ramen.” you say with a soft tap of your chopsticks on his yellow mop.

The two of you chow down before you escort Naruto back to his home. He excitedly blabbered on and on about his experience in the second chunin exam and you couldn’t feel more proud of the kid than if he were your actual biological brother.

You reach the door to his second story home and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Okay, kiddo, have a good day of training tomorrow. Learn everything you can and put your all into it like usual.”

“Will do Y/N-san!”

“Night kid.” you say with a chuckle releasing his shoulder and watching as Naruto unlocks the door.

“Night Y/N-san!” he shouts as he closes the door.

You couldn’t help but smile at the disappearing image of the world’s most adorable little punk with a heart of gold to match his spiky locks. The idea that Kakashi abandoned him right before the third chunin exam had your blood boiling.

What the hell was Kakashi’s problem? Did he have some vendetta cause Naruto housed the Nine Tails? Was he favoring Sasuke cause of unresolved feelings about his old teammate, Obito? Or was he just a wannabe Uchiha jerk who needed to be taught a lesson?

You march your way over to Kakashi’s house and bang on his door. He takes forever to answer so you knock again, feeling your temper rise.

You hear the latch of his lock click and the sound of the knob twisting. As the door opened, you saw a shirtless Kakashi standing before you in sweats, with a towel in his hand. He had clearly been showering after a day of training with Sasuke and was in the middle of drying off when you disturbed him.

“Oh hey, Y/N. Come in.” he says casually as he walks away from the door towards his kitchen and lowers his head to dry his hair with the towel in his hand.

“Oh hey nothing, Kakashi! Don’t act like you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“...”

You let out a grunt of anger. Was he really that arrogant that he couldn’t have possibly done anything wrong. It just made you fume.

“You’re spending all your time training the Uchiha boy and left Naruto to fend for himself! How can you be so callous to your own team?!”

“I already told him I’m sorry. Plus what I’m trying to teach Sasuke is very complex and only someone with a sharingan can learn it.”

You stride up to him standing centimeters from his face as you glare and poke at his chest.

“Look at you all high and mighty. ‘Only someone with a sharingan can learn it.’ Bull! Naruto is swimming in chakra! He brims with potential while you’re out here playing favorites!”

Kakashi grabs the finger you were poking him with and spins you around so that your hand is pinned behind your back. He holds you firmly as he whispers dangerously in your ear,

“I’d be careful who I’m poking that finger at, little lady.”

Your breath may have faltered a little from the change in position but you had a point to prove so you press on.

“What, can’t take criticism?”

Kakashi slams your upper body down on his kitchen counter, your free hand barely catching you before you hit your head too hard. He leans down over you, his body pressing into yours as he chides,

“I treat all my soldiers the way they need to be treated. Only I can know what all three of them need from me at any given time. Right now, the only Uchiha in the village needs training from the only other posesser of a Sharingan in the entirety of Konaha. Unless you’re secretly an Uchiha bastard who can train him, I’d suggest you simmer down.”

His words were chilling. Ice to your ears. It made sense but why should Naruto get the short end of the stick? He was always excluded from everything. You struggle in Kakashi’s grasp trying to turn around and face him as you continue to defend your little brother.

“That’s a bullshit answer! Just cause Naruto doesn’t have a sharingan, means his own sensei can’t give him any training at all?!”

Kakashi slaps the flesh of your ass with all his might making you cry out in pain.

“Enough! I’ve heard about as much as I will tolerate from you! You don’t know a thing about leading a squad! I will not subject myself to any more of your baseless, ignorant opinions.”

He brings his hand down again on the same spot. All the muscle he spent years developing, employed in this moment to humiliate you as you laid bent over Kakashi’s counter, hand still pinned behind your back by nothing more than his grasp on your finger.

Your breath hitched as the blow landed, pain searing your skin. You were certain that a bruise would form within the next few minutes.

Overcoming the shock of his actions you begin to struggle in his grasp. “Fuckin’ asshole, let go of me!”

“I’m the asshole? You’re the one who came to my house to yell at me!” he snarls, twisting your arm painfully. You cry out but he doesn’t loosen his grip. No, he stands directly behind you, leaning in, securing your hips against the edge of the counter. He begins rubbing his hand in large circles over your hip and cheek as if preparing the area for another assault.

You continue to struggle when you feel his warm breath as he chuckles in your ear.

“Did you really think you could come over here to yell at me and get away with it?”

He interrupts his rubbing to deliver another striking blow to your cheek. “No. It seems you’ve been spending too much time around Naruto. You’ve forgotten your manners.”

His free hand slides from your ass up to your neck where he grabs you at the base of your jaw and turns your head to the side just enough to press his nose into your cheek.

“Maybe you need some private lessons from a sensei of your own. Hmm?”

You can feel his manhood hardening beneath his sweatpants, your compromised position once more causing your breath to falter.

Smiling at your reaction, Kakashi kisses your cheek before standing up. He keeps his hips ground against your rear, pinning you to the counter still. He begins to play with your hair using his free hand as he continues,

“Naruto’s lucky to have such a pretty big sister. Watching out for him, picking senseless fights.”

“It’s not senseless you’re showing favoritism.” You grumble before he twists your arm again causing you to wince.

“As likely as that may seem, let's not jump to conclusions yet.”

You scoff at him and he slaps down on your backside once more. You let out a small groan upon impact making Kakashi chuckle.

“Let’s look at the facts, shall we?”

Kakashi releases your arm to grab your hips and spin you around. He steers you towards the wall, backing you up against it, caging you in as he grabs both your wrists, bringing them up above your head and pinning them together to hold with one hand. He casually props his free hand on his hip while leaning his weight against your wrists with the other as he continues.

“Naruto is a high energy kid who needs a high energy sensei. His father’s former sensei is in the village, available to train him. Ask yourself, is that a coincidence?”

Your eyes narrow as you glare at him. His words were so convincing but you couldn’t shake the feeling he was full of it.

“Sasuke has no other options and happens to have the same chakra nature as me. A perfect student to pass my jutsu onto.” It takes every fiber of your being to resist the eye roll threatening to make an appearance at the mention of passing down his original jutsu. “It’s only logical that I give Naruto the honor of studying under one of the Legendary Sannin while I take on Sasuke”

He was damn good, you’d give him that. You knew he was full of shit but you almost believe him.

“Now what do you have to say to me?”

“Excuse me?”

He takes his hand off his hip to give your face a sharp slap.

“No, you do not need to ask to be excused. Try again.”

Your mouth falls open in disbelief. Your eyes scan down his body, starting with his covered face and dropping down to his shirtless chest. You take note of his war torn body carved to perfection with an alluring V-shape plummeting down into his baggy sweatpants currently pitched by his erection.

“Eyes up here, Sweetie.”

You look back up to his uncovered eye suddenly very aware of your nipples stiffening in your bra. You were so mad at yourself. You came to defend Naruto but found yourself pinned to the wall doubting your convictions as Kakashi closed the space between you. He gave you no other option than to feel his entire body against your own, pressing himself into your chest as his free hand roamed up and down your side.

Your breathing becomes shallow. All the free air between you is being used up by him when he reminds you what he’s waiting for.

“What do you have to say to me for coming to my house at night to yell at me?”

“I’m sorry?”

He slides his hand to your sore rear and grips it harshly, pulling your pelvis into his.

“Try that again.”

Brimming with shame you whisper in his ear, “I’m sorry”

“Good, but perhaps I should ensure this lesson really sticks so we don’t have a repeat of tonight, hmm?”

Your eyes grow wide as you search his face for answers but with a stoic expression he begins to unbutton your pants and tug them to the floor.

“Hey! What are you do-”

Your protests are cut off by Kakashi quickly removing his mask to kiss you. He presses his lips into yours, silencing your voice. It was surprisingly welcome. Tender but passionate with the taste of his orange mouthwash freshly on his breath. You couldn’t stop yourself from leaning into it.

Once he had the cooperation of your lips he resumed removing your pants. Stripping you down to your thong. He began to rub over the fabric, circling around your clit making your breath catch in your throat.

“It seems like you’re struggling to stay mad at me. Isn’t that right Sweetie?” He stops rubbing to give your sex some firm pats over the cloth.

“Your underwear is soaked. Is that cause of me?”

Arrogant asshole. You were embarrassed and ashamed. You looked down so as not to acknowledge his statement but he gave a more forceful slap between your legs causing you to sharply inhale. He hums into your ear, enjoying how he is toying with you.

He slips your thong to the side exposing your bare folds and you can’t help but return your eyes to his face. He slips one of his long fingers in causing an involuntary whine to slip past your lips. The corner of his mouth turns up at the sound. He strokes in and out of you a few times before adding in a second finger. “Ah”

The sound was quiet and small but it ignited him in a primal way. He leans his forehead against yours as he continues to taunt.

“Naruto’s mouthy older sister. Always sticking her pretty nose where it doesn’t belong. I was wondering how long before I saw you at my door. Heck, I was practically counting the days.” He gives you a long drawn out kiss as his fingers continue to stroke in and out of you. “Been hoping to get a taste of what Iruka had ever since the kid was assigned to my team.”

You were so mad at him for bringing up your ex, but the way he was working your walls was enough for you to hold your silence. You didn’t want him to stop. You needed him to keep going, even as your trapped arms began to lose circulation and fall asleep above your head.

A third digit slides in leaving you gasping and breathless.

“You like that, don’t you Sweetheart?”

You’re biting your lip and closing your eyes, resisting the urge to scream ‘yes.’

“You don’t need to say anything, just let the cream running down my knuckles do the talking for you.”

You hated giving him the smug satisfaction but you squeeze around his fingers helplessly. Then he finds just the right spot and begins to hook his digits as he drags them outward. A long moan spills from your lips

“Oooh, gods Kakashi, yes!”

He hungrily kisses you, attempting to claim you as his own. The scent of his soap lingering on his freshly washed skin fills your nostrils as you inhale between kisses. His tongue explores the inside of your mouth, the muscle dancing with your own. A need to devour you communicated by his greedy lips.

He withdraws his fingers from your cavern and feeds them to you. You suck on them while making eye contact with him before he takes them out and finishes licking them clean in his own mouth, sucking one digit at a time.

When he was done he released your wrists and brought both of your arms to wrap around his neck, holding your gaze while he did.

The familiar tingle of circulation restoring itself spreads through your limbs as you tighten your grip around him. His hands run the course of your back. Wandering, touching, feeling, groping, before settling with one around the small of your back and the other in your hair. You lunge back into a kiss, nibbling and biting his lips, consumed with want. He pulls back briefly to pant, “bedroom.” You get the message and the two of you kiss sloppily as you stagger over. Once through the door you each shed your remaining layers before you fall to your knees.

Immediately you grasp his length, wrapping your fingers around its base while your other hand reaches up to claw at his back. You stroke him a few times before you point your tongue and drag it all the way from his base to his tip. You feel the rush of his blood pulse through his shaft as your grip tightens before you seal your lips around him. Up and down your hand tugged, keeping the pressure firm while your tongue worked along his slit, siphoning out his oozing pre cum. His hips shifted forward slightly and you knew he was yearning for you to swallow him whole.

You released his head with a wet pop before licking one more stripe up from his base.

You look up at him through your lashes and part your lips, breathing on his tip before opening up and swallowing till he hit the back of your mouth.

“I know you can do better than that” he taunts

You grip his hips, bracing yourself as you reangle and relax your throat, allowing him to sink past your vocal cords. Your nose brushes against his silver body hair as you push forward.

“Mmmm much better.”

He sinks his fingers into your hair, guiding you up and down along his length, the lip of his mushroom tip catching in your throat with each pass.

“Feels so damn good. This is where you belong. On your knees before me. Fuck”

He draws a breath through his teeth feeling a tingle run over his entire body. The lewd sounds coming from your mouth fill the air as he begins to rock his hips into you. He closes his eyes and groans, letting you service him, excited by the powerful feeling of having you choke on his cock.

Saliva dribbles out of the corners of your mouth and down on your barren chest. Your tongue glides along the underside of his length. When he bottoms out in your throat you stick it out further, trying to lick some of the skin below his endowment, making him shudder.

“Grab them.” he whispers.

You reach down and tactfully massage his balls in your hand. One arm still gripping around his hip and your nose flush with his abdominals, Kakashi was twitching harshly in your mouth. He was on the brink of cumming.

“Fuck Y/N! I didn’t wait all this time just for a blow job. Get on the bed.”

Slowly you withdrew your lips from his manhood and crawled up onto the bed. As much as Kakashi wanted to rail into you from behind, he wanted to see your face when he entered you for the first time. Cause it definitely wouldn’t be his last.

“On your back, Sweetheart. I wanna see your face.”

You nod and lay down with your knees propped up and legs spread. He settles between your thighs and slaps you clit with his slobber-soaked dick, allowing you to flinch from the strike. Your eyes are fixated on his thick girth as he lines himself up with your slit. You watch him begin to sink in when he demands, “eyes up here.”

Your gaze snaps up to meet his as your mouth drops into an O shape, brows furrow together and a shameful breathy moan slips from your open mouth. A stifled grunt from Kakashi lingering with it.

Your face was everything he hoped it would be. You paint the picture of pleasure while your pliable silken walls fold around him perfectly. He couldn’t help how his toes curled from the simple act of entering you. A mutual understanding that this would be the first of several rounds was silently communicated by nothing more than your response to his intrusion.

He slides back and forth, lubricating his length as he slowly acquaints himself with every part of your interior. Your core knots up each time he fully sheaths himself in your cavern, arms clutching him, forcing him down to your lips.

“Fuck Kakashi”

“Yes?” He bottoms out again pushing your groan past your tongue. “Did you have something to say?”

“Just fuuuuuckk.”

“Apologize for jumping to conclusions and maybe I can treat you this good everytime we see each other.”

“Are you fuckin serious right now?” You pant, sexual pleasure stealing all bite from your words. You are little more than a pile of flesh at the present moment unable to argue with Kakashi’s ego.

He leans closer to whisper in your ear, “dead serious” before leaning back up and establishing his pace. You know his mind is almost as clouded as yours from the way your bodies mold together. His usual calm and domineering demeanor faltered each time you squeezed around him. The pleasure creasing his features as he pushes into you, maintaining his tempo.

He shifts all his bodyweight over to one arm as he uses the other to grab your face, pulling you into him for another heated kiss. His lips working against yours, sucking off the last remnants of your chapstick. Normally he didn’t kiss his hook ups so much but something about you made him hungry. Maybe it was how mouthy you are. He needed to give your lips something better to do than shout your ignorant opinions. If that’s the case he’d kiss you for hours if he had to. Never able to get enough of the taste.

You thread your fingers through his soft hair. It was nearly dry and smelled heavenly from his conditioner. You push your chest up into his, allowing your tits to rock against his pecs with each thrust into your soaking wet folds. Little sighs and groans filling the space between you. He couldn’t help but think that you were the cutest fuck he’d had in awhile. Maybe he needed to piss you off more often since it got him here, between your legs, panting and moaning for him the way that you are. His eyes roll backwards as your fingers toy with the silver strands.

“Shit Y/N, on your knees.”

You comply with one last hungry pull at his lips, shifting to all fours. Kakashi grabs two fist fulls of your ass as he plunges in, hitting so deep you can’t breathe. The wind has been knocked out of you. It’s all you can do to catch it again. He lets his excitement get the better of him and launches into you with brain rattling speed.

He hit so deep he found a sweet spot that has been long neglected. One you can’t reach on your own. When he felt how you constricted around him he focused on it. Pummeling into that same spot, making you drop your face to the sheets. You cry out from the pressure and he knows you’re on the brink of orgasm from how white your knuckles are as they grip the sheets for support.

He smiled at the bruise he created in the kitchen while watching how your ass rippled violently from his hips colliding into it. His shinobi training allowing him to get carried away. Speed far exceeding any normal man. Your poor little cunt is no match for his unrelenting strength and stamina.

You start to scream from the stimulation. Kakashi fists your hair and yanks it back so he can hear your screams properly. Your cries are by far the sexiest sound he’s ever heard and he needs to make you louder. He needs to hear the power his cock has over you. Your current predicament, boosting his ego far more than it should ever be boosted. One arm tugging back on your hair, the other secure around your waist, he arched your back impossibly far, his tip displacing your cervix, you both speed to the precipice of orgasm. The squelching that omits from where your bodies connect, mingles with your moans and screams. Kakashi doesn’t think he’s ever heard a more beautiful melody.

All of Naruto’s more tedious qualities are completely justified in this moment. They are worth his patience if he can ravage you like this everytime Naruto throws a tantrum.

“That’s it. You can take it Sweetie Just a little more.”

His praise only continues to lead to your undoing. One hand clutching the arm wrapped around your waist while the other grabs around the wrist of the hand in your hair. Words aren’t even an option in this position. All you can do is empty the air in your lungs with whatever noise comes out. You are millimeters away from falling over the edge. Each thrust scooting you there. He’s almost there too. He’s losing his rhythm. His strokes are getting sloppy but it doesn’t do anything to dampen the intensity of the moment.

You cry out as the orgasm finally hits. You start to tremble and quake. Kakashi lifts you all the way back so you are flush against his chest as he empties himself inside of you. Deep groans fill your ears as your walls flutter closed around him, sucking out every last drop. You feel a rush of relief flood your core as his strokes slow to a complete stop.

The two of you kneel on the bed, you weak in his arms, as both of you catch your breath. You feel him grow soft inside your walls while a mix of both your cum slips out of you and slides down your inner thighs. Kakashi holds you tight, not letting go. He begins to kiss the curve of your neck making you close your eyes and moan some more.

“Thank you, Sensei” you breathe

“Mmmmm, you up for another round?”

“Already?”

You feel his length hardening again between your legs. He responds to your question by twitching his cock so that it tapped against your labia.

“Do I seem ready to you?”

You obediently lower back to all fours again, letting him slip past your lips a second time. He strokes in and out of you lazily as he says, “Brace yourself, Sweetie, it looks like we’ll be training all night.”

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