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peachpitfics · 4 months

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Wildest Dreams

Fandom: Bridgerton

Summary: Your Father has betrothed you to his eldest, most despicable friend. You confide in your closest friend, Benedict Bridgerton, that you wish your first time could be with somebody else, somebody you liked.

Length: 3.5k

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Content Warnings: Propositioning a friend, first time, oral sex (female receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, cream pie, orgasm.

a/n: Wildest Dreams is part i of iii ~ requested by anon here.

Bridgerton master list (tag list)

The blood drained from your face, your hands clasped together in clammy nervousness – your father had just told you that since you have failed to successfully find a husband within the first year on the marriage mart, he will be arranging a betrothal between yourself and Lord Roger Howard. Lord Howard was six and sixty, he was your father’s eldest friend. Every interaction you ever witnessed was filled with contempt and disrespect, especially with service staff. His words were often filled with bigotry and unfairness. You found him repulsive, his yellowing chipped teeth in his villainous smile. The way his poorly maintained fingernails curled at the ends. His white moustache stained into unsightly colours from cigar smoke. The thought of having to be near this man, be intimate with this man, nearly drove you toward deaths door.

Your knees shook, standing from your armchair in the sitting room, not speaking a word to your father as you exited. Scurrying up the stairs, throwing yourself onto your bed, you felt your heart was about to burst out of your chest. Tears streamed down your face, you did your best to suck in deep breaths, but panic continued to wash over you. There was nothing you could do to save yourself from this fate. There had been some suitors interested in you, but you had chosen to wait, to see if the one person you had wanted would make himself available to you. Now it was too late, those suitors had moved on with other young ladies, and the man you wanted was nowhere to be seen.

Your lady’s maid knocked meekly on the door, having come to prepare you for this evening’s ball. The Queen would be there, and you knew she would be disappointed in this match your father had forced upon you, not that that would help you.

“Shall we get the family jewels out miss? I hear it is to be quite an exciting night” You could tell she was putting it on, trying to sound excited. It seemed to come off as patronizing instead.

“Whatever you should think is appropriate” You tried to keep your feelings to yourself, but the streaks through your makeup sold you out at first glance. You spent the rest of your preparation in silence, usually the two of you indulged in a little gossip, it was supposed to be fun.

All evening you hid behind larger groups, behind servers carrying trays of champagne, doing your best to ensure the inevitable could not happen. Finally, considerably late in the evening, your closest friend deigned to arrive. Almost surging across the dance floor and into Benedict’s side, you linked arms and impishly whisked him out through the conservatory doors.

“Miss Y/n” Benedict exclaimed, “What is the meaning of this?”.

You breathed heavily, ducking, and weaving through overgrown plants and florals. You scouted each entrance, paranoia clinging to your side like a child in a sack race.

“My father has committed a most heinous act” You spill to Benedict, there is only concern etched on his face, “I am to be married to Lord Howard”. Your breath never steadied, sweat beaded where your forehead met your hair line. There was that panic you remembered so fondly, only hypervigilance had eliminated that feeling from the centre of your chest.

“Oh lord,” Benedict’s mouth hung open, utterly flabbergasted, “I cannot believe he would do that to you” Both of his hands found their way to your shoulders in compassion.

“And yet he has. My own father has bargained me away to some elder beast! There is nothing I can do to stop it” Your hands ran through your hair, untangling one of the twists.

Benedict did not know what to say, all he could do was lurch forward and take you into his arms. His strong arms reached around you, pulling you tight. The sound of his steady breath and rhythmic heartbeat calmed you quickly.

“When I was a little girl, I wished on a falling star I would find someone who loved me as their equal. I now wish for that same thing on this very night. To think that I have wasted my life dreaming about love, finding someone like me, with the same interests, the same age as me even!” You thought aloud. Benedict was always someone you could tell your innermost thoughts to, he never judged you once, and he was the kindest of listeners.

Benedict Bridgerton also knew exactly who you were dreaming about – it was him. You had been friends for several years, and it had always been obvious to anyone with sight, that you and Ben were infatuated with each other. But Benedict was young, and impulsive, unlikely to marry at this time.

“I do not want to spend my life with that old simpleton! I want to experience life and love!” You cried out, “My elder sister divulged what it is married couples do on their wedding night – I do not want that with him! I cannot live my life without having ever experienced the touch of a man who cares for me!” Your cries turned into whispers; whimpers scattered throughout.

He held you close to him, making a caring swishing sound, it kind of sounded like the ocean. Benedict sure knew how to comfort you when you were in need.

“Y/N! Where are you?!” Your father’s voice echoed off the glass walls, sending you into a frenzy, quickly separating from Benedict, dabbing your cheeks with a handkerchief.

“Yes father?” You responded.

“Lord Howard is here with me. There is something he would like to say to you” Your father called. Benedict hid low amongst the broad-leafed plants, the darkness of the conservatory shading him. You appeared from the shadows without explanation, not that your father was seeking one. Lord Howard stood hunched next to your father, who was 20 years his junior. It appeared as though he bowed, but it was hard for you to discern.

“M…m…miss Y/n?” He stuttered, struggling to see through the spectacles at the end of his nose, “There is a question I must ask you. With the permission of your father, I am here to ask for your hand in marriage” Spittle flew from his mouth in between sharp consonants. Dread flooded your body, you felt like you were being submerged in a pool of water, the tears in your eyes, simply the only way for the water to escape.

There was animosity in your father’s gaze, warning you there was simply one answer to the question asked. Taking in a deep breath, “Yes, Lord Howard, I will accept” You murmured. Lord Howard did not look pleased, he did not appear bothered either, he simply nodded once and turned about, marching back to the main ballroom. You wondered if this was what your marriage was going to be like? Would he ignore your existence and leave you to your own life if you produced an heir? You could not ascertain whether this was a good thing or not.

Benedict hung his head, having watched this entire exchange from the shadows. There was an element of guilt on his part, he blamed himself, unable to give you what you wanted in time to save you. When your father had left you standing still, tears staining your dress, Benedict slid out from the darkness.

“I think I am going to ask the footman to take me home… I only have so much time before my time is not mine any longer” You lower lip trembled; the peaceful silence of the conservatory disturbed by the soft sounds of sobs.

“Y/n,” Benedict muttered, his hand running down your upper arm. Electricity connected your flesh in a zap, your breath caught in your chest as his skin joined with yours. His tender hands grazed yours, tickling the palm of your hand.

“Benedict” You shook your head, moving to take your hand away before he closed his around it. His tongue flicked over his lips several times as he contemplated what he had to say. Sometimes you heard the other young ladies tell stories about Benedict, you never knew if they were true. They spoke of how he was finest of the Bridgerton brothers, they also spoke of his rakish tendencies, however mostly in a jealous fashion.

The forecast in Benedict’s eyes swiftly shifted from clear blue to a stormy grey. You had not noticed how tall he was before, looming over you like a dark cloud. His face illustrated apathetic gloom, his hand boring you into him, like he was the eye of the storm.

“There is something I must speak with you about, in private” Benedict rolled his tongue aggressively on his teeth as he spoke. Everything about his demeanor was confusing, you felt strangely like prey, wondering why it felt good. Benedict snuck out the conservatory door, your hands clutched together while he led you to his carriage, asking his footmen to make way for the Bridgerton house.

“What is this about Benedict?” You asked as soon as the door was secure and the carriage moving.

“Y/n, please give me a moment and I will explain everything. I do not know if I have a solution to your problem, but I may be able to offer a compromise. Something I would only do for you, if you asked, because I care about you so deeply” Benedict paused, this intense look of thoughtful worry about him, “If you would be agreeable, I would like to suggest that I… bed you for the first time” Benedicts voice was low and resounding.

Your lips parted abashedly, your cheeks flushed pink, blinking became uncontrollable. All you could do was sit completely still, astronomically stunned by what Benedict had proposed. You understood that for whatever reason, Benedict could not give you everything you wanted, but he was offering you something. He was offering you an experience you may never have gotten to have otherwise, a chance to feel loved and wanted in intimate affection with another person.

“Say something, anything, please. I cannot stand this silence” Benedict rubbed his temples after a few minutes. His eyes were still dark with longing, he looked over with you a deviating sense of ownership.

“You would do that for me?” You entreated, hands shaking so hard you nearly sat on them to make it stop.

Benedict nodded surely across from you, the carriage pulling up at the Bridgerton house. Your eyes locked, the carriage completely still and silent, you took a moment to consider the ramifications of your choice. Ben’s posture was resolute, his gaze expansive, eagerly waiting for your reply.

“Yes” You swallowed hard, Benedict snatching your hand from your lap and dragging you from the carriage, running up the walk and into the house. You made short work of the very many stairs on the way up to his bedroom, sure that nobody could have seen you, as you ran that fast.

Blood rushing around your body, you stood just inside Benedict’s door, trying desperately to catch your breath. Benedict shuffled about the room, lighting a few candles, closing the windows for the evening. He looked back at you, having already stripped into your underclothes while his back was turned. A most shameful lust driven smile sketched lightly onto his face, he made the long voyage acrost the bedroom to stand a foot or two in front of you.

“Thank you for doing me this favor. I will owe you always” You remarked, your eyes dancing figure eights on the lush carpet squishing under your wiggling toes.

Benedict’s shoulders were more relaxed than you had ever seen them, his posture always just so. Strands of hair bled onto his sticky forehead, dark eyebrows brewing overhead transfixed eyes. That charming smile, filled with foolishness, had not been seen since leaving the ball – this was something so chronically serious to him. He effortlessly tugged at his maroon cravat, casting it to the floor, his proud neck craning to get another glimpse of you from another angle. His throat bobbed when he stepped closer again, just one more step. Fiddling with his waistcoat buttons ardently, watching the frustration set into your eyes, Benedict finally shed his coat and pitched it across the room, knocking over something unbreakable in the corner. It did not steal his gaze; his eyes were set on you. Benedict lifted his suspenders off his shoulders, allowing them to dangle by his hips, the chest of his white, silk undershirt gaping open. Your teeth instinctually bit into your lower lip at the slightest sight of skin you had not ever seen before. The corner of Benedicts mouth upturned smugly, his lips rolling together as his breath became audible. Standing just one foot apart, the tension between you was palpable. You wondered if someone had struck a match, might the room simply explode, there seemed to be so much chemistry between the two of you.

“Please, continue” Your hands pressed to your stomach, you watched as Benedict unlaced his boots, one foot at a time on the stool at the end of his bed. His blistering eye bore into you even still. Making his way back to you, still at hardly an arm’s length, his brawny arms crossed his body to pull his undershirt off over his head.

You swooned audibly, almost gasping seeing the entirety of his torso bare for the first time. Your lips wet, your eyes unblinking, Benedict smiled cheekily, knowing the effect he had on you. His hands moved past his navel, your eyes following, to the button atop his breeches. Benedict made quick work of his trousers, having teased you plenty. Your back straightened, your gob smacked jaw snapped shut at the sight of his naked body.

Benedicts tongue flicked over his teeth, “Would you like me to redress, y/n?” He badgered, pretending to reach for his shirt on the floor. You careened forward, lessening the space between you to essentially nothing.

“I do not know what to do, not truly” You admitted, feeling yourself choking on nothing. Benedict reached out to your hands, taking them in his, placing them on his chest. Your eyes nearly rolled back in your head at the feeling of his light chest hair beneath your fingers. His sculpted pectoral muscles and taut stomach, a trail of dark hair leading you downwards made you feel ravenous for him. He looked at you as you looked at him, eyes filled with desire, faces pink in the candlelight. Benedict leaned in to kiss you, pulling away left at the last second to place a single kiss on your neck.

“You. Are. Wicked” Your face flitted over his, grazing your noses and lips together in potential kisses. Benedict leaned into you, his kiss soft, warm, and breathless. You gasped at the first separation, taking in hasty breaths before crashing back into each other. Everything you were doing felt completely wrong, reprehensible – but with a kiss as intoxicating as Benedict Bridgerton’s, you were afraid not even heaven could help you.

Your hands slipped into his thick, dark hair, pulling him down and into you, wrapping your arms around his neck and climbing up onto him. His hands rested under your thighs, carrying you toward his bed, you could feel his hardness pressing against you.

This was not what you had been expecting, this was no impish boy. Everything about his movements was intentional, well-practiced. His hot, amorous kiss; the way his tongue slipped thankfully over yours, how his teeth greedily nipped at your auspicious bottom lip. His hands moved passionately across your back, his long kisses surprisingly hard on your neck, laying you down on the pile of bedding. He frantically shoved it off the bed, throwing pillows, knocking himself in the face once or twice. You laughed together, slow sizzling tongues dancing as one as Benedict removed your floor length under gown.

Benedict knelt above you on the bed, gently stroking himself, looking down on you. There was that dark cloud you had noticed earlier.

“I want you to enjoy me” Benedict rumbled, making you a promise. You did not yet understand, but you would. Taking his finger, Benedict dipped it into your mouth, bringing it to your nipple, rolling it between his finger and thumb at a glacial pace. His touch was peculiarly possessive, his lips rested around your other nipple now, sloppily dragging his tongue around in spontaneous circles. Big open-mouthed kisses surrounded your breasts, your shock and surprise manifesting in noiseless writhing.

Benedict positioned himself between your legs, lying down forcing your legs apart. Wanting to snap your legs shut, you refrained, trusting Benedict with your life. His breath was agonizingly warm on your inner thigh, his lips parted and gliding up from your knee. Benedict dotted small, chaste kisses along your hips – you deduced he was headed for the pinnacle of your thighs, a place you had never felt burn and ache quite like this.

His tongue slid gently up the slit of your pussy, you breath shuddered, his harmless laps amazed you with every movement. Eye lids fluttering, breathy moans filling the room, Benedict’s graceful tongue swirling your clitoris in curious patterns, drinking in your wetness as though you were a drug to him. Your fingers crawled down into his hair, your hips bucking toward his retreating tongue, you squealed lowly for more.

“Are you quite alright?” Benedict groaned into you, the vibrations of his voice set you on edge, your toes clenching in different ways.

“I do not know what you are doing, but I would like for you to keep doing it” You moaned intermittently, between gasps as his tongue flicked roguishly at your clitoris.

Benedict spread your legs wide and high, taking his finger and resting it at your entrance. He tediously sunk his finger inside you, curling up, making you yelp out in astonishment. Finding a steady pace, his finger already snug inside you, Benedict began at you again, never failing to find exactly the spot he was looking for. His alteration of speed and pressure backed you onto a cliff face, body incandescent and damned to revelry. Pressing his fingers into you rhythmically, Benedict pushed you over the edge, the sensation of falling and flying all erupting at once as you moaned and yelped uncontrollably. In the aftermath of your pleasure, you watched Benedicts eyes, his head still clutched between your legs gently sliding his tongue over you, his charming, sexy smile reflected in his eyes.

Slowing rising to his knees, Ben positioned your legs higher, resting your calves on his shoulders. Taking his cock in his hand, his pressed his tip against your wet skin. Your skin erupted in a tingling sensation, unbridled attraction and hunger liquefying your brain.

You looked up at Benedict in clear understanding, nodding gently, your eyes focusing on the powerful look of restrained urgency on Benedict’s face. He pushed forward smoothly, eliciting a groan from each of you, not even pressed to the hilt yet.

When Benedict filled your pussy fully, it felt like being winded. Panting like a dog under him, Benedict stilled himself, noticing how full and tight you felt, his cock twitching with pleasure. Benedict moved slowly at first, long unbroken strides forward, thrusting into you. Every drive forward, simultaneously blissful, and hot, curving to pound into that sensitive spot just inside you. While every drawback, was likened to slow-motion, devastating deprivation. Ceaseless, savage moans made Benedict grin above you, thrusting harder, wholly triumphant in setting you alight. You knew you would burn for him for the rest of your life.

“Make that sound for me again” Benedict grunted sinisterly, thrusting back into you brutally, forcing that loud intonation from you again.

Your fingers clawed at his back, your hips moving with his in most divine unison. Benedicts teeth grazed your ear, your breathing syncing in ceremonious adoration; his momentum increased, driving into you with new eagerness. Your nails buried in his plump behind, pulling Benedict tighter into you. With propulsive sureness Benedict plunged into you one last time, his cock twitching inside you to his irrevocable release. Never had you felt so full before, his face exquisite above you, leaning down to a soulful kiss.

“I’m proud of you, taking me like that” Benedict panted, taking a second before withdrawing and rolling next to you. He lay on the flat of his back, chasing his breath, his heart thumping through his chest, beating so hard you could almost hear it. His words made you blush, hiding your face in your hands, his seed leaking out of you onto the linen.

“It is not always going to be the same, is it?” You pondered aloud, staring at the detailing on the ceiling above you.

“I will not lie, y/n darling, I do not think every single instance will be the same” Benedict reached over, gently slapping your thigh in solidarity.

“That is disappointing to hear” You sighed dramatically.

Benedict chuckled sweetly, “Perhaps at his age, he will not have the capacity to complete more than the marital act”. You knew he was joking, trying to lift your spirits, but you genuinely hoped that might be true. Other worries began to plague your mind, worries of potential children. What if you were unable to conceive his heir due to his age?

You rolled onto your side, looking into Benedict’s clear, sky-blue eyes, “There may be another favour I ask of you, dear friend”. Benedict's eyes widened curiously, prepared to do most anything for you.

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Tag list: @cringycat24 // @blckbarbiedoll // @freyagallileaevans // @junkie05 // @rosabeetroot // @flamewriterr // @marvelouslyme96 // @moreover-clover // @saintmagx //

If you would like to be tagged in Bridgerton fanfiction written by me, please let me know!

#bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton season 3 #bridgerton smut #x fem!reader #request #fanfiction #fanfic #anon #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton smut #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton imagine #x reader #benedict bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n

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spider-stark · 2 months

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THE GOLD TANKARD

Benjicot Blackwood x Smallfolk!Reader

Summary - Benji is a regular at the tavern you work at—and you're starting to think he's forgetting his coin on purpose.

Warnings - fem!reader, kieran burton fan cast, all characters 18+, suggestive/sexual language, not edited bc I'm lazy and wrote this for fun in like an hour

Word Count - 650+

!MINORS DNI!

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

The Gold Tankard was a shit-house of an inn. Famous mostly for its basement-tavern, it had been built ages ago in the heart of Pennytree—a derelict village lying smack in the center of the disputed border of House Blackwood and House Bracken.

After many, many years of existence, the Tankard has fallen into a blatant state of decay. Cracks spiderweb up the side of stone walls, woodworms infest the cedar roof overhead, and the carpets are stained with beer and piss and gods-knows-what-else.

Still, it remains in-business—bringing in coin from the many knights and men traveling through Pennytree, so desperate for a hot meal and a bed that they’re willing to overlook the scuttling bugs and musty aroma.

And being the resident barmaid isn’t so bad, you suppose.

At least, not when Benjicot Blackwood is a near-nightly patron of the Tankard. While he's forever forgetting his copper, he's always quite creative in finding other ways to pay for your service—and you have found the Lord to be quite talented with his tongue…

His grip tight, Benji drags you up the dimly lit stairs leading from the tavern to the narrow halls of the inn above.

“M’lord,” the title slips past your lips, giggling as you protest, “my shift isn’t over! The girls will be needing me behind the bar and–”

Benji cuts you off with a groan. Tugging your wrist, he shoves your back flush against the chilly stone wall, caging your body with his. “Is that all you care about? What the girls need?” He leans in close, the tip of his nose brushing against yours. “What about what I need?”

Pure, unbridled lust dilates his pupils, his storm-cloud eyes nearly devoid of color as they drag over your face. They snag on your lips—and, instinctively, he rolls his hips against yours, a growing hardness pressed to your thigh.

“I care about getting paid,” you choke out, clawing at the remaining shreds of your composure. “Not all customers are as mingy with their coin as you, M’lord.”

Warmth fans across your cheeks as Benji huffs a laugh. “So you think I’m mingy, do you?”

A scowl twists your features, heat rushing to your cheeks. You can tell from his tone—so impish and cheeky—that he’s poking fun at you. What word would a highborn girl have used, then? Oh, you’re so frugal M’lord! So utterly parsimonious!

Shoving against his weight, you grind out, “I have work to tend to, M’lord–”

Benji’s grip on you tightens, his other hand coming to cradle the side of your head, fingers weaving themselves into your hair as he presses you back against the wall—harder this time.

“Oh, don’t be so sensitive, love,” he tuts, lips grazing against your cheekbone, leaving soft kisses in their wake. “You know how I adore your little commonors dialect.”

Your eyes narrow, frustration bubbling up inside of you.

“If you wish to insult someone, then I may suggest the whorehouse down the street, M’lord. Barmaids are not forced to endure such abuse—especially from unpaying customers.”

“Abuse?” Benji’s breath tickles your ear, a shiver crawling down your spine. “Is that what I’m doing?” He pauses, teeth nipping at your earlobe. Your breath catches, and you feel him smirk as he purrs, “Abusing you?”

Your pulse races, your heart hammering against your chest so fiercely that you fear Benji can feel it, his chest pressed firm against yours. You feel dizzy and off-balance, unable to think of anything other than him—his fingers twined in your hair, his lips on your jaw, his cock against your thigh.

You feel it waning—the last bits of your composure, torn to ribbons under his touch. It’s only when his mouth comes to rest against yours, catching your bottom lip between his teeth, that you finally give in.

Between strangled moans, you say, “You’ll have to be quick."

Benji’s grin is painfully arrogant as he rolls his hips again. “Oh, baby—” a low, raspy chuckle sets a fire in your belly—“quick isn’t in my vocabulary.”

a/n - idk man I can't write smut so this where it ends I guess lmao. kinda wanna explore more with this reader cause I like the idea of a lil barmaid and benji but we'll see!

as stated in warnings, this wasn't edited in the slightest and I wrote it super quick last night, so apologies for any errors!

tag list 🫶🖤 - @bearwithegg @jacaerysgf @lenasvoid @valdezthg @xzydra11 @snixx2088 @lianna75 @kennafild @ghostinvenus @heystaystray @but-i-write-so-i-must-count @a-song-for-ages @nixtape-foryou @kezibear

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luv4fushi · 1 year

Note

HEYYY🦅

I really likes your megumi drabble. HE SO CUTE😭😭 i kinda wish you write more megumi 🩷

megumi fluff (?) and angst at your service! sorry it took FOREVER i had 478274 exams these past few weeks ughhh sorry & ily thx for the req ~~~

he likes me, he likes me not

jjk fushiguro megumi x fem!reader

all megumi fushiguro does is apologize when he rejects you. everything changes because of your confession.

content: angst, fluff if you squint, all characters aged up to 17-18!!!, misunderstandings, confessions, eventual relationship!, megumi is so bad at feelings, ooc megumi a little sorry, takes place at jujutsu tech high school and shibuya has NEVER happened so life is good, yuji and nobara are your besties

wc: 5.1k

click on my masterlist for more!

“i like you.”

for a moment, the world stills. everything comes to a halt.

megumi is sitting across from you at your favorite cafe, just down the street from tokyo jujutsu high, the school you’ve been attending for nearly two years now.

in that short amount of time, you’ve grown into a person you think the past you would’ve liked. you’re taller now, more fit and lean. you’ve got bounds of experience from your missions piled on your shoulders, the unwavering burden of being a jujutsu sorcerer making itself at home.

you’ve grown in other ways, too. you’re stronger now, you’ve got a good hold on your emotions. you haven’t seen your parents in months, but the sting doesn’t hurt anymore. you’re wiser. older. you’ve got a handle on your feelings.

then there’s megumi fushiguro.

oh, how enamored you’d been.

he’d spared no glance when he first met you. you had trudged into the classroom, eyes darting at the unfamiliar faces. gojo satoru, the undeniably handsome teacher of yours, introduced you brightly albeit the low energy of the room.

you had weaved your way into the jujutsu world, just as you had been able to slither your way into the lives of your newfound friends.

but megumi, oh, megumi fushiguro.

it had taken you laborious months to befriend the raven haired boy. his uninviting attitude hindered your relationship with him for some time, and you had half-heartedly decided to pursue something else, but your near death experience during a particularly difficult mission with him had sent him reeling. he had held onto you the entire time you cried for your mother.

you don’t talk about that day. he doesn’t mention it, either.

“what?” his eyes, dark blue, blink in surprise. his lips are parted slightly. “what did you say?”

your throat constricts. then, the words flow: “i’m in love with you.”

love. it’s too strong of a word. you’re not even quite sure what it means, or if what you feel is actually love.

the cafe begins to bustle with life again. the barista from behind the counter steams some milk—almond—and she glances up at a customer approaching. the music from the overhead speakers filters it’s way softly into your ears. it’s a cheesy love song, and you can’t help but feel like it isn’t the right time for that.

“are you serious?” he says, almost spitting out his drink.

“i mean,” you shrug, “yeah? i wouldn’t bring you all the way out here to fuck with you.”

he blinks again. his lashes flutter perfectly. it’s annoying how perfect he is. there’s a slight hue of pink to his cheeks, but not enough to confirm anything—just speculation.

“i’m sorry,” he begins, breathing it out all in one go. “i’m really sorry.”

if you’re being honest with yourself, you’d seen it coming from a mile away; megumi fushiguro is different. he’s got the composure of a brick wall. the perpetual frown on his face never, ever leaves, not even when he’s with you. he doesn’t crack, doesn’t shake. his soul is hardened from things that he’ll never speak of with you.

“it’s okay,” you say, but it’s not.

you’ve changed—grown into a person you’re proud of, but you’re still stuck sometimes. you’re still a pushover. still just a small shrimp in the vast ocean. still apologizing for your existence.

“i’m sorry,” megumi repeats.

you know he’s apologetic, that he really means it, just from the way his brows furrow slightly. you know him too well for your own good. you don’t think he can say the same about you.

“it’s fine.” your voice breaks. you duck your head in embarrassment. rejection has never hurt you this badly. “you don’t have to apologize for not liking me back. it’s not your fault.”

you wonder why you’re comforting him when he’s the one who has ripped your heart out completely.

“i’m gonna head back,” he mumbles out, hesitating to reach out and dab away your tears with the napkin he’s been wringing around his thin fingers. “you… should come, too.”

you shake your head. “i think i’m gonna finish my coffee.”

he offers a smile. “you can finish mine as well, if you’d like.”

“nah,” you say, scrunching your nose through watery eyes, “black coffee isn’t really my thing.”

“yeah.” his laugh is soft, almost forced, but you can tell it’s genuine. “i know.”

oh, you think. it really hurts.

he knows.

something inside you snaps. your lungs feel itchy. your ribs squeeze. you think that it would’ve been easier to never say anything at all.

megumi leaves the store. the jingle of the bell above the frame rings through the air. you’re left with your cold cup of coffee and megumi’s cup across from you.

the barista gives you a look of pity. you chug down your drink and chug his, too.

it’s bitter.

-☆

megumi arrives to his dorm exactly five minutes after four pm. he slips off his sweater and changes into a pair of sweatpants and a loose t-shirt. his mind is blank, except for the image of your teary eyes.

he swallows nervously. maybe he’ll sleep it off.

“yo, megumi.” yuji slams himself against the door impatiently. “how’d it go?”

megumi sighs, the irritation swiftly making its way into his fatigued body. he opens the door and yuji tumbles in without an invitation.

“what are you talking about?” megumi mutters with another sigh.

“the confession,” yuji says matter-of-factly.

megumi stares. “you knew?”

yuji’s smile slowly removes itself from his lips. “…yeah? it was pretty obvious.”

“what was obvious?”

“that she likes you…?” yuji tilts his head. “and you like her back, right? so i figured you guys would be all cuddled up in here.”

megumi doesn’t say anything. the gears in yuji’s head begin to turn as he looks around the room, noticing the comfy attire megumi has on.

“you said that you liked her back… right?” he raises an eyebrow. “because it’s not a secret that you do.”

“i left.”

“you left her there?!”

“i didn’t know what else to do.”

“so you said ‘yes, i’d like to be your boyfriend’ and then dipped out on her?”

“i didn’t say yes.”

yuji pauses. he looks at megumi, then at the made bed, then back at megumi.

“for fuck’s sake,” he groans, running his hands through his pink hair. “i’m gonna go.”

megumi stands there, appalled. the door is shut harshly and the hinges squeak. he’ll have to scold yuji about that later. for now, he wants to take a nap.

maybe he’ll feel better about everything when he wakes up.

-☆

on the other side of the building reserved for dorms, yuji crosses his way into the girls’ section. it still feels wrong no matter how many times he’s made this trip before.

he meets you on the way there. you’re dragging your feet, headphones strapped on your head, and lips quivering.

“hey,” he calls out, tapping your shoulder. “you okay?”

he waits until you hang the silver headphones on your neck. they’re megumi’s, he realizes as he sees the fading stickers on the metal plate.

“hm?”

“you okay?” he asks again. his eyes scan you for any signs of distress, and he can practically see it radiating off of you.

“yeah,” you hum, “i’m cool.”

“want me to grab nobara?” he suggests with a grin.

“sure,” you say.

the sun feels hot on your back. you hate the way the school is so widespread for having such a small population.

“i can grab some ice cream,” yuji rambles. “and i’ll get us a notebook so we can write shitty things about megumi.”

you pat him on his back, but his sturdy body almost sends you flying backwards. he catches your wrist just before you fall, and he’s laughing at your expression with glee.

“you’re so funny,” he says through his fit of laughter. “you’ve gotten scrawnier. you needa eat more! i’ll get us snacks, too.”

you pout. “shut up, yuji. not everyone can be as buff as you and todo.”

“oh, todo is a whole different story.”

“tell me about it,” you say, playfully rolling your eyes. “i’ve seen him beat you up into a pulp.”

“hey! in my defense,” yuji says, his hands coming up to the sides of his ears, “i couldn’t do much against him!”

you’re nearing nobara’s dorm, which is right across from your own. you like how homey hers is compared to yours. she’s got a knack for interior design, or so she claims.

she swings the door open the moment you reach the inside of the building. you’re halfway down the hall when she sticks her head out from the frame of her room. her black roots are showing more than usual.

“how was it?” she asks once you’re close enough so that she can whisper.

you want to tell her that there’s no point in keeping it a secret. you had told yuji about your feelings far before you even mentioned to her, mainly because yuji had been your first friend at jujutsu high. megumi isn’t here, either, so there’s no reason to whisper when everyone knows.

“bad,” is all you reply with.

her eyes soften a considerable amount, an expression you’ve never seen on her face before. she takes a small breath and pulls you into her room by your arm.

you’re met with her fragrances, vanilla and strawberry—a nobara kugisaki signature scent. she had begged gojo to buy her shelves to place her k-pop albums on and sure enough, the white furniture stands proud at the far corner of the room. there are fake vines hanging from her ceiling right above her desk, where she has an organizer messily places over a few books.

“you wanna dye your hair?” she jokes, looking back at you. “my roots are coming in so we might as well dye yours while we touch up mine.”

“is orange all you have?” yuji’s nose twitches. “i don’t think she’d look good in orange.”

“gee, thanks,” you sarcastically respond.

“sorry.”

nobara clicks her tongue. “wanna unpack?”

“kinda,” you say, your body going limp once you’re at the foot of her bed. you sprawl yourself on the silky sheets and stare up at the ceiling.

“get out, yuji,” nobara demands. she doesn’t even acknowledge his downturned lips.

“i know everything already!” he whines. he shuts the door behind him with much more care than he had with megumi’s.

“still!” she insists. “i wanna have a girls’ talk.”

“i’m one of the girls.” he crosses his arms.

nobara’s shoulders sag. “fine, but you need to go buy ice cream.”

“was planning on that already,” yuji replies. he taps quickly at his phone, presumably asking gojo for his credit card.

when yuji leaves the room, he promises that he’ll get your favorite flavor. once nobara senses that his presence is completely gone, she turns to look at you.

“i’m sorry for making you confess,” she whispers. her tone is comforting, genuine, soft. she takes you into her arms and squeezes your shoulders. “i really thought he liked you back.”

“it’s not your fault,” you reply earnestly. “i chose to do it out of my own selfish feelings.”

“you can cry,” she says, patting your head. at times like this, nobara seems years wiser than you are. her touch is warm.

you bite your lower lip. “don’t wanna. i think i’ll be fine.”

“okay,” she says, and you feel her chest vibrate with the word. “you’re allowed to cry, though. megumi would’ve been a shitty boyfriend, anyway.”

all you can do is let out a watery laugh. you don’t tell her that he would’ve been an amazing lover. he would’ve taken you out on dates at your favorite places because he’s observant like that. he would’ve known your favorite foods, though he knows them even as friends. he would’ve kissed you tenderly because that’s the type of boy he is. he’s the type to love carefully, like he’s afraid he’ll lose someone forever if he doesn’t.

“i’m up for dyeing your hair,” nobara pipes up after the silence that penetrates the room. “yuji’s right, though… i don’t think orange would suit you… ha.”

you giggle. “let’s just touch up yours, yeah?”

yuji’s footsteps can be heard from outside the door when you’re a third of the way done with nobara’s roots. she complains about how long he’d taken, but there’s no real malice in her voice. he explains that he had ran into trouble obtaining gojo’s card (“i had to beg him for it!”).

the ice cream is all melted. it’s gooey and delicious and makes you smile. as you look around your friends, your crinkled eyes say more words than you ever could.

“you’re welcome,” yuji says into your ear. “you don’t have to thank us for any of this.”

-☆

the next morning comes by quicker than you want it to. you mentally prepare yourself for seeing megumi in class at eight in the morning. you haven’t made a mistake as bad as confessing your dying, unrequited love on a wednesday afternoon quite like this before.

nobara had suggested walking with you the night before, but you’d sternly told her that you could handle it. looking back, maybe you should’ve agreed with her offer.

megumi isn’t in class when you come in. he’s usually there at least five minutes before gojo starts teaching. something inside you tells you it’s because of yesterday—as much as you hate to admit it.

he walks in through the sliding doors a few minutes late, but gojo pays him no attention. megumi has privileges like that—at least, with gojo. he’s practically your teacher’s son, and though you’ve never heard of the full story, you’re well aware of gojo’s slight favoritism.

the class is short. all jujutsu sorcery classes are. they mainly consist of typical real school lessons, only because under the law, jujutsu tech is still a high school. the other, much bigger portion of class with gojo is focused on maintaining cursed energy and providing yourself with the best possible victory in battle.

when it’s over, you don’t know if you should be relieved or upset. you won’t be able to see megumi after this, assuming that he’ll avoid you for a good month or two. however, you think you’d rather die than attempt to make conversation with him.

“don’t do anything stupid,” gojo warns, signaling the end of class.

you hear yuji snicker quietly and say, “yeah, nobara.”

the bickering brings a smile to your lips. from the corner of your eye, megumi shifts in his seat.

you decide that it’s best to let the feelings marinate, as stupid as it sounds. it’s an infinitely better choice than moping around and begging megumi for a chance. you may be soft, but you’ve got pride.

“see you guys,” you announce, more to yourself than to anyone.

“alright,” yuji calls after you, “see you later.”

you can’t help but feel a little disappointed with the lack of clinging when it comes to you. your absence doesn’t seem to cause a ruckus like it does for most people. you wonder if it had been yuji retiring early; would everyone else ask him to stay a minute longer?

that’s how life is for a while.

you attend class, spar a little, and sleep. some days you go out into the city with nobara. you avoid the cafe, even though it’s your favorite. perhaps it’s because you’re still embarrassed by megumi’s rejection. on other, slower days, gojo takes you all on outings because he’s basically everyone’s replacement father.

it’s still as tense as ever between you and megumi.

the boy doesn’t make any effort to reach out. you don’t blame him, though you should. he steals small glances at you, particularly when you’re smiling and forget to cover your teeth with your hands. that’s all he takes from you, and he can’t be the only guilty one, because that’s all you give.

on this day, gojo takes you all out to the fair. it’s annual, taking place in the beginning of summer, and it’s a great way to practice forming barriers and such. the fairs always bring out a few nasty curses that need to be exorcised—the four of you are already used to being dragged out here for that sole purpose.

as if gojo knows, he sends you out in pairs. of course, you’re paired with megumi fushiguro. at first, you open your mouth to reject gojo’s demand, but you notice the way megumi doesn’t seem to care and your resolve hardens.

“it’s really awkward around you guys.” gojo pretends to act busy, flicking something from his nails. he’s got his sunglasses on and the ladies around him fawn.

“huh?” you and megumi look at him with accusing glares.

“is something going on between the two of you?”

“no,” you say almost entirely too quickly.

“right,” he drawls, a smirk forming on his face. “anyway, good luck out there. get rid of the little ones and then—i don’t know/-meet up with yuji and nobara if there are gross ones that’ll kill you.”

megumi nods. “okay.”

“this was what i was talking about,” gojo mutters as he walks off. “it’s soooo awkward…”

megumi gives you an apologetic look. “for the record, i don’t think it’s awkward.”

“it’s fine,” you say. you find that you’ve been pardoning him quite a lot. “you don’t have to lie.”

his face flushes. “i’m not.”

“i confessed to you and you don’t like me back, so there’s really no need to tiptoe around it anymore,” you rush out. “just treat me like normal. i don’t really care.”

he looks hurt, and you want to laugh.

you discover that, in those days of being alone, you’d rather megumi treat you like a friend again than be completely ignored. at least then, you’d have a part of him. at least then, he’s not slipping through the cracks of your heart, becoming a distant memory.

you want him to be anything but a memory.

“you want me to treat you like normal…?” he repeats your words. he paces himself just a few steps behind you when you begin to walk away from the conversation. “what does that mean?”

“i think you know what being friends is like,” you attempt to joke, but it comes out harsher than intended.

the fair is getting more crowded by the second. the shopkeepers are yelling out cheap deals and there are children that snake in and out of the lines of people. paper lanterns are hung at the front of tents to attract foreigners—it seems to be working because there are more people surrounding shops with lanterns than without.

megumi takes a breath. “how could i do that?”

your steps falter. “what do you mean?”

“how can i go on to treat you like normal,” he says softly, “when i know you’re in love with me?”

you bite the inside of your cheek and taste blood. “i don’t know. you’ve done it before without knowing my feelings. you can do it all over again, right?”

you look over your shoulder to see his lips part. he’s given up on the cool-guy persona. his vulnerability begins to show through the dents in his personality.

“you’re saying that you’ve liked me for that long?”

“yeah,” you admit. something about this is more freeing than you could’ve imagine. “i think i always have.”

a man shoves himself into you. he’s older with a beer belly and a scruffy beard attached to his face. he barks at you to move out of the way as he drags his young daughter through the sea of people. megumi’s warm hands come to rest on your waist, pulling you aside and closer to his toned chest.

you do your best to ignore your beating heart.

“i’m not,” megumi starts shakily, “lovable. i don’t know why you like me.”

your body goes cold. it's even worse than when he'd rejected you.

“curse,” you say, detaching his hand from your body. “i feel it around the back alley.”

the night ends. nothing is solved. you go to bed and curl into yourself.

-☆

loving megumi is weird. there’s an odd sense of comfort to it, like you’ve known him for longer than you actually have. he makes you feel safe even though he's gruff and a little mean about it. maybe that's just part of his charm, though, because it makes you love him even more.

he seems to have taken your words seriously; he starts to treat you like normal again. he doesn't avoid you anymore, and the obvious tension surrounding you two has disappeared for now. he lets you take a few of his sweaters when you forget to do your laundry and he buys you your favorite snacks sometimes.

it gets to be too much. you almost wish he'd go back to ignoring you. the grass is always greener on the other side.

summer goes by slowly. it's the prime time for bad feelings to manifest into curses. you push away your lingering feelings, convincing yourself that you've gotten over it. it's been more than enough time now, coming up on two months since you've confessed. you don't want your resentment, if you can call it that, to form any bad curses—you'd hate for them to be attached to megumi. that'd be a burden too hard to carry.

a few missions involve partnering up with megumi. gojo thinks you two work well together; there's a sort of synergy that you have with each other that is hard to come by sorcerers nowadays. you don't mind the compliments, or at least you pretend you don't.

the missions aren't difficult, but maybe that's because you've grown stronger. megumi has, too.

summer passes. it still hurts.

"you're confusing me," you whisper.

you and megumi are shopping for a surprise birthday party that gojo is forcing you guys to throw for nanami kento, a good coworker of his. you've met him more than once, and you're not really sure if he'd appreciate such a last minute party. regardless, you and megumi are tasked with finding enough balloons to fill the poor man's office.

megumi doesn't allow you to hold any of the bags. he lies and tells you that it's out of habit—nobara makes him carry her shopping bags every time they go out—but you know he's doing it just because he wants to. you're perfectly strong enough to carry a few paper bags, and he doesn't carry nobara's bags like he claims he does. megumi doesn't even go shopping with her unless yuji's there and even then, yuji holds the bags.

"sorry?"

"why are you doing this?" you refuse to look at him.

"doing what?"

"this," you say, gesturing at the two of you. "why do you act like we're close enough to do this?"

you cringe at yourself, aware of how hypocritical you're being. you had wanted this, wanted him to go back to being a friend, to treat you like he had before you went and ruined everything. why are you angry? why do your eyes well up with tears as he steps closer to you?

"we aren't close?" he asks. his arms fall to his side.

passerbys give you curious glances. he takes off his sweater, the one he always wears depsite it being humid out, and wraps it around you. the paper bags filled with confetti and paper plates are set down by your feet. he pulls the hood over your head to hide your wet eyes.

"we are," you mumble out sorely, "but not like this."

"i'm sorry," he says, and you're brought all the way back to the day you had told him about just how much you liked him.

"'s not your fault." you sound like you're trying to convince yourself and not him. "i'm being an asshole. you can forget about this."

you don't want him to feel guilty. he can't help how he feels, after all. you don't want him forcing himself to love you.

"what you said that day," he coughs out. the bags crinkle as he lifts them from the pavement. he continues, "what did you mean by 'always'?"

you squeeze your eyes shut and he pauses next to you. you can feel his soft gaze on you and you're glad you can hide behind his sweater, the cloth draping over you like an oversized blanket.

"i don't know..." you tilt your head up to look at him. he looks like the boy you think you'll always love. "i think i was doomed from the start."

"doomed?" he says, a little amused. "loving me is dooming? how sweet of you."

you need to remind yourself that he's not playing with your heart; this is how he copes—and how you cope, too. he must know you better than you had thought.

you nearly scoff. "it's because you're you. you're so good at being you that it hurts."

megumi slows. you hadn’t even noticed that he'd been guiding you down the sidewalk the entire time until now.

"i think it applies to me, too," he say quietly.

"what?"

"'always' applies to me, too." the clarification does nothing to settle your nerves.

"i don't understand," you blurt.

he gives you a look, as if to say, "really?", but he keeps talking, "i think i'm used to this feeling because it's always been there."

"what feeling?"

he shrugs. "you pissed me off when i first met you. you're really stupid, you know?"

your face morphs into an irritated expression. "thanks. you're pretty great yourself."

he laughs and it sounds like music to your ears. "i wasn't finished, dummy."

"sorry."

"you're pretty... a lot more than you think you are," he admits shyly, "and i guess that annoyed me because i kept feeling all weird around you. i got used to it, i think—that weird feeling. but it's always been here. it never left."

you stumble, tripping over your feet at megumi's statment. you don't want to interpret it the wrong way, but with how he's looking at you, you can't help but maybe think that he likes you too.

"this isn't how i wanted to tell you, but," he breathes in sharply, "i don't like it when you cry."

it's awkward. perhaps a little funny, if you really look at it, but it's megumi and you can't hate him. you'll never find it in yourself to truly hate him.

nanami's surprise birthday party isn't much of a surprise. though gojo nor nanami say it, you all know yuji is a favorite of theirs, and no one is surprised when yuji says that he had accidentally revealed the party a few hours prior.

gojo has fun. even shoko, who never shows up to any of these events because of her busy schedule as a doctor, seems to enjoy herself. nanami pretends like he's not entertained, but he has on a fond smile that looks weirdly similar to the way megumi smiles. you're all old enough to party now, as gojo puts it, so it's a little less like a classroom celebration and more like a familial one.

it's the third of july, nearly two months and a half after your confession, when megumi hints that he feels the same way about you.

you don't know what to make of it.

-☆

"i like you."

you're in the middle of getting ready to go out with nobara and her favorite upperclassman, maki, when megumi tells you he likes you back. your eyes widen and the mascara you've just finished putting on smears on your lid.

megumi hands you a makeup wipe as if he's done it a million times before. (he hasn't, but he just knows.)

"w-what?" you stutter out, your breath catching in your throat.

"it took me a while to figure that out," he says.

he's flat on your bed, covering his face with his arm. his t-shirt rises with each of his nervous movements. according to the rules set by gojo, he shouldn't even be here in your dorm. he shouldn't be on your bed and listening to your playlist through your shitty speaker gifted to you by yuji.

"are you joking around?"

"what?" he sits up and turns to you, frowning. "why would you think that?"

"is this you pitying me?"

"i just," he sighs, frustrated, "i needed to tell you before i chickened out. i meant what i said the other day, you know?"

"about you getting 'used to' the strange feeling?"

he nods and then slouches back against your pillows. if it had been any other day, you would've felt shy about sleeping in his scent.

"yeah," he says, running his slender fingers through his jet black hair. "i really did mean it. i think i just—i don't know—pushed you away because i was afraid."

you've given up on applying your makeup by now. your hands are shaking too much, anyway.

"i'm scared sometimes, too," you reply, catching his eyes in the reflection of your vanity mirror.

you see the side of his lips turn upwards. he looks as handsome as ever. he's gotten older since the first time you met him, and it hits you harder now that he's on your bed, his features sharp and his body lanky and tall. there's a sort of intimacy that you sense between the two of you.

"i'm not afraid anymore." his legs swing over the bedframe and he easily reaches the ground even though your bed is raised. "i'll be brave for the both of us."

oh.

"what do you think?" he tilts his head.

you stay home that night.

-☆

"so are you guys dating now?" yuji exclaims.

you both freeze.

"fuck off," megumi says instead of answering the question.

"god," yuji huffs out. "finally! all those peptalks and you don't even tell me that you got the girl?"

megumi blushes from beside you. neither of you had expected yuji to be awake to witness you two watching the sunrise on the hill beside the school.

"you know," yuji grumbles, "it took a lot of convincing to have you realize that you've been in love this entire time, megumi. the least you could've done was tell me."

megumi ignores him and snuggles further into you.

"why are you up so early?" you ask, shuffling underneath the blanket that is covering you and your boyfriend.

"instinct." yuji's shoulders drop, defeated. "'k, i'm gonna leave you guys to be romantic and shit up here. have fun explaining this to nobara later."

nobara almost wrings your neck out when she catches megumi holding your hand that saturday morning. she tells him that he needs to make up for the months he left you feeling sad. he says he's already forgiven, and he's not wrong (because you're weak when it comes to him, just like he's weak when it comes to you).

you think that you would've chose to love him no matter the outcome. loving him is easy like that.

a/n: oh my god. this was a word dump and not proofread. i am so sorry this took forever to come out but i ended up changing the plot like a billion times cus it wasn't good enough.. LOL. hope u enjoyed this!!! thx for making me write more megumi because i love writing him (he's been my fave character since the anime came out three years ago hehehe). ngl it was kinda rushed bc i wanted to get this out but i think it turned out fine!!!! ok thx once again ily muah xx

#jjk x reader #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro #megumi angst #megumi x you #i love megumi sm #he’s been my fave since i was like 15 so you know i had to write this up #sorry this took forever #yuji and nobara are really good friends #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you

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thebenjiblackwoodexpress · 3 months

Text

Jump then fall

Aeron Bracken x Reader

Disclaimer: I wrote this for my sister who happens to love the wee pretty Bracken, Taylor Swift and Baby's Breath flowers. Please let me know if you'd like a second part.

Description: Aeron and Y/N meet as children and are quickly inseparable. Circumstances separate them until they meet again as adults and Aeron is immediately infatuated, but believes his feelings to be unrequited.

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Final Part

Warnings: female reader. Mention of insecurities over traditional gender norms. Extremely inexperienced fanfic writer. A truly heinous amount of Taylor Swift references if you don't listen to her music. Specifically Enchanted, Mary's Song, Peace, Jump then fall, and All of the Girls You've loved Before

Aeron found his eyes wandering back to Y/N, as they ceaselessly did whenever he knew she was near, drawn as a moth to firelight. He watched the satin fabric of her dress shift as she weaved through the gathered throng of lords and ladies, the tendrils of her hair sway as she pushed it carelessly over her shoulder, her face alight in a gentle smile that had his heart clenching painfully in his chest. He watched as she came to a stop in front of her father, handing him the goblet of wine that had been the purpose of her venture across the hall, that had her brushing so close to him that he could smell the faint perfume of gardenias woven throughout the braids in her hair. He had steeled himself against stopping her in an attempt to engage her in conversation, but had been unable to avert his traitorous eyes from her entirely, try as he might.

So lost in simply gazing at her was he that he was startled when her eyes abruptly met his own, a sign he must surely have been gawking rather than discretely stealing glaces as he had oft found himself doing of late. A full moon had passed since they had been reintroduced as adults grown, an absence of 10 years separating them from the friendship of their youth. His Lord uncle had sought to present her father to him as a loyal bannerman, returned from years of service to the crown spent in Kings Landing to support the Bracken cause against the Blackwoods. His words fell on deaf ears for instantly his focus was drawn to the young lady arm in arm with her father, her eyes as familiar to his heart as his own, despite the progress of time.

Enchanted by her delicate beauty and the sweet smile she directed towards him, it was her easy humour and immediate enthusiasm to engage him in recollections of their childhood that saw him falling into a chasm he knew he could not, or did not want to, prise himself from. Since that first look he had found himself entirely unable to look away. Nevertheless, he presently averted his gaze to the walls of the Great Banquet Hall, desperately focusing on tracing the elaborate designs on the Bracken Stronghold's golden tapestries. The light tread of footsteps he could instantly recognise as belonging to Y/N sent his heart racing as they brought the object of his senseless and surely unrequited adoration ever closer to him.

Time seemed to stop as he watched Y/N walk towards him, frantically trying to gather his thoughts so that he might string a coherent sentence together. Stopping a pace in front of him Y/N beamed up at him. "I trust you are having a pleasant evening good knight." Returning her smile nervously with one of his own he bowed his head respectfully despite their difference in status. "Indeed my lady, and I trust you are enjoying your evening?"

He was pleased that he had not stuttered at least but his tone was rigid and overtly formal when he had known hers was lightly teasing, most assuredly so as her face fell slightly. "We were once friends. I should like to be so again should you allow." Her expression was hopeful and he regrettably took note of an underlying semblance of hurt. Had she noticed his self- imposed isolation and avoidance of her and thought it a reflection of some sort of infraction on her part? That had not been his intention, rather he had hoped to avoid strengthening feelings he believed to be unrequited.

Before he lost his courage entirely he replied "I should like that as well." Y/N's face lit up once more, her eyes shining brightly under the glow of the candles that lit the hall. "Good, then may I prevail upon you to meet me under the Brackentree on the morrow?" Aeron wanted to throw all sense of caution to the wind just for the moment to acquiesce to her request. What harm could there be, he could surely manage a friendship with her at least could he not? And he found himself steadfastly agreeing "Should it please you."

The next day Aeron found himself waiting for Y/N under the golden Bracken tree that was their old haunt. A cold mist had settled over the land and the grass glistened with fresh morning dew. The sun cast an amber glow that warmed him as he waited, silently anticipating the light tread of Y/N's footsteps. Spotting her at a distance yonder they exchanged shy smiles as he walked to meet her halfway. "My lady" Aeron began before Y/N cut him off "You know I am no Lady."

"You are to me" Aeron interrupted, growing in boldness. Her eyes snapping to his, Y/N softly spoke "Just y/n please."

"Y/N then." Her name left his mouth, solemn and with a reverance he hoped she could not hear in his treacherous voice, though he could. "Thank you Aeron" she replied, grinning up at him then. He had heard her speak his name many times in their youth but no prior instance had such an instant affect on him. To hear it now stirred in him a feeling of contentment so intense he felt his mouth part in a silent gasp of shock, quickly schooling his features in case she caught him gawping like a fish. He followed her gaze back to the Bracken tree, it's conflagration of red and yellow leaves lightly fluttering in the gentle breeze.

"This used to be our tree, I remember it fondly. Do you?" Her question struck him as tinged by an air of insecurity. Did she think he could so easily forget her or the happiest period of his childhood, spent playing at knights taking turns to craft tales of dragons and princesses, the Targaryen dynasty being an object of great fascination to them both. "I remember it well" he assured her, prompting y/n's soft smile.

The Bracken tree held a special significance for them both, having been the place of their first meeting. Aeron had been a boy of four and ten, ambling about his Lord uncle's lands on a warm summer afternoon when he had come across Y/N, a girl who could not be more than ten years old, clinging to a branch high up in the tree for dear life, her knuckles white from her grip, her eyes tightly shut. Aeron could not understand how this girl could have found herself in such a precarious situation, immediately sparking his curiosity and so he called up to her. "Good day young miss."

The girl's eyes snapped open, startled and then at once hopeful. "I wish that I could wish you good day but it does not feel so. I find myself in a bit of a scrape, I am stuck you see." "I do indeed see, and how did you come to find yourself in such a scrape?" He called back, slightly amused by her defeated tone and the ridiculousness of the situation.

"Promise not to laugh."

"I promise." He was not sure he could promise in truth but he was eager to hear how the girl had come to find herself in her current predicament.

"My cat got itself stuck up the tree and I climbed up to retrieve her. As soon as I reached her she climbed back down, which is when I realised I was afraid of heights...so now I'm stuck."

Aeron could not stop the laugh that left his lips but quickly quieted as Y/N shot him with a savage glare.

"You promised not to laugh" she pouted and even as a boy he could not help but want nothing more than to see her smile instead.

"Apologies my lady, I will assist you if I can" he exaggeratedly bowed with a flourish and a hand to his heart in the hopes of amusing her.

"Do you think you can climb back down?'"

The girl looked briefly down and immediately shut her eyes, shaking her head frantically.

"No, I don't think so."

Slowly walking up to the base of the tree he held his arms out.

"You must jump then. I will catch you."

He tried not to let her scoff and look of raw panic and disbelief insult his dignity too much.

"But I'll fall."

"Yes..into me."

"What if you don't catch me and I snap my neck?"

"I assure you form that height you could break an arm but certainly not your neck. And I have promised to catch you."

She studied his features for what seemed like an age but could only have been a few seconds, seemingly trying to gauge his sincerity before she started to loosen her grip and raise herself into more of an upright position, legs dangling over the edge of the branch she rested upon as she firmly grabbed the trunk of the tree.

'"You're sure you can?"

"I don't see that you have another option" Aeron teased raising his arms higher up towards her.

Breathing deeply through her nose she nodded.

"OK, I trust you."

When she jumped Aeron caught her as promised, the momentum of her fall causing his arms to shake briefly before he readjusted his hold and lowered her to the ground, maintaining a grip on her elbows to steady her. He caught her gaze as she looked up at him in what he thought was a mix of awe and gratitude, or perhaps simply relief at no longer being airborne.

"You caught me."

"I promised you I would."

"Y/N"

"What?"

"My name is Y/N. What's yours?"

"Aeron Bracken, ward of Lord Bracken."

The young girl's eyes widened for a moment before she replied.

"Thank you for rescuing me. Would you like to meet here tomorrow and I can show you my cat. The one that got me stuck?"

A few years her senior, her response was that of a child seeking a friend. Used to being overlooked in his own home, having lost his parents at a young age and growing up under the gaze of a rather stern uncle whose expectations he never seemed to meet, Aeron found his heart warmed by Y/N's offer of friendship.

"Should it please you."

Stalking off immediately towards his home he could not know that the two of them would become inseparable from this first meeting. The two would meet daily at the Brackenwood tree to pour over tales of knights and stories of Targaryen dragon riders. Otherwise they would invent quests that would see them running about the Brackenwoods until the sun began to set. But they could often be found simply sitting comfortably in silence together, a level of intimacy Aeron had failed to find with another. Two years later y/n's father was called to serve as a knight at the Red Keep in Kings Landing, taking Y/N with him, despite her protestations, and Aeron could not but suspect his Lord uncle had been involved in their parting, having persistently chided him for neglecting his duties to amble about the Brackenwood with a girl he viewed of no importance.

Aeron's thoughts were sharply brought back to the present as Y/N suddenly turned away from him and abruptly began to walk downhill away from their tree and towards the Brackenwood. His brief moment of surprise at the suddenness of her actions was short lived as with a glance back in his direction he realised she meant him to follow her. His height advantage allowed him to catch up to her in few long strides before he slowed his pace to match hers. Aeron felt her shoulder lightly brush his arm and it was as if he had been struck by a lightening bolt and he glanced down to see how close the rocky terrain had brought them.

Instilled with an uncharacteristic surge of confidence at Y/N's clear lack of discomfort a their proximity he lifted his arm out towards her. "May I offer you my arm, the terrain is uneven and you are like to trip in your skirts." Levelling a sweet smile at him that he felt sure could rival the light of the sun and had him thanking the gods for mustering up a semblance of courage to offer in the first place, Y/N gently entwined their arms, lightly placing her smaller hand on his bicep. "Thank you good knight, you are most chivalrous." Her tone was familiar and jesting, but Aeron rejoiced to see a light blush grace Y/N's cheeks.

For the first time Aeron began to hope that perhaps his feelings were not unfounded, that he could hope to find them reciprocated in time. The intensity of his infatuation with Y/N had always been matched only by his assurance that his feelings could never be returned. Y/N was beautiful and kind, always so patient and with an intelligence and wit that had her consuming his every waking thought. Whilst his Lord uncle's heir by virtue of his uncle having no living son, he felt what he believed to be his deficiencies acutely.

He had but recently been appointed a knight, he was all too aware that this honour was not bestowed upon him on account of any great swordsmanship or feats of courage on his part. Aeron was tall and while lean he was not without strength or any skill with the sword. But it was his preference for exploits of the mind, his propensity to while away the day in his uncle's library rather than in the training field that separated him most definitively from the other Bracken knights. At the crux of the problem, however, was his introverted and shy temperament that had plagued him since childhood and had him stumbling over his words whenever Y/N was nearby.

He had convinced himself that he could never deserve Y/N and resolved to keep his distance, exchanging few words and replacing the words he wished he could speak to her with fleeting glances across a Banquet Hall. How could he, in good faith, present himself to her as an option when she surely sought a match that would grant her protection and security, whilst he could barely muster up the courage to meet her gaze now as upon entering the Brackenwood she began to speak of her purpose for their current course?

"I apologise for unceremoniously dragging you into the woods, I do recall there used to be a bushel of baby's breath flowers to the east of these woods. I was quite fond of them as a girl and should like to gather some, there is no such flower in Kings Landing."

"I remember, my lady."

"Aeron" She scolded.

"My apologies...Y/N."

"You remember?"

"I do, we walked this path often to gather your flowers. I distinctly recall you proclaiming yourself the Princess of Brackenwood and myself your sworn protector to guide you safely through the woods." Aeron found himself slipping into the playfulness that had characterised their childhood friendship the longer he was in Y/N's presence. Her resounding laughter had his heart soaring.

"Ah, so you do indeed remember. I had feared you'd forgotten me entirely. We have barely spoken since I returned to the Riverlands."

"Of course not!" He quickly protested but paused when he spotted her own playful grin and he realised she was just teasing him.

"It appears that in my great wisdom even as a girl you were well appointed for I never came to any harm in these woods with you by my side. Though I am no princess and am surely in no need of a sworn protector I am most grateful for your company now."

"I would still keep you safe" Aeron assured Y/N for that was something Aeron was at least most certain of. He tried to keep his tone light, enjoying the levity of their current course of conversation and not wishing to derail it.

"Why thank you good knight" Y/N laughed, briefly turning her head to rest it lightly on his shoulder before retracting it once more. Aeron's heart soared at the unexpectedly affectionate gesture, wishing she would lean into him again.

They walked in silence for a time, but it was not an awkward and uncomfortable silence Aeron had feared. Instead it was one of two people who understand one another, filled by a sense of familiarity and shared intimacy. Y/N had never bristled at his quiet and reserved nature before and Aeron was struck by the realisation that mayhaps he had been wrong to expect her to do so now as a woman.

Coming across the broken trunk of a tree they had often sat upon, taking turns to read to one another from the books Aeron would spirit from his Uncle's library, Aeron lowered his arm from Y/N's. Jumping lightly over the trunk he proferred his hand to help her over the obstacle. The feeling of her warm, soft hand placed atop his own had him forgetting himself entirely. Looking down at her hand delicately placed on his he suddenly felt sure that hers was made for his, their hands intertwined and all the stars aligned. Realising he had been holding her hand longer than was strictly necessary, he cleared his throat, tucking her arm back over his to continue their progress.

"Aha" Y/N delightedly removed herself from his grip to traipse over to the object of their quest. Content to just watch her as she happily began to gather up the flowers she had always favoured so much, Aeron stood off to the side until it became obvious that Y/N could no longer contain the copious amounts of flowers she had gathered within her arms. Stepping forward he called to her "Can I be of assistance? You can deliver them into my arms." Y/N paused to consider, then promptly deposited half of her loot into his arms. "We shall both carry them, my mother too will be most pleased."

As they set their path for the return journey Aeron hoped and prayed to the gods that they would not come across his friends, who would surely laugh at him for his current state, or god forbid the Blackwood hooligans that terrorised the Bracken borders. His long hair and delicate features, combined with his lack of interest in becoming a fierce warrior had been the grounds for Blackwood insults previously and an armful of flowers would surely provide ample fodder for those craven scoundrels. Even so, he was certain it would be worth it, just to be at Y/N's side. A newfound confidence rose in him. He may not ever be a fearsome warrior but he could yet be brave. He would set aside his insecurities, his fears, and he would win Y/N's affections for himself if he could.

#aeron bracken x reader #aeron bracken #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x reader #Aeron Bracken imagine

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ghoulsbounty · 3 months

Note

Can I request baby billy maybe reader Is a Virgin and he has plenty of skills he will help teach his innocent girl ?

Hidden Sins

Uncle Baby Billy Freeman x Fem!Reader

Warnings: smut (18+), oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, loss of virginity, p in v, fingering, dirty talk, corruption kink, slight cum play, innocent reader, takes place in a church (it used to be a sears, okay), description of a religious service, talk of religious beliefs/upbringing, manipulation, possessiveness, idolisation.

Word Count: 7.3K

A/N: I joined these two requests, I hope that's okay! I love writing for Baby Billy, he just oozes charm but has that slight edge of manipulation 🥵 Thank you for the kind words on A Fall From Grace, anon! I’d love to know what you all think to this, and feel free to send me more requests 💌

As the doors of the newest Gemstone Prayer Centre opened on Sunday morning, the congregation trickled in. There was a gentle murmur of voices as families, couples, and individuals made their way to their seats. The set lights created colourful patterns on the floor as they streamed through imitation stained-glass windows, giving a warm and inviting glow to the sanctuary, which was a recently renovated Sears in Locust Grove’s Eastland mall.

There was a comforting rhythm to the rituals performed as people settled into their seats. Some bowed their heads in silent prayer, while others leafed through their hymnals or exchanged hushed conversations with their neighbours. Children, dressed in their Sunday outfits, fidgeted beside their parents, their impatience to be let free into the mall barely contained. The musicians, positioned near the front, tuned their instruments and chatted quietly among themselves, their voices blending in harmonious laughter.

The keyboardist played a soft prelude, the gentle notes filling the space and creating an atmosphere of reverence and anticipation. Conversations gradually quieted as the music swelled, drawing the congregation’s attention towards the front of the church. The choir stood, their faces reflecting a mixture of concentration and serene joy as they prepared to lead the opening number, a soulful blend of rock and country.

At the pulpit, Baby Billy Freeman took his place, his persona commanding yet approachable. He adjusted the microphone, his warm hazel eyes scanning the room, acknowledging familiar faces with a nod and a smile. As the last notes of the prelude faded, a hush fell over the sanctuary. He cleared his throat, his melodic voice resonating with warmth and authority as he welcomed everyone to the service, setting the tone for the morning’s worship.

“Good morning, brothers and sisters,” he began, rich and melodious, filling the space with ease. “It is a blessing to see so many familiar faces, and I extend a heartfelt welcome to those who are visiting us for the first time. We gather here today, not just as individuals, but as a community of faith, bound by the love and grace of our Lord.”

Calls of “Amen” rang out through the room as he stepped away from the pulpit, moving to the front of the stage with a graceful confidence that commanded attention. He began weaving a story, his voice rising and falling with the rhythm of his words. You found yourself entranced, unable to take your eyes off his tall, lean frame. He oozed magnetic charm, from the way he adjusted the cufflinks on his impeccably tailored suit to the slick, groomed hair that crowned his head. This was a pastor who clearly appreciated the finer things in life, and it showed in every deliberate movement he made.

His story unfolded with the elegance of a master storyteller, each word chosen with care, each pause perfectly timed to draw the crowd deeper into his narrative. The light caught the fabric of his suit just right, highlighting its quality and fit, and you couldn’t help but admire the attention to detail in his appearance. It was evident that Baby Billy Freeman understood the power of presentation, using it to enhance the impact of his message, much like the Gemstone family did.

As he spoke, his eyes scanned the crowd, ensuring each person experienced a sense of direct connection as he addressed them. His hands moved gracefully, emphasizing points with a natural ease that came from years of practice and a deep understanding of his craft. The way he stood, the way he gestured, even the way he smiled—all of it contributed to the aura of a man who was not only confident in his message but also in his place at the front of the room.

When his eyes settled on you, it appeared time itself slowed. His gaze lingered, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he took you in, assessing you with a knowing look. The intensity of his eyes sent a jolt through you, igniting a heat that rocketed to your cheeks under his watchful scrutiny. Your fingers moved subconsciously to smooth the pleats of your dress over your lap, a nervous attempt to steady yourself against the flurry of emotions his intense stare provoked.

In that moment, it was as if the world had shrunk to just the two of you. The sanctuary, its audience and ambient murmurs, faded into the background, leaving only the charged connection between you and Baby Billy. His eyes, so penetrating and vivid, held you captive, conveying a silent message that was both thrilling and unnerving.

His smirk deepened, a small but deliberate acknowledgment of the influence he had on you. You felt exposed, as though he could see right through the façade of composure you tried to maintain. The room felt warmer, the air thicker, every sense heightened by the charged interaction. Your heart raced, and your breaths came quicker, shallow and uneven, as you struggled to regain control.

The folds of your dress became a focus for your hands, fingers trembling as they smoothed and re-smoothed the fabric in a futile attempt to calm your nerves. Nothing could lessen the impact of his gaze. His sermon and presence made you feel singled out and significant, as if he intended them solely for you.

His eyes moved on, continuing to scan his flock, but the spell he had cast remained. You were left feeling flustered, your cheeks still flushed, and an unfamiliar yet exhilarating sense of longing settling in your chest. The rest of the room came back into focus, the collective presence of the congregation reasserting itself, but the lasting effect of his stare lingered. You knew that something had shifted within you, a spark ignited by the magnetic pull of Baby Billy Freeman’s attention, leaving you both eager and apprehensive about the next encounter.

The moment came sooner than you expected when Judy Gemstone grabbed your hand and marched you toward the backroom after the service, her heels clipping briskly on the tiled floor as you hurried to keep up. Suspense and lingering incense from the church filled the air, adding a heady sense of urgency to Judy’s determined stride.

You had been friends with Judy long enough to recognize the signs—her set jaw, the tenacious glint in her eyes, and the way she moved with single-minded purpose. Judy was on a mission, and right now, that mission was to secure the coveted position of the lead vocalist of her uncle’s church. Almost tangibly, her passion fuelled her determination to prove her brothers wrong and show her father she could uphold the Gemstone reputation.

Like the rest of the Gemstones, Judy’s determination was a force of nature. Her drive to impress her family was relentless, and it often swept you up in its wake. You had long accepted your role as her loyal sidekick, accompanying her on various ventures and ambitions. Today was no different. She dragged you into the backroom of the church, her arm linked tightly through yours. Memories of similar situations flooded your mind, each one of her ideas more hare-brained than the last.

The backroom, a repurposed Sears storage room, was a hive of activity, with band members chatting animatedly and church staff tidying up after the service. The noise and movement seemed to part like the Red Sea before Judy, her appearance commanding immediate attention. You stayed close, your heart fluttering at the prospect of finally meeting Baby Billy Freeman.

The service wasn’t the first occasion you had laid eyes on him, but it was the first time you had done so in person. Your mother admired Amy-Leigh Gemstone for a long time. They became close friends, which likely led to your introduction into Judy’s social circle. She had keenly tracked Amy-Leigh’s ascent to fame, along with her brother, accumulating their albums and any related merchandise available.

Your family home was practically a museum dedicated to the siblings. Vivid posters of Baby Billy decorated the walls, providing a stark contrast to the otherwise subdued décor. Shelves brimmed with collectibles ranging from signed photographs to rare figurines, each item echoing your mother’s deep appreciation for the famed clogging pair. Items adorned with Baby Billy’s image, from coffee mugs to decorative pillows, filled the space, turning it into a veritable shrine.

After your own mother passed away, Amy-Leigh became like a second mother to you, and her eventual passing left a profound void in your life. The Gemstones embraced you, providing a modest home within their compound and a job assisting with their ministry. The day Eli announced Baby Billy’s appointment as head pastor of their new centre, you could hardly believe it. Years of fawning over the man on the poster, and finally you were going to be within proximity of him.

Judy’s heels clicked with authority as she approached the corner where her uncle stood, surrounded by a small group of admirers. His charismatic aura was unmistakable, even in this more casual setting. He was in the midst of a conversation, his laughter rich and inviting, but it cut off smoothly as he noticed Judy’s determined approach.

“Uncle Baby Billy,” Judy called out, her voice clear over the din. “We need to talk.”

He turned towards her, his eyes momentarily flicking to you, a spark of recognition lighting up his features. His smile broadened, that familiar smirk playing at the edges of his lips. Your pulse quickened as his gaze held yours for a beat longer than seemed necessary before he turned his full attention to Judy.

“Judy, my favourite niece,” he greeted, his voice warm and welcoming, though his eyes still held a mischievous glint. “What brings you here?”

Judy didn’t waste a moment. She launched into her pitch with the fervour of someone who had rehearsed every word, every inflection. She spoke of her vocal talents, her dedication to the church, and her deep desire to serve in a greater capacity. Her words were passionate and persuasive, painting a vivid picture of her as the ideal candidate for the lead vocalist role. All true for the moment, but her attentions were often fleeting.

As Judy presented her case, you couldn’t help but notice how Baby Billy listened intently. Yet, every so often, his eyes would dart back to you, a silent, lingering glance that made your skin heat. You busied yourself by nodding along to your friend’s speech, trying to appear composed despite the tumult of emotions within you.

Judy concluded her pitch with a confident smile. “So, Baby Billy, what do you say? Give me the chance to prove myself.”

Baby Billy leaned back, his expression thoughtful and appraising as he considered her request. His eyes flicked between Judy and you, a smile spreading across his face. “Well, Judy, you certainly make a compelling case,” he said, his tone measured. Then, his gaze settled on you, and his smile took on a warmer, more personal touch. “What about you, darlin’? Do you think my niece has the pipes to pull it off?”

You felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand under his attention, the depth of his gaze making your heart race. You noticed every detail—the slight arch of his brow, the glint of curiosity in his eyes, and the expectant look on Judy’s face. Your mind whirled, searching for the right words, knowing that this moment was crucial for your friend.

Clearing your throat, you straightened up, wrangling your fingers out of nervous habit. “Absolutely, Pastor Freeman,” you began, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach. “Judy has an incredible voice and a passion for music, just like her mama.” A small, white lie. You would pray later.

Baby Billy smiled, his eyes never leaving yours as he seemed to weigh your words. The connection between you felt almost tangible, a silent communication that left you both exhilarated and unnerved. He nodded, his gaze shifting back to Judy.

“Well, it sounds like you’ve got quite the endorsement, Judy,” he said, his tone approving. “Let’s see what you’ve got. How about a little audition, just so’s its fair? Don’t want ol’ Baby Billy being accused of playing favourites, now.”

Judy beamed with excitement, her eyes sparkling with a readiness that lit up the room. “I’m ready, Uncle Baby Billy! I’ll blow the roof off this place,” she declared, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Just tell me where you want me!”

“Hold on there, speed racer,” he chuckled, raising a hand to temper her enthusiasm. “There’s a bit of preparation that needs to be done first.” He gestured toward a group of staff members who were exiting the backroom to continue the clean-up in the centre. “Why don’t you help tidy up while the band gets themselves ready on stage?” he suggested, handing her a mop from the trolley behind him with a playful smile.

Judy’s face fell for the briefest moment, a flicker of disappointment crossing her features. “Uh, no fuckin’ way,” she protested, holding the mop out to you. You took it from her, feeling the rough handle in your grip. “I’m the star, not the help.”

Baby Billy exhaled and caressed his forehead with his thumb as he glanced at her. “Now, Judy, we must exhibit grace in all our actions,” he murmured, retrieving the mop from your grasp and placing it in her hands. His fingertips grazed yours, sending a shock wave of energy through your nerves. “Amy-Leigh and I, we began by mopping the floors of the church halls where we would perform each Sunday.”

Judy looked down at the mop in her hands, her defiance wavering as she absorbed his words. “Those were humble beginnings,” he continued, his voice filled with a nostalgic warmth. “But it taught us the value of hard work and humility. We learned to appreciate every step of our journey, no matter how insignificant it seemed.”

Judy sighed, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “Alright, Baby Billy,” she muttered, reluctantly accepting her fate. “But you owe me one for this.” She turned to you, jutting her head towards the door. “Let’s go.”

Baby Billy chuckled, a soft, reassuring sound that seemed to lighten the atmosphere. “Hold on a minute,” he patted Judy’s shoulder gently, his touch almost fatherly. His gaze then shifted to you, his eyes twinkling with both mischief and sincerity. “I have a different job for your friend here,” he said, his voice laden with a sense of importance. He turned fully towards you, his smile warm and inviting. “If you’ll accept.”

You felt the weight of his words, the air thick with anticipation as Judy’s eyes fell on you. Baby Billy’s influence was commanding. It made you feel both honoured and nervous.

You nodded, your voice barely audible, and uttered, “I’ll help.”

“Alright,” he grinned, slapping his hands together with enthusiasm. He instructed the band and the other employees to return to the main area as he carefully led Judy to the exit. “Make sure you give it a thorough cleaning, Judy. The Lord is always watchin’,” he remarked, nudging her through the door and shutting it on her objections.

Your throat dried as you watched him twist the lock, producing a thunderous click that reverberated throughout the silent room. The sound seemed to echo endlessly, amplifying the tension that had been steadily building. He redirected his attention to you, his expression warm and inviting, a reassuring smile playing on his lips. Yet, there was a glint of something darker in his eyes, a flicker of intent that sent a shiver down your spine.

“She’s got a lot of spirit, doesn’t she?” he said, his tone light as he stalked towards you. You nodded, feeling a lump form in your throat under his potent stare. “Always been so desperate to prove herself, our sweet Judy,” he continued. His eyes didn’t leave yours. He stopped just a step away from you. “What about you?” he asked, his voice dropping to a soft, almost tender whisper.

As you swallowed hard, the severity of his question hit you. The room felt suffocating as you struggled to calm your breathing. His eyes bore into yours, searching for something deeper, and you found it hard to think straight under his watch.

“What about me?” you gulped, your voice hardly steady.

He stepped closer, and instinctively, you took a step back. Your back hit the edge of the vanity, causing various lotions and potions to topple over, clattering onto the floor. Your fingers grasped at the table, the cool wood grounding you as you looked up into Baby Billy’s predatory gaze.

His eyes, fierce and unyielding, locked onto yours, making your heart pound against your chest. He was so close that you could feel the raw magnetism seeping from him, leaving you feeling both vulnerable and electrified.

“Are you desperate to prove yourself?” he asked, his finger lightly grazing your chin. He tilted it upwards, leaving you no choice but to look directly at him. The touch of his fingertip sent a pulse of arousal through you, making your pussy thrum. You squeezed your thighs together to ease the ache between them. His gaze was unrelenting, piercing through your defences and searching for the truth hidden within you.

“I-I don’t know,” you stammered, your voice breaking. It wasn’t true. Deep inside, you felt a magnetic pull toward the older man standing before you, a profound need to please him. You’d fantasized about this moment countless times over the years, your fingers teasing your most sensitive spots as you pictured him. You had writhed against your mattress, biting your lip to stifle his name from escaping them in a heated whisper. You’d wanted him for so many years.

“Don’t be shy now,” he said, a smirk tugging at his lips. His eyes glinted with amusement and something primal. “You certainly weren’t when you were giving me those eyes during the service.” His voice dripped with a teasing tone, each word deliberately slow, as if savouring the memory.

His words sent a flush of heat through your cheeks and you tried to look away, but his finger held your chin in place, keeping your gaze locked with his. You could feel the warmth radiating from his body, his presence overwhelming. The room seemed to shrink around you, the atmosphere heavy with unspoken tension and desire as you looked up at him, transfixed.

His thumb brushed lightly across your jaw, sending shivers down your spine. The scent of his cologne filled your senses, making it hard to think clearly. His eyes, a captivating blend of mischief and command, searched yours for any sign of resistance, but all he found was the raw vulnerability you tried to hide.

“You don’t have to hide from me,” he uttered, his voice a velvety whisper that seemed to wrap around you. “I see you, all of you.” The sincerity in his tone made your heart clench, any defiance melting away under the heat of his gaze.

He leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over your lips, teasing and tempting. The closeness was intoxicating, every nerve in your body alert to his presence. You could feel the strength in his grip, the subtle dominance that made you weak with craving. The atmosphere crackled with electricity, the promise of what could happen hanging heavily in the air.

“I saw the way you looked at me,” he continued, his voice low and intimate. “Like you were daring me to come over and do something about it.” His eyes smouldered with intent, and the smirk on his lips grew more pronounced. The weight of his gaze was almost too heavy to withstand, filled with challenge and promise that made your pulse quicken.

You struggled to react to his words, a haze of lust clouding your mind as he leaned in closer. The mixture of authority and need in his eyes was utterly mesmerizing, making it impossible to look away. Your entire being, every fibre in your body was alive with excitement.

“Tell me,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “Do you want me to do something about it?” His question hung in the air, the weight of it pressing down on you as you struggled to find your voice.

Another sharp intake, the proximity and the raw emotion in his voice, leaving you vulnerable. “Yes,” you whispered, the admission sending a thrill through you.

A satisfied smile curved his lips as he pressed a soft, chaste kiss to your mouth. “Good,” he whispered back, his voice low and commanding. “Clothes off, angel.”

His words sent a shiver of anticipation through you, and you hesitantly glanced toward the door. Sensing your distraction, he gently tilted your chin back toward him, his eyes locking onto yours with a determined gaze.

“Don’t you worry about her,” he assured, his voice soft yet assertive, drawing your attention back to the moment. “You focus on me.”

“But you said that the Lord is always watching,” you reminded him, echoing the words he had spoken to Judy just moments before.

Raised in a devout Christian household, you had lived and worked with the Gemstones, always striving to be the virtuous, Christian woman your mother wanted you to be. A part of you knew that this was sinful, felt wrong, like a lamb being led to slaughter. Yet a larger part of you—the part that felt a fire ignited within, burning and aching for more of his touch—knew that your words were a hollow attempt to save face before you gave in.

He smiled, running his hands up and down your arms in a soothing gesture. “The Lord and I, we have a deal,” he said, his voice calm and reassuring. “Ain’t no one’s eyes on you but mine.”

His words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, both comforting and thrilling. Taking a step forward, his hand made contact with your cheek, his thumb softly caressing your skin. “I bet you’ve tried so hard to be the good girl, to live up to everyone’s expectations,” he murmured. “But what about your own needs? What about what you want, hmm?”

Your heart pounded as his words took hold, resonating within you. The years of restraint, the hidden fantasies, all converged at this single moment. “I... I want this,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I’ve never been with a man before.”

His smile widened, a mix of triumph and tenderness. “Oh darlin’, I know that. I’ll be gentle,” he said, his voice a low, seductive murmur. His hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, drawing you closer until your lips were almost touching. “Let me show you what it means to truly surrender.”

The last barrier within you crumbled, and with a shuddering breath, you closed the gap, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was both fervent and tender. You sighed into his mouth as his tongue licked against your own; the sensation sending waves of pleasure through you. You felt consumed by him. It was as if all your reservations had melted away, leaving only a deep, aching need for his touch. His hands roamed your body with a possessive tenderness, and you knew there was no turning back.

He released you, gave you an encouraging smile as his eyes flickered over your body. You hesitantly undressed, your fingers fumbling with the buttons and fabric. The room seemed to grow warmer with each piece of clothing that fell away, leaving your skin exposed to the cool air. His expression was a mix of appreciation and yearning, his eyes darkening with every inch of you revealed.

“That’s it,” he said when you were bare before him. He stepped closer, his fingers tracing a path down your chest, over the swell of your breast. The touch was exhilarating, sending waves of sensation through your body. “Beautiful,” he murmured, his eyes roaming over you with undisguised admiration. “A sight to behold.”

His hands moved to your hips, pulling you closer until your bodies pressed together. The feel of the rich fabric of his suit against your skin gave you goosebumps, and he slowly traced kisses down the expanse of your neck, over your collarbone, until he reached your breasts. He took one hardened nipple into his mouth, enclosing his lips around it as you gasped.

You grabbed hold of his shoulders for support as your legs weakened from the fiery touch of his tongue. His mouth worked skilfully, alternating between gentle sucking and flicking, setting your nerves on fire. His other hand caressed your side, his touch both reassuring and tantalizing.

“You’re so sensitive,” he mumbled into you, his voice thick with want. His hand moved to your other breast, his thumb brushing over the nipple, eliciting another gasp from you. He switched his attention, giving your other nipple the same devoted attention, his mouth and hand working in perfect harmony.

Your body responded to his touch, arching into him as the pleasure built. The contrast of the soft fabric of his suit and the firmness of his body against your bare skin heightened every sensation. You could sense the power in his shoulders under your grip, grounding you as he continued his exploration.

He left your nipple with a suctioned pop, lifting you until you perched on the vanity table. His mouth was back on you, kisses trailing lower over your breasts, down your stomach as his hands guided you to lean against the mirror. He knelt between your legs, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. His fingers grazed your thighs as he paused. Looking up at you, a devious grin spreading across his lips.

“Wouldn’t deny an old man a taste, would you?” he asked, low and teasing as he parted your legs wider.

You held back a moan, the longing building as his hands caressed your thighs, spreading them apart. The cool surface of the mirror against your back contrasted with the heat of his breath on your skin, making every feeling more intense. His eyes never left yours, the connection between you pulsating.

“No,” you whispered, your voice trembling with desire. “I wouldn’t.”

His smile widened, a look of triumph and hunger in his eyes. “Good girl,” he murmured, his hands sliding round to grip your thighs firmly, your mind reeling from his praise.

He leaned in, his mouth descending to your core, and you mewled his name as the flat of his tongue dragged through your wet slit. He moved skilfully, exploring every inch of you, his hands holding you open as he flicked and swirled his tongue over your sensitive flesh. When his lips wrapped around your clit and he began sucking gently on the bundle of nerves, you couldn’t suppress the whine that escaped your lips.

One of your hands left the vanity, slipped into his perfect hair, tugging and pulling him closer, desperate to feel more of the intense, foreign sensation. He groaned in response; the vibration adding another layer of pleasure as he continued his ministrations, his tongue dancing over your most sensitive spots with precision and care.

Your hips bucked against him when you felt his tongue dipping into your tight hole. He laughed, his grip on your thighs tightening as he held you to the table and fucked your cunt with his tongue. His strong nose brushed against your sensitive clit, and you cried out, fighting against his hold to grind against him, desperate for more friction.

“Baby Billy, it feels s-so good,” you moaned, your voice trembling with pleasure.

With his finger prodding at your entrance, your grip on his hair tightened and your back arched, while his lips encased your clit again, sucking with fervour as you adjusted to the stretch of his finger.

As he stared at you greedily, he pulled back to witness his finger sliding into you, wet with your juices. “Oh, you sweet thing,” he cooed, his voice dripping with lust, adding to the growing tightness of the coil within you. Your eyes widened as you felt another finger prod experimentally at your hole, swirling through your arousal before pushing in to join the first. You gasped at the stretch, then broke into a cry when he curled them against you, hitting a spot that had your vision spotting.

With precision, he twisted and thrust his fingers, never taking his eyes off your face as he watched your reactions. “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice a mix of encouragement and dominance. “Let me see how good it feels.”

Your pleasure built to an almost unbearable peak. His fingers moved faster, curling and stroking the sensitive spot inside you with expert skill as the rings that adorned them stretched you deliciously, the chill of them a shock against your dripping heat. The wet sounds of your arousal and your increasingly frantic moans echoed throughout the room.

“Please,” you begged, your voice breaking. “Don’t stop.”

He smirked, relishing the impact he had on you, and the sight of him so dishevelled—hair unkempt and face glistening from your juices—had you grasping at him, pulling him up toward you for another heated kiss. You rocked your hips harder as he continued to fuck his fingers into you, the taste of yourself on his lips adding to the sinful pleasure.

His mouth swallowed your moans, the kiss deep and hungry, your tongues tangling as you revelled in the shared intensity. His fingers moved relentlessly, curling and thrusting with expert precision, hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over as he thumbed your clit.

The room seemed to spin as the pleasure built, your body tightening around his fingers. His free hand roamed your body, caressing and gripping your curves, adding to the sensation of overload. Every touch, every thrust, pushed you towards the brink.

“You like this, don’t you?” he murmured against your lips. “Feel how wet you are, letting Baby Billy do such unholy things to you.”

You nodded, unable to form coherent words, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The rhythm of his fingers was driving you wild, the coil inside you tightening to the breaking point.

A choked sob escaped you as your muscles clenched around his fingers, your body convulsing with pleasure as the tension finally broke. He held you through it, fingers never stopping their assault, drawing out every shudder and gasp. You slowly came back down, eyes bleary and body quivering around him. He looked down at the mess between your thighs where his fingers were slowly retracting from your cunt. His eyes shone with a satisfied gleam.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmured, his voice filled with admiration. His fingers glistened with your arousal as he brought them to his lips, tasting you once more with a low, appreciative moan. “You’re nice and ready for me now,” he grinned, pushing between your legs to grind his clothed arousal against you.

He groaned, his hands gripping your hips, guiding you to move against him. “Feel that?” he asked, his voice a low growl. “That’s what you’ve done to me.” His eyes locked on yours. The intensity in them makes even more heat pool between your thighs.

The friction of his hard length against your slick folds sent shivers through your body, your hips rocking against him to seek more. His grip tightened, controlling your movements as he pressed harder against you, the fabric of his pants only heightening the sensation.

“You want this, don’t you?” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. “Tell me how much you want it now.”

You reacted to his command, a moan escaping your lips as you ground against him with more urgency. “I want it,” you uttered, your voice quivering with longing. “Please, Baby Billy. I need you.”

His grin widened, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes as he watched you writhe against him. “Oh angel,” he sighed, his voice rough with lust. “You’re gonna get exactly what you need.”

He pulled back just enough to unzip his pants, freeing his aching cock. The sight made your mouth water—thick and long, with a slight curve and beads of pre-cum glistening on his swollen, red tip. He stroked himself, spreading the slickness over his length, and you watched, mesmerized. A sudden curiosity flooded you, imagining the weight and taste of him on your tongue.

“See something you like?“ he teased, his voice a sultry, enticing rumble. His eyes clouded with desire as he watched your reaction, enjoying the effect he had on you. He stepped closer, his hand still working his shaft slowly, as if to give you a show. His eyes flicked to the door, then back to you, his expression deep in thought. “Ain’t enough time for that now, but you best believe I’ll be puttin’ that mouth to good use next time.”

Before you had time to contemplate his words, Baby Billy grabbed at your thighs, wrapping them around his waist as he positioned himself at your entrance. The weeping head of his cock teased through your slick folds, sending shivers up your spine. His eyes snapped to yours when he heard the whimper fall from your lips, an almost sadistic grin spreading across his face.

Whispering softly, he brushed his lips teasingly against yours, and said, “Once I’m finished with you, you’ll belong to me, understand?”

With a slow, deliberate thrust, he entered you. The stretch was an exquisite blend of pleasure and pain, making your vision blur and chest heave as you clung to him. Driven wild by the sensation of your tight, wet heat, he let out a guttural moan as he pushed himself deeper.

“Good Lord, you feel so fuckin’ good,” he groaned, his voice thick with passion. His firm hands held onto your hips tightly, bringing you closer as he filled you entirely. The overwhelming force of the moment left you breathless, your body trembling with each inch he claimed.

He paused for a moment, letting you adjust to the fullness, his eyes hardened with possessiveness as they locked onto yours. “Look at you,” he murmured. “Made just for me.”

His words made you keen, your mind empty except for the thought of Baby Billy and his cock consuming you. Pleas tumbled from your lips, urging him to move, begging him to fill you, and he groaned as he snapped his hips, setting a slow and deliberate pace so that you could feel every ridge of his cock as he moved within you.

“That’s it,” he groaned, his eyes fluttering shut briefly at the tightness of you around him, fingers digging into your hips as he fucked into you. “Take all of me. I know you can.”

As the sparks of pain subsided, overwhelming surges of pleasure took over. The vanity and mirror slammed loudly against the wall as he rocked your hips to meet his, matching his rhythm perfectly. You were so absorbed in him you didn’t care about the door just a few feet away, separating your friend — his kin — from possibly hearing the illicit act you were engaged in.

With your back arching into him, you pleaded for more, as his lips wrapped around your nipple again, eliciting a desperate whine from you. “Faster, please.”

With a growl, he responded, grazing your sensitive bud with his teeth, causing you to sharply inhale. His muffled curse vibrated against your skin as he picked up the pace, pounding into you with deep, powerful strokes that reached new depths, pushing you closer to the edge. Your nails dug into his shoulders, crinkling the fabric of his expensive suit.

“I knew you weren’t as innocent as you seemed,” he mumbled against your skin, his voice dripping with raw desire. “Can’t get enough of Baby Billy, can you?”

His breath was hot and heavy against your chest, each word making your spine tingle. His grip on your hips tightened, pulling you closer as he thrust deeper, the intensity of his movements mirroring the hunger in his voice.

“It’s like music to my ears, hearing you beg,” he murmured, delivering a final flick of his tongue over your nipple before straightening to meet your gaze. “My new favourite song.”

The sincerity in his eyes made your heart race even faster, the connection between you electrifying. He held your gaze with an intensity that left you breathless, his hips never faltering in their relentless rhythm. Every thrust, every touch, was a symphony of pleasure that built and built, pushing you both closer to the edge.

As you teetered on the brink of another orgasm, your breaths came in ragged gasps, and your muscles spasmed. One of Baby Billy’s hands left your thighs, snaking between you to trace wet circles over your swollen clit. You bucked into his hand, his touch sending jolts of pleasure through your body, as he looked down at you with pride.

“That’s it. Sing for me, angel,” he commanded.

As your body convulsed around him, a broken cry ripped from your throat. Your thighs shook and you gripped him tighter, riding out your earth-shattering ecstasy, every muscle tightening as you clutched desperately at him. He watched you with a primal hunger, his eyes dark and filled with greed, captivated by the sight of you falling apart on his cock.

Your walls clenched rhythmically around him, drawing a gasping moan from his lips. The sensation was too much for him to handle, and his thrusts became sloppy and erratic, each movement driven by pure instinct. His hands gripped your hips with bruising force, trying to maintain some semblance of control as the pleasure overwhelmed him.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his voice heavy with need. “You got me feelin’ some kind of way, angel. Something wicked.”

His words had you spiralling, your orgasm continuing to crash over you like a tidal wave. Your garbled cry cut short as he captured your lips with his and you moaned into his mouth, riding out the rest of your climax with desperate ruts of your hips, clinging to him for dear life.

His kiss was deep and consuming, his tongue exploring your mouth as if he couldn’t get enough of you. He held you tight, grounding you both as he bucked at a frenzied pace, chasing his own release. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, the faltering rhythm of his thrusts echoing in the heated air. Your lips tore from his, head dropped back against the mirror, eyes half-closed, as you surrendered to Baby Billy’s insistent need.

He used your cunt for his own amusement, his thick girth splitting you open and filling you. Every thrust sent waves of pleasure and pain through your body, the intensity almost too much to bear. You breathed in shallow, erratic gulps, mingling with his groans of pleasure.

“You gonna let Baby Billy finish inside of you?” he grunted as you felt the powerful contraction of his muscles under your fingers. “Go back out there with my cum filling you, let everyone know who owns you now.”

His words, steeped in raw, possessive control, gave you goosebumps. The heat between you was almost unbearable, and the thought of being so intimately claimed ignited a fire within you. You could barely manage a nod, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment, your breath coming in shallow gasps.

“Yes,” you managed, your voice trembling with need. “F-fill me.”

His eyes shone at your words, lighting up with pride. You felt him pulse and throb inside you, and with a final, deep thrust, he buried himself to the hilt. His body shuddered as he found his release, the hot spurts of his cum flooding you, mingling with your own arousal to create an intoxicating warmth. You milked him for every drop of his seed, drawing out every ounce of pleasure.

Your body, wrecked and trembling, collapsed against his as you sobbed into the crook of his neck. A combination of fulfilment and exhaustion washed over you, your breathing slowly adjusting to a calmer rhythm. His gentle touch roamed your spine in soothing strokes, grounding you as you both basked in the afterglow. The surrounding air seemed to hum with the energy of your passion, the scent of sweat and sex lingering, creating a heady, intimate atmosphere.

With his breath still uneven against your skin, he pressed a tender kiss to your temple. “That was a job well done,” he murmured, his voice prideful despite his jest. He groaned as he pulled himself from your swollen cunt, eyes shining at the sight of you leaking with his load. You whimpered at the emptiness, a pout forming on your lips as he tucked himself away, but then he pushed two digits into you, stuffing your pussy almost full again.

“Keep it all in there,” he said, his eyes flicking to you as he twisted his fingers. The squelch of his load being forced back inside of you filled the room, an erotic sound that made your mouth water. “I wasn’t lying. Baby Billy wants you out there, front and centre.”

The intensity in his gaze, coupled with the sensation of his fingers pushing his cum deeper inside you, had you shaking again. Each movement was deliberate, ensuring you felt every bit of his claim on you. The thought of stepping out, filled with his essence, ignited a mix of thrill and arousal within you.

He finally withdrew his fingers, leaving you with a lingering sense of fullness. “Now, let’s get you dressed,” he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He helped you to your feet, steadying you as you adjusted to standing. The rush of reality hit you as you caught sight of yourself in the mirror—marks from his mouth adorned your breasts, and bruises from his fingers dotted your thighs. You looked spent, yet there was a radiant glow to your skin that hadn’t been there before.

You watched in the mirror as Baby Billy adjusted his suit, fixing his hair until it was back in almost perfect condition. He dabbed at the sweat that had formed on his brow with his handkerchief, his focus intent on readying himself. The sight of him, composed and immaculate, made you suddenly aware of your own state. You felt uncomfortably exposed and quickly retrieved your clothes from the floor.

Your body ached as you dressed, each movement a reminder of what you’d just done. Your muscles throbbed from the recent exertion, and as you put on your clothes, the thoughts that had been repressed by passion now surged through your mind. The reality of your sin with the pastor drowned you in a wave of guilt and confusion.

You wanted to regret it, to tell yourself that you would pray for forgiveness, but you knew it wasn’t true. You’d wanted him so much, was willing to throw all caution to the wind and give yourself so freely to him. Now, he seemed so distant from you, and maybe that felt worse than anything. The desire that had driven you to this moment still simmered under the surface, a raw and undeniable truth.

As you finished dressing, you caught your reflection in the mirror. The marks on your body, the glow in your skin, all told the story of what had transpired. You felt a complex mix of emotions—shame, guilt, satisfaction, and a strange sense of pride.

Baby Billy turned to you, his eyes softening as he took in your appearance. “You alright?” he asked, his voice gentle, a stark contrast to the intensity of moments before.

With a nod, you managed a slight smile. “Yeah, I think so.”

Drawing nearer, he lightly brushed his thumb against your cheek. “No one else needs to know what happened here.”

You took a deep breath, fully absorbing the impact of his words. The secret you now shared felt like a heavy burden, one you couldn’t speak of to anyone. The fear that this might be your last moment with him gnawed at you, prompting you to ask softly, “Will I see you again?”

He smiled, a teasing glint in his eye, as he leaned in to place a gentle, lingering kiss on your lips. When he pulled back, he lightly tapped his finger over your bottom lip, his touch both tender and possessive.

“Oh darlin’,” he drawled, his voice low and filled with promise, “didn’t I already tell you I’d be puttin’ this mouth to good use one day?”

The way he said it sent a chill through you, the intimacy of his words and the light touch on your lip igniting a spark within you. His eyes held yours, the playful glint mixing with something deeper, a reassurance that this moment was far from the last.

As he stepped back, his hand trailed from your lip to your chin, lifting it slightly. His gaze softened, the teasing replaced with genuine affection as he murmured, “this isn’t the last you’ll see of Baby Billy.”

#uncle baby billy #uncle baby billy x reader #baby billy x reader #the righteous gemstones #walton goggins #baby billy freeman #baby billy freeman x reader #fic request #uncle baby billy smut #baby billy smut #smut fic #the righteous gemstones smut #the righteous gemstones x reader #corruption kink #walton goggins x reader #x reader

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shirefantasies · 5 months

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can i request thorins company with a reader with really long hair?and maybe they have a really long hair care routine or something

also i luv your work!!Hope ur doing well💓

Doin’ better these days 🤞🏻 we love hair imagines for the company hehe

Thorin’s Company When You Have Really Long Hair

Absolutely worships it: Thorin, Oin, Gloin, Bifur, Bombur, Dori

Teases you a little: Dwalin, Nori, Fili

Just happy to have you: Balin, Bofur, Ori, Kili, Bilbo

Whether you wear it down, up, braids, locs, one big braid, your hair one of your favorite features of theirs and they all have a different way of showing it. Thorin, for example, loves to gently comb his fingers through your tresses if he can and is always holding it out of the way for you. Especially if you are not a dwarf, he deconstructs a lot of gatekeeping he would have done in the past and devotes himself to performing dwarven hair care practices and styles on you. Oin cares not for how long your routine is, he will learn it. Add to it or alter it a bit, even, with some of his own products, and you can’t really be too frustrated because dwarves do have the best hair products in Middle Earth. He has the gentlest hands as he caresses, treats, and styles your hair, never causing you a moment’s pain. Gloin glows with pride, practically insisting on handling your hair so long as you trust him. He’ll brag to anyone that you have the most gorgeous hair he’s ever seen even if you aren’t a dwarf. Let him do it up in braids, it’ll make him happier than anything! It can be hard to connect sometimes if you don’t speak Khuzdul, at least for Bifur, so he throws himself into acts of service. One of these is taking up the trouble of your long care routine. Silently he beckons you to sit between his legs, his hands working through your flowing hair. Gives you braids that match his and kisses them when he finishes. Bombur’s beard is very long, so he understands elaborate care routines. You two take up a trade of sorts where you re-braid his beard and he treats your hair, perhaps even trying a new style if you like! It may take a long time, but Bombur is in no hurry. Especially if your special routine gives him time to have his hands on you and in the hair he can't stop complimenting. Ever the aficionado of beauty, Dori adores the great flow of your locks and all their potential. If he has his way, he'll try many a different style and even decoration, weaving the prettiest beads and baubles and flowers in your hair. Always reminding you to take care of yours, he'll half-jokingly sigh and concede that alright, he'll simply do it himself. But of course that is simply his excuse to touch your beautiful hair, of course!

Dwalin loves your hair, adores the way you've let your tresses grow in a fashion any dwarf would be proud of, but he can't deny the irony. Your hair is long, flowing, tumbling far past your shoulders, and yet he has none. By a choice as proud as yours, but still. How could he help teasingly asking you, "Ya sure you don't wanna look like me? Lotta weight off those pretty shoulders." Similarly, Nori teases you, dramatically sweeping it off of your shoulder, that it gets in the way when he’s trying to enjoy you. He loves being able to move it off your face or off your shoulder for a kiss, though, he just can’t help joking around at all the time you take with it and simply how much there is. Of course Fili is going to tease you, it’s part of how he shows he cares. Jokes about if you’ll trip on your hair someday or playfully taking it in his hands to use as a blanket are interspersed with compliments about your beauty and Fili jumping constantly between you and danger. He’s always offering to braid it away from your eyes or tie it up to shorten it if it swings near your feet.

Balin cares about the heart more than the body, so while he cannot deny that your hair is beautiful he would not mind one bit if you lost it all. He brushes or detangles it so gently, but his eyes are on you the whole time and his favorite part of your elaborate care is simply the conversations you share, idle or deep. As someone who doesn’t exactly align with the beauty standards of his people, Bofur acknowledges he’d be quite the hypocrite if he imposed them on you, especially if you aren’t even a dwarf! What he wants most is someone who can make him smile, and as he’s told you you could do that even if you were bald as Dwalin! He lives to reassure you and also enjoys hearing that you’d love him no matter what, too, as you do each other’s braids. Ori is not focused on appearances, either, practically not noticing your hair until he makes to sketch it out and realizes how impressively long it really is. Then he’ll talk to you about it, curiosity overtaking him as he asks questions like how long it took to get it like that, if it gets in the way, what you do for it… Flushes the first time you invite him to touch it, but from then on he’s addicted! Plays with it idly a lot of the time. Kili finds a little bit of beauty in everyone, so long hair or short you can catch his heart. He can’t help swooning over the way your long tresses, braids, however you keep it glisten in the sun. Teasingly reaches out to touch it, but never actually does until he has permission. When he does, though, expect a few playful tugs! Bilbo has even less expectations about your hair as hobbits don’t typically keep theirs so long. It comes as a bit if a surprise to him to see yours, but it reminds him of the beauty of the elves. It’s unfamiliar and he loves the unfamiliar if he lets himself admit it. He does, and from there he insists upon relieving you of that long routine of yours “now that I’m here”.

Taglist: @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart @kilibaggins @mossthebogwitch @ibabblealot @stormchaser819 @pirate-lord-of-narnia @datglutengoblin @letmelickyoureyeballs @mossyskinn | Reply/Message/Ask to join 🥰

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tasteracha · 1 year

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a/n: a teensy little birthday ficlet

it’s your birthday - you expect to be looked after, waited on hand and foot, treated like a goddess sent from the heavens. and you are, for the most part; seungmin tends to not do anything without a small complaint though, so your home-cooked breakfast was served to you with an exaggerated sigh, your nails were painted perfectly with a roll of his eyes, and he covered the both of you in a blanket so that the two of you could cuddle together while you watch your favorite movie with a fond shake of his head.

little acts of service accompanied by snark, as if he couldn’t catch himself loving you, or something. it’s okay, because you know that he does - the ring he put on your finger a few months ago has it engraved on the inside of the band, and it’s not like he can take back the sweet things he said to you when he was on one knee now.

and as such, with the way the day has gone you fully expect you to be taken to bed at night, laid down on the pillows and allowed to be a princess while he ravished your body with his hands and mouth. perhaps a small comment about how desperate you were, how wet he was making you, or something along those lines.

he had other plans though, evidenced by the way he pushes you to your knees near the foot of the bed after he walks you into the bedroom instead of coaxing you into the sheets.

“is my pretty girl ready for her dessert?” he asks, sliding a hand into your hair and scratching at your scalp, leaving you a bit overwhelmed. his hand sends zings of pleasure running through you, and you barely notice the hardness of the floor under your knees in favor of focusing on the way your head spins and your mouth begins to water.

this was seungmin, after all. if you had learned anything about him in the years you’ve been together, it’s that you can’t really ever prepare for him - he was always going to catch you off guard, and you loved it.

he unzips his pants slowly, each tiny metallic sound matching the drumbeat of your heart as he finally frees himself from his boxers and strokes his half-hard cock. his other hand leaves your head, resting just under your chin so he could thumb at your bottom lip.

“can you get wet for me?” he asks, the most polite thing he’s said all day to you. you know he means your mouth, and you let your spit pool up in it, but you can’t help the way you begin to leak into your underwear too. he feeds you his cock centimeter by centimeter, letting you suckle on the top of it before sliding in until he reaches the back of your mouth - not enough to make you gag, but it’s a close thing. he knows your body in and out though, knows exactly how much is teetering on the edge of too much.

“slow,” he instructs, a little breathless as you start to hollow your cheeks around him. “you want to savor your dessert right? this is a special occasion, after all.”

you groan and your eyes flutter shut, and you let the weight of him rest on your tongue. his hands weave back into your hair, holding you in place as he thrusts shallowly in and out of your mouth. you let him have his moment for a minute, sinking into a floaty haze, but it’s not enough.

it’s your birthday, and if you want to suck his goddamn cock then you will.

your eyes snap open as you begin to suck on him in fervor, a bit messy and wet but you know he likes it like that. you swirl your tongue around the head of his cock before swallowing him down, pulling noises out of him that he rarely lets out unless he’s caught off guard. you pull out every move, the dirtiest licks and flicks of your tongue accompanied by you humming around his length, and you know when he gets close by the way his knees buckle a bit and his hands tighten in your hair.

he pulls you off of him with a hiss, panting as he he strokes himself off over you. his free hand cups your face and holds you right where he wants you, chin up so you're staring right into his eyes. you can see the pleasure take over his face and he whispers happy birthday, baby just as the splashes of his release coat your eyelids, the curve of your mouth, the bridge of your nose.

you’re both breathing hard as he calms down, removing his pants before helping you up your feet. he sets you onto the bed and kneads at your thighs with his big hands, leaning in to kiss you without a care in the world towards his come on your face.

“you had your dessert,” he dances his fingertips into the waistband of your shorts, toying at the lacy material of your underwear. “now it’s time for mine.”

–

“i know you said that you were my dessert,” you yawn, much later, pushing your face further into his chest that you had repurposed as a pillow. “but you did get me a cake, right?”

#stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids drabbles #seungmin imagines #seungmin smut #kim seungmin smut #kim seungmin imagines

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veronicahairreplacementcenter123 · 16 days

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kirsteingf · 1 month

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Rosaries & Blasphemy

What do you even do when you have an inappropriate dream about your priest? You confess to your sins, of course!

words: 6.2k (sedate me)

cw: priest!geto, female reader, religious themes (obvs), oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v, creampie, he binds your wrists with a rosary, multiple orgasms, pet names (sweetheart, darling), manipulation, power imbalance, probably some more that i cant think of rn...see you guys in hell (this is purely fantasy and not meant to offend. If you're uncomfortable with any of these themes, simply scroll.)

I didnt proofread this sorry

The early morning sun filtered through a stained glass window, casting amber hues upon the dark oak altar at the front of the room.

You sat near the front, eyes drifting towards Father Geto as he prepared for today's service. His dark hair was pulled back into a neat bun, a few strands framing his sharp features.

Despite his commanding presence, his voice was soft and feathery, and the smile on his lips was warm as he welcomed you all. His gaze rested on you, lingering for a moment before landing on someone else.

The service began, Geto's voice as captivating as always. He knew just how to keep the entire congregation’s attention, weaving scriptures with a depth and intensity that left you all enamoured by his words.

He spoke of faith, of purity and resisting the temptation of sin, his slender fingers resting on the edge of the altar as he scanned the faces that had gathered before him that morning.

“Even the most devout can be led astray.” His eyes settled on you, an unreadable expression on his face. He was smiling, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

You didn't even realise how tense his unwavering stare had made you until it moved onto someone else, and you felt your shoulders relax with a small sigh of relief.

“Sometimes,” He continued, eyes dropping to the scriptures in front of him, “It is the exploration of one's desires that leads to true understanding. In the end, He is rich with mercy.”

Geto paused, letting his words hang in the air for a few moments while he opened his book to the ribboned page.

“Now, let us pray,” He voiced gently, a smile on his face as he watched you press your palms together, bringing them up to your face and bowing your head slightly.

Though your eyes were closed, you could feel the way his eyes bored into you. Your body felt hot, palms sweaty against each other while you tried not to squirm under his scrutiny.

You tried your best to listen as he read the prayer, words rolling off his tongue with a practiced grace. His voice should draw you in, just as it has done many times before– just as it did earlier.

Instead, all you could think about was him. Why did he keep staring at you? Was it disapproval? Judgement? Something else entirely different that made your heart race and your breathing shallow?

No.

Maybe you were imagining things after all. You stole a glance at him, his eyes focused on the pages that rested beneath his fingertips.

Shame flooded you when you dipped your head back down, your nose bumping against your index fingers. He finished the prayer with an ‘amen’, to which the congregation repeated, and closed the service.

Everyone slowly dispersed, chatting quietly among one another whilst you lingered behind. Geto was occupied with an older woman by the altar, most likely receiving praise on the service he'd just given.

Your eyes lingered on him for a few moments, watching as he said his goodbyes to the woman before you decided to follow the last few stragglers outside.

The soft call of your name halted your footsteps, and you turned to see him walking towards you. The golden chain around his neck shone in the sunlight, the cross pendant swaying against his robes.

“Father,” You spoke, turning to face him completely.

“How are you today?” His voice was as warm and welcoming as the smile on his face. “You seemed a little distracted during the service. Is something troubling you?”

So you weren't imagining it.

You swallowed, shaking your head slowly. “No, I'm fine,” You started with a small smile, “Your sermon was inspiring as always.”

He exhaled quietly through his nose, his smile widening a little in amusement.

“Inspiring, hmm? Do you agree with what I said?” He asked, stepping slightly closer to you.

Your fingers tightened around the strap of your bag, nails unintentionally digging into your palm. “Which part, Father?”

“Even the most devout can be led astray,” He recited, eyes scanning your face to gauge your reaction.

You thought about his words, your shoulders tense as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other.

“Oh, well…I'm not really sure,” You stated with a shaky laugh, letting your hand fall to your side.

Geto maintained steady eye contact, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly as he watched his words hit exactly how he wanted them to.

“What about you?” He asked suddenly, tucking his bible under his arm in one fluid motion, his robes swaying with his movements.

You swallowed, his question causing any words that sat on your tongue to get stuck. You cleared your throat, trying to compose yourself. “What about me, Father?”

“Could you be led astray?”

The question made your breath hitch, your eyes widening as you blinked a few times. The silence that followed was thick with some sort of tension, one that had your mind racing while you tried to think of the right words to say.

Geto looked at you with an amused expression– your reaction was exactly what he wanted to see.

“I apologise,” He said, bowing his head curtly.

You cleared your throat, shaking your head with a polite smile. “N-No, don't apologise Father,” You stammered, your cheeks noticeably hotter, “But, I should probably get going.”

He hummed in understanding, nodding his head. “Of course. My door is always open if you are ever feeling troubled,” He reminded you before turning away, his footsteps echoing throughout the church as he walked away.

You stood there for a few moments, the previous conversation hanging heavy in the air, loaded with implications you simply didn't know how to face. Turning to leave, you stole a glance back at him as he did the same, the exchange burning with an intensity that left you on edge.

𓆩♱𓆪

Waking up a panting, sweaty mess wasn't anything new to you. Nightmares usually left you in this state, the room eerily darker in these moments.

But this was different. Your room was hot, a thin sheen of sweat covering the exposed skin of your body and your heart pounded against your ribcage for a whole new reason.

You swore you could still feel his hands on you, his slender fingers pushing your thighs apart, thumbs searing prints onto the plush flesh. The way he looked up at you from his knees as his tongue-

No. No.

You could feel your pulse in places you'd never felt before, and the damp spot in your panties was undeniable. The cross above your dresser caught your attention in your peripheral vision, a new wave of shame washing over you.

How were you going to face him now? After yesterday's conversation and now this, there was no way you'd be able to make eye contact with him.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed, shaking your head and raking your fingers through your hair as if you were willing the thoughts to go away.

Father Geto was a kind man, devoted to his faith and the people of the church, you shouldn't be thinking of him like this. You groaned internally, finally standing from the bed and making your way over to the bathroom.

Maybe a shower is what you needed to clear your mind.

The water was scalding, but it made you feel a bit cleaner as you tried to forget what your subconscious had shown you last night.

“He is rich with mercy.” Geto's words played in your mind, your eyes closed as the water dripped down your face. Perhaps this could be forgiven.

It wasn't as if you had acted on these thoughts, right? You couldn't control what you dreamed about. So why did you feel so ashamed? Maybe it was because, deep down, you wanted-

No, that can't be it. You denied that thought before it even had the chance to fully form in your mind, shaking your head and squeezing your eyes tighter.

Twisting the tap, the water shut off. You slid the shower door open, the cool air of the bathroom nipping at your damp skin causing goosebumps to form. You sighed with a small shiver, squeezing the water from your hair before stepping onto the fluffy shower mat.

You didn't know if it was because you were alone with your thoughts, or if it was the fact that you simply didn't want to forget, but he wouldn't leave your mind. You had to confess.

Confess to your shameful sins and allow Father Geto to reprimand you, remind you of your oath to remain pure, and then make pray for forgiveness from Him.

You wanted to be good, just as you had done for the many years of your life spent devoted to Him and the church.

You wrapped a warm towel around your body, exhaling a small sigh of relief at the little comfort it provided.

By the time you had finished getting yourself ready, the sun had risen fully, golden rays trickling in deceivingly through the partially open blinds. The air outside was cool, and the breeze colder as it blew against your skin.

Church was a lot less busy compared to your usual visits, only two other cars in the car park when you arrived. The usual comfort the place provided was overcome with a new feeling of discomfiture, one so strong you almost got back in your car and went home again.

Swallowing those feelings down, you forced yourself to go ahead. The familiar smell of polished wood and incense filled your nose as you entered, the large doors echoing through the sanctum as they closed behind you.

“Back so soon?” His voice made you jump, your heart rate quickening at the mere sound of it. You turned around, facing him with wide eyes.

“Father,” You said, your voice trembling slightly, “Yes, sorry to intrude.”

Geto shook his head, greeting your startled expression with a warm smile. “You're always welcome here.”

You nodded, all of a sudden finding it hard to keep eye contact with him as last night's dream came flooding back.

“Are you okay?” He asked, a look of slight concern flashing across his face as he studied yours. He motioned for you to follow him to his office, your body seemingly moving on its own after him.

He pulled a chair out for you, allowing you to sit before he took his own seat opposite.

“What's troubling you?”

You squeezed your lips into a thin, straight line, gaze settling on your hands that rested upon your lap.

“I-” You paused, looking up at him with bated breath, “I need to confess something.” You said meekly, balling the material of your dress into your fists.

Father Geto nodded in understanding, a small hum leaving his throat. His expression remained impassive, but his eyes narrowed as he studied you.

“Go on,” He urged, his hands clasped together atop the mahogany table that separated the two of you.

“I've been having sinful thoughts…a dream,” Your voice trembled, barely above a whisper as your gaze avoided his, “About…about you.”

Surprisingly, he didn't flinch upon hearing your words. Didn't cast you out for being a dirty sinner, or tell you to find God elsewhere. Instead, his feline-like eyes crinkled slightly as he smiled at you from across the table.

“It is not uncommon for such temptations to reveal themselves through dreams,” He began reassuringly, which lifted a fraction of the guilt that laid on your shoulders.

“It's important for us to confront these thoughts and understand where they come from– to explore them.” Geto's tone was even, calm and collected as he talked you through your confession. “What was this dream about?”

You felt your cheeks heat up, a mix of embarrassment and shame flooding your being. He watched intently as your inner turmoil etched itself onto your features, lips parted as your words got caught in your throat.

You swallowed thickly, Geto's authoritative presence setting your nerve endings alight. “Well, you were with me in a way that isn't holy,” You explained sheepishly, finally looking up at him. “I feel so ashamed, yet I can't stop thinking about it.”

Father Geto was quiet for a moment, carefully considering his next words, the tick-tick of the tall grandfather clock seemingly getting louder with every passing moment of silence.

“Shame can be a powerful thing,” He finally spoke, his voice almost soothing, “But, it's important to realise that we are all human. We all have desires we don't truly understand.”

You blinked, expecting him to chastise you or perhaps give you a stern lecture on purity and abstinence, not meet you with understanding.

“Even you, Father?” You asked, watching as his eyes flashed a hint of something you couldn't quite place.

“I'm human, am I not?” He replied, amusement in his tone. You felt embarrassed by his answer, nodding slowly.

“Oh- o-of course,” You stammered, the laugh that followed coming out more nervous than you intended.

“Dreams are beyond our control, but they often mirror subconscious desires you didn't even know you had.”

Geto’s eyes darkened, his stare hard enough to pin you in place in your seat. He was composed, resting his elbows on the table and leaning forward, his chin resting on his interlocked fingers.

You remained silent, your tongue suddenly unable to move within your drying mouth.

“You're a respectable woman, seeking purity and righteousness,” He murmured, head tilting to the side, “But tell me, do you feel at peace? Happy?”

You hesitated, his words tugging at the fraying edges of your faith. “I…I believe I do, Father,” You replied, though the conviction in your voice wavered.

“You believe?” He repeated, seemingly entertained by your answer. “It's a yes or no question.” His words were spoken in a low, controlled tone, eyes glinting in a calculated intensity.

For the first time, you questioned your beliefs. You were happy before this dream, right? Happy living a life of faith devoted to the church, to the Lord, where the only thing you desired was the solace this place brought you.

But Geto's words had you questioning everything. What did it mean to explore your desires, to understand them?

“This is all confusing,” You finally spoke, your fingers fiddling with the hem of your cardigan that rested on your thighs.

“That's why I'm here to guide you, hmm?” He assured you, offering you his overturned hands. His slender fingers wrapped around yours as you placed your hands in his, thumbs gently tracing over your knuckles.

“Let me guide you through this.” His voice made your heart beat hard against your ribcage, his touch almost familiar to you. You nodded slowly, eyes never leaving his.

“First, why do you think these desires were revealed to you?” He asked, his tone firm but calm.

You looked down in thought at the way his large hands engulfed yours, the sleeve of his robe gently brushing against your fingertips.

“I don't know…to try and tempt me? Maybe it was a test,” You suggested, looking back up at him. That had to be it, right? You knew desire and temptation themselves weren't wrong, but acting upon them as Eve did with the serpent– that was when it became sinful.

He spoke your name, squeezing your wrists between his thumb and forefingers.

“God created us with the capacity for desire. To explore it is not necessarily to stray away from His path,” He spoke, meticulously choosing his words, giving you no room to question him. “What we view as sinful might just be part of our growth– a way to deepen our understanding of our faith.”

His words hung between you like forbidden fruit, tempting you to question everything you'd believed in– everything he'd taught you.

“Are…are you saying it's okay to give in sometimes?” You asked, the heat from his fingers suddenly blistering against your skin.

Geto chuckled, leaning closer to you. He released his grip on your wrists, resting his chin on his hands once more. “There's no right answer,” He spoke, his voice closer– more intimate, “It's all about you. What do you think is right?”

“I-I don't know what to think.” You pulled your wrists back, resting them in your lap. Geto was someone you trusted, someone you felt was the answer to all of your troubles. He presented himself as such, his saccharine smile and honeyed voice drawing you in, like a spider spinning its web.

His silence encouraged you to think, to give him an answer he deemed satisfactory. “Maybe…maybe it wouldn't be so bad to give in sometimes.”

A small smirk flashed across his lips, barely detectable in your naïveté.

“But, would God forgive me for allowing temptation to consume me?” You asked, worry etching itself onto your features.

Geto's eyes softened slightly, sitting up straight and looking down at you with an unreadable expression. “God forgives even the most depraved of sins.”

He was right.

“He led you here in the first place, did He not? To this church, to me.” He stood from his seat, his shoes clicking against the hardwood floor as he walked round to you.

“Perhaps this was his plan all along. After all,” He paused, resting his hand on the back of your leather chair, twisting it so you were facing him, “Who better than to cleanse you of your sins than the man who helped lead you astray in the first place?”

You were frozen in place, looking up at him innocent and wide-eyed as your heart pounded against your chest, heat rising to your cheeks. Geto looked almost hungry, as if he was devouring you with his eyes– the same way he looked up at you in your dream.

“F-Father,” You breathed, his hands coming out to grip the arm-rests, caging you between him and the chair. He replied with your name, his voice low as he leaned closer to you.

“That dream of yours,” He started, gently pushing a strand of hair away from your face. “What is it I was doing to you?”

You swallowed thickly, your senses completely enveloped by him. He smelled as sweet as spun sugar, his scent almosy as intoxicating as his lingering touch.

“You were using your mouth,” You stammered, embarrassment burning your cheeks at the admission. Geto quirked an eyebrow, his lip curling into a knowing smirk.

“Oh?” Straightening himself up, he slowly unbuttoned his cassock, the golden trim reflecting the small amount of light that illuminated his office. He turned away, hanging the garment on the back of his door, the lock clicking as he looked at you.

You could breathe easier when he wasn't so close to you, but your heart rate wouldn't slow as much as you willed it to, and you couldn't help but feel hot. Your body tensed when you heard his footsteps once again.

“Shall I get on my knees before you, for once?” He asked, unbuttoning the cuffs of his black dress-shirt sleeves, your eyes following as he rolled them up to his elbows. His skin was pale, blue veins prominent across his forearms, his muscles twitching as he moved. He placed a finger under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him.

Your eyes met his, your lips parting as you exhaled a soft breath, nodding silently up at him. He shook his head, his thumb gently tracing along your bottom lip.

“I need to hear you say it, darling,” He hummed, slowly tugging your bottom lip away from your teeth before letting it go, his hand returning to his side.

“Y-Yes father,” You whispered, captivated by his purposeful touches, your mind full of nothing but him. “Please.”

Geto lowered himself to the floor, resting his hands on your knees and slowly prying them apart. He revelled in how pliant you were for him already, allowing yourself to be moved in any way he pleased, should he need to.

“Which do you desire more,” he started, his fingertips tracing along the sensitive skin of your inner-thigh, hauling the skirt of your dress up with it. “My hand? Or…” He trailed off, leaning closer until you could feel his hot breath fanning against the other. “My mouth?”

You let out a shaky breath, your hands gripping onto the armrests as if trying to ground yourself. No one had ever touched you like this, not even yourself. You stared down at him, watching as his lips dragged teasingly against your plush skin.

“Both.”

“Both?” Geto paused, a soft chuckle leaving his mouth. “Greed is also a sin, you know,” He remarked, smirking up at you from between your legs. The shame that washed over you from his words felt different, going straight to your core.

“I-I know,” You stammered, head too clouded to even begin thinking about formulating a proper response. You were restless, his stilled touch so close yet so far.

“Please,” Your voice came out as almost a whimper, spurring him to continue inching closer to your middle.

“Patience is a virtue, my dear.” Geto's fingers teased the material of your panties, his lips pressing against you as he trailed open mouthed kisses along your thigh. His index finger hooked under the hem, pulling them back slightly before letting the elastic snap against your skin.

He watched with a smirk as your body jolted above him, a gasp leaving your mouth from the sting. His fingers tapped against your hip, pulling away to sit on the heels of his feet.

“Lift up for me.”

You used the chair as leverage, lifting yourself up so he could peel your underwear down your thighs. His eyes drank in every inch of your flustered appearance– the rise and fall of your chest, the clumsy way in which you moved under his command, the way your eyes avoided his piercing gaze.

It was better than he could've ever imagined.

Stuffing your panties in his pants pocket, he hooked his hand underneath your right knee, slinging your leg over his shoulder. The skirt of your dress pooled on your stomach, the cool air hitting your exposed pussy making you inhale sharply.

Geto licked his lips, biting back a groan at the mere sight of you sprawled out for him like this. He leaned down, the heat of his face radiating against you. It was perverse, the low, pleasured hum leaving his throat after inhaling your sweet scent.

“Heavenly,” He murmured, eyes flicking up to meet yours as he dipped his head down, placing a soft kiss just shy of your pussy. You squirmed beneath him, breaths coming out in short, needy puffs.

“Please, stop teasing-” You cut yourself off with a gasp, Geto licking a stripe through your slit, his fingers spreading you open for him. It was warm, igniting an inextinguishable fire throughout your body that seemed to spread all the way to your nerve endings.

“Taste so good,” He breathed, savouring your taste with another slow lick, the tip of his tongue lightly circling your clit once before he pulled away. He slipped his middle finger between his lips, your eyes glued to the way his tongue swirled around the digit.

“Both, hm?” He said, his fingertip gently brushing over your hole. You nodded, bottom lip pulled between your teeth, stifling any noises that threatened to escape. He slowly pushed inside, watching as your eyebrows knitted together in slight discomfort from the intrusion.

It quickly subsided the moment Geto leant down again, flicking his tongue over your clit. Pleasure overwhelmed your senses, your mouth hanging open to let the string of quiet moans slip from your throat.

He slowly began to move his finger, your walls gripping him back inside the moment he pulled back. His tongue matched the slow pace, fluidly slipping over the sensitive bud in a way that left your mind clouded.

“Does that feel good?” He asked, lips moving against your pussy as he spoke. His finger didn't stop moving, curling up ever so slightly when you opened your mouth to speak, your words getting caught in your throat. Geto smirked, lips wrapping around your clit as a second finger prodded at your entrance.

“Feels so good,” You managed to say, head leaning back against the chair as he slipped the other digit in alongside the first. He hummed in acknowledgement, suckling gently on your clit as you adjusted to the new stretch.

If this was sin, you had no idea why. How could something this good be sinful? If God didn't want you to feel pleasure like this, why would He give Father Geto the ability - the knowledge - to make you feel this way? Everything was blurred– you didn't know what to feel anymore.

“Oh, God,” You whined, unable to even feel shame at how easily the blasphemous words spilled from your lips.

Geto groaned against you, quickening the pace of his fingers as he pulled away, just enough for him to be able to speak.

“Don't worry,” He started, curling his fingers up into that sweet spot inside you, “He's watching. C'mon, sweetheart, beg Him for forgiveness.”

Your head snapped down to look at him, pussy clenching around his fingers as you stared at him wide-eyed. Your cheeks were hot, a mix of shame, guilt and pleasure surging through your quivering form.

“W-What?” You stuttered, a moan following as he snapped his wrist into you in one fluid motion.

“You heard me,” His eyebrows quirked upwards, almost as if he was warning you and he curled his fingers once more. “Beg Him, or I'll stop.”

You whimpered pathetically, looking up to the ceiling. Your fingernails dug into the leather of the armrests, and you opened your mouth.

“Is that how we pray?” Geto cut you off before you even had the chance to speak. His free hand gripped your wrist, pushing it towards your face, followed closely by the other one. You opened your hands, pressing your palms together and looking up once again.

“That's a good girl,”

“P-Please forgive me for the sins I have… I-I am committing,” You corrected yourself, speaking through moans. Your body trembled as Geto's tongue matched his fingers' relentless pace. An unfamiliar heat was building up at your core, like a coil tightening inside you.

“Don't stop,” You whined, your fingers interlocking with each other as if you were pleading with him. He had no plans to, feeling the way your pussy pulsed around his fingers– he knew you were close.

Your hand came down, gently untangling the hair-tie from Geto's hair so you could thread your fingers through the silky strands, tugging as your hips involuntarily rocked against his tongue.

A low groan left his throat, the slight sting causing his cock to twitch against his pants, his fingers repeatedly curling inside you.

“Don't stop, don't stop,” You chanted, until no more noise could come out. A wave of intense pleasure washed over you, and you couldn't help the next string of high pitched moans that left your parted lips.

Geto helped you ride out your orgasm, continuing his movements until he felt your body go limp against the chair, your grip on his hair loosening. You panted, eyes glued to the cross that hung on the wall behind Geto's desk.

He followed your gaze briefly before looking back at you, licking his lips as he slowly withdrew his fingers from your sopping cunt.

“Open,” He commanded, using his free hand to grip your chin, forcing you to look at him. He slipped his fingers into your mouth, the sweet taste of yourself engulfing your taste buds.

Geto watched as your tongue ran between his fingers, collecting your own juices and greedily swallowing them down.

“Good girl,” He hummed, pulling his hand away and gently tapping against your cheek, leaving a sheen of saliva on your skin. “Now stand up for me.”

You obeyed, legs moving before your brain could even register his demand. He took your wrist in his hand, leading you to his desk and placing the other on the back of your neck.

“Bend over.”

The desk felt cool under your hands, the smell of polish filling your nose. Your thighs trembled from your previous orgasm, heart still pounding in your chest.

Geto's hand gently squeezed your neck, his thumb and forefinger briefly cutting off the circulation in your veins. He pushed your face against the desk, blood rushing to your head when he released his grip, his fingertips teasingly tracing down your spine.

“Do you know how many times I've thought about you like this?” He purred, pushing your dress up above your ass.

He took your wrists in his hand and pinned your arms behind your back, the other reaching for the onyx beaded rosary that laid across the Bible beside you.

“How many times I've imagined being able to break you like this–” He expertly wrapped the beads around your wrists, hooking two fingers into the loop and tugging it tight.

You hissed as the beads dug into your skin, a small whimper leaving your mouth from the dull ache. Geto bent forward, his clothed cock pressing against your bare pussy as his lips ghosted the shell of your ear.

“I can only thank God for leading you to me,” He whispered, breath fanning across your skin making you shiver. How could something so wrong make you feel so good?

He stood up straight, the sound of his belt buckle clicking against leather accompanying the sound of your quickening breaths. His zip followed, and he pulled his pants down enough to free his cock from the restrictive clothing.

A breathy moan left his throat as he stroked himself a few times, using his precum to slide his slender fingers over his length.

“Are you ready for me?” He asked, stepping forwards so he could slide his tip through your wetness, rubbing it slowly against your sensitive clit.

You nodded, pussy tightening around nothing as he teased you. You heard Geto click his tongue, tugging on the rosary once more, causing you to let out a small whine.

“Tell me, I need to hear you say it.”

“I-I'm ready,” You mewled, your wrists writhing against the harsh dig of the beads. “Please, I need it.”

Geto smirked, stopping his teasing and positioning himself at your entrance. It took every bit of restraint he had not to snap his hips forwards into your heat, hissing through gritted teeth as he pushed his tip past the initial tightness.

The fact that you were pure, untouched and completely at his disposal ignited something inside him, his dick twitching as your walls enveloped him.

“Fuck,” He groaned, drawn out and low as his head rolled back.

You felt full, more-so than when he used his fingers, his length reaching places you weren't even sure were possible.

“Relax,” He whispered, placing a soothing hand on your back as he bottomed out. You let out a shaky breath, your pussy tightening around him impossibly more.

His cock dragged deliciously against your walls as he slowly withdrew from you, his hand moving to grip your hip as if steadying himself.

Shame wasn't even enough to deter you now, each little reminder of your faith just adding to the heat pooling inside you. It was wrong, beyond so, but everything he made you feel turned into pure pleasure.

Geto set an agonisingly slow pace, relishing the way your body responded to his every touch– your fingernails digging into your palms every time he pushed in, the quiet noises you made when his tip bumped against that sweet spot inside you, and the way you panted when he pulled almost the whole way out.

“More, p-please,” You stammered, pushing your hips back into his almost desperately. Geto chuckled above you, his cock twitching at your plea as he began to fuck into you faster.

“Such a greedy girl, aren't you?” He breathed, fingers digging into your hip hard enough to leave bruises in the shape of his fingerprints. He let the rosary loosen around your wrists, the beads sprawling across your back as he reached around to slip two fingers past your lips.

“Suck,” He ordered, and you obeyed. You moaned around him, your tongue swirling around the two digits as best as you could with your body jolting forwards against his thrusts.

“That's it,” He encouraged, pulling his fingers out and reaching down to rub light circles into your clit. “Good girl.”

Moans and whimpers left your mouth with every snap of his hips, your legs buckling beneath you with the added pleasure of his fingers– it was unlike anything you'd ever felt before.

You could feel your core tightening, that familiar feeling building up inside you as his cock bullied into your g-spot, his fingers working to bring you closer and closer to the edge.

“Cum for me, angel,” His sweet voice was a stark contrast to the way his dick slammed into you, your eyes squeezing shut as you felt yourself teetering on the edge.

It didn't take long for your second orgasm to come crashing down on you, your pussy clamping tight around him as he fucked you through it, a string of curses and praise leaving his mouth.

Geto wasn't done, his hips keeping the same relentless pace as he chased his own high, his hand coming up to thread through your hair. He gripped onto it, pulling your limp body up so he could see your face as he pounded into you.

You looked almost pitiful– your mouth hanging open, tears welling in your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure he was inflicting upon you. To Geto, you looked angelic. Felt it too.

He gripped your chin, tilting your head back to reveal the expanse of your neck. You could feel his ragged breaths against your skin as his lips trailed down to where your shoulder began.

“I'm gonna fill you up, mhm?” He whispered, a hint of desperation in his voice as he tried to maintain his rhythm. “Make you mine completely.”

You nodded, putty in his hands as he sunk his teeth into your skin in an attempt to stifle the broken moan that left his throat. After a few more sloppy thrusts, he finally felt a wave of pleasure wash over him, stilling inside you as he released ropes of cum into your waiting pussy.

Geto released his grip on your hair, and you both reached out to steady yourselves against the desk as he rode out his orgasm.

“Holy fuck,” He breathed, resting his forehead on your shoulder as he tried to catch his breath. The air around you was hot– Hot enough that you wouldn't be surprised if Father Geto had landed you straight in Hell.

You felt guilty.

Geto hissed quietly as he pulled out of you, his release dripping down your thighs, some landing on the stone tile beneath your feet. The feeling made the guilt dissipate, a constant confusing flick between wrong and right.

“Looks like I made a mess of you,” He observed, zipping his pants back up and buckling his belt. He grabbed a box of tissues from the desk and passed them to you. “I apologise.”

You stood up straight, the material of your dress falling against your knees as you took the box. Your eyes avoided his, grabbing a few napkins to clean yourself up before dropping them into the bin.

“It's okay,” You said, looking up as he threaded his fingers through his hair, making himself look presentable again.

“Thank you for, um- Thank you for showing me how to confront those thoughts,” You stammered, fingers gently massaging the light bruises left on your wrists from the rosary he'd bound you with.

Geto took your wrists in his hands, thumbs tracing over the marks with a soft smile. “Of course,” He said, bringing them up to his lips to place a small kiss on each one. Your heart swelled at the small gesture, and you found yourself smiling back up at him despite the conflicting feelings in your mind.

“Well,” Geto turned, walking over to the door and unlocking it. He grabbed his cassock from the hook, slipping it back on and buttoning it up before turning to you. “If you ever feel like…exploring your desires again, you know where you find me.”

You swallowed, nodding your head. “Oh, yes.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, following behind him and placing your hand on the handle. “I'll see you again soon, Father Geto.”

You looked up at him and he stared back, his reflection tainting the innocence you once held in your eyes. He smiled, watching the way your body reacted to his touch as he placed a hand on the small of your back.

“Of course.”

You opened the door, mind too busy to realise that you were completely bare under your dress as you walked away. The familiar feeling of his eyes boring into you sent a shiver through your body, and you used every ounce of your remaining self control to keep looking forward.

“I'll pray for you.” His voice called out, your heart sinking to your stomach.

Yeah, you were well and truly fucked.

#getou suguru x reader #getou x reader #geto x reader #priest geto #jjk x reader #suguru x reader #geto suguru #jjk geto

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forgeofthenine · 10 months

Note

Hello There ! 👋😊

I have a request for Zevlor if it's OK...! 🖤

It may be a bit specific, so feel free to only pick the elements you like !

The general idea would be "shy!pining!Tav asks Zevlor for a lock of his hair before the final battle. "

As for the optional details, I was thinking tav would be a cleric (of Sêluné, but if you have another deity in mind, no problem!) who would enclose this lock of hair in a locket or a cameo. You'd have to have the strand of someone you love deeply and unconditionally to create a very powerful Protector spell on the caster. The 'donor' (in this case, Zevlor) doesn't have to feel the same for it to work. (even if he does feel the same of course 😉)

Bonus point if Zevlor learns of this spell AFTER the end of the story, post!canon.

Feel free to pick only what interests you or ignore this request!😚

Smooches!

Hi Beardy! I loved writing this one and the prompt was so fun!! It doesn't have Zevlor finding out and the reader is a bit less shy, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. When I have less requests I'd love to potentially write a part two for this that includes Zev figuring things out! <3

The locket of hellrider protection

All that could be felt in the room was the thick, stiff tension. Despite multiple rousing speeches, mere words couldn't drown out the sounds of the cities destruction as it collapses to rubble. The dim light in the hall reveals the worried faces of the dozens of inhabitants.

Stray rocks crunch and grind under your boot as you cross the crowded room. Weaving through Harpers and Gur, waving towards your fellow cleric of Selûne as she stands with Dame Aylin. Others smile or nod towards you, familiar tieflings all standing next to an excited owlbear that is suddenly ten times the size you remember. Finally, you make your way to the one person you wanted to see, the composed tiefling standing near the door.

He looks better than when you last saw him, no longer covered in bruising and slime after his time in the mindflayer pod. As you approach Zevlor perks up, eyes brightening as he quietly clears his throat. A small nod is sent your way as you come to stand in front of the tall tiefling.

"If it isn't my favourite paladin, you look well Zevlor." You greet, a tone of relief in your voice as you mention his looks. The tiefling really does look better, a good colour on his cheeks, his posture taller with shoulders pulled back. He looks even more attractive than you remember.

The flush on his face deepens, Zevlor breaking into a small smile at your words. "Such high praise from one so heroic. The way to Baldurs gate has been full of strife, but I'm glad to see you here." The paladins voice was raspy, the slight edge to it that's always there, and the mere sound after so long sends a shiver down your spine.

"As am I, I must admit I was worried after we last met." You can see the way his shoulders tense slightly at the memory of the Shadowlands, of the mindflayer colony. "But, I'm glad to see my worry was misplaced. Though, I do have a favour to ask, before we have to leave." Your eyes shift around the room, seeing everyone stirring and readying to leave. You're almost out of time.

Zevlor realises the same, giving you a polite nod. "Anything you'd like, I and my hellriders are at your service." His words are earnest, soft, despite the high tensions and bustle of the room. The tieflings endless composure is reassuring, even as the world falls down around you both.

"I won't ask for much, only a lock of your hair if I can." The question is still hesitant, knowing it's an intimate request. Still, despite the initial widening of his eyes and a momentarily look of shock, he pulls his hair free from its styling. It falls around his face, framing the light blush you can see in the candlelight.

"Feel free, it's the least I can do for someone that has done so much for me." Zevlor bows his head, letting you take what you'd like. The hair under your fingers is soft and thick, your fingers running through it lightly as his eyes come gently to a close. Carefully, you bring a sharp dagger up, freeing a lock of dark hair that comes to rest in your palm. It's tiny, entirely straight, but it will fulfill its purpose just as the two of you will.

As Zevlor straightens himself, he watches you place it in your locket bearing Selûnes symbols. His eyes peer curiously as you bring the lockets chain back over your neck, the metal casing holding a piece of him close to you at all times. "Thank you, Zevlor. You... I appreciate this, so much." You tell him, bringing a hand gently to his bicep.

His own hand covers yours, so incredibly warm even through his leather gloves. "Whatever you need, whatever I can provide." He promises, the words said only for the two of you to hear. Though, even without hearing the words, there is one person in the room giving you two a knowing look. Isobel, another cleric of Selûne is aware of just what you've asked, her own locket with Aylins hair warm against her own skin.

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 x reader #bg3 x reader #baldurs gate 3 zevlor #bg3 zevlor #zevlor x reader #zevlor x tav #zevlor x you #bri answers

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love-and-monsters · 1 year

Text

Feathered Dragon Partner

Nonbinary feathered dragon X gn reader, 11382 words

So I finished this and I did not proofread it and now I’m posting it so. I hope it scans. Let me know what you guys think. Might be kind of quiet on here for a while bc I’m trying to actually write my own novel, so. We’ll see how that goes. Anyway, enjoy.

A chance encounter at the market, a free sample, and an unfortunate injury. What do they all have in common? Why, a certain feathery, scaly friend who is quite interested in you!

Content warning for minor injury and mention of medical malpractice causing physical harm.

The Avieras Festival was in full swing, and you were ducking, dodging, and weaving your way through the patrons that packed the street so thickly it was near-impossible to find space. Most of them were in elaborate costumes, which only made navigating tricker. Some wouldn’t care if you trod on a hem or feather as you hurried by, but others would care. And they usually cared enough to spend ten minutes lecturing you on exactly how expensive the fabric you’d just ruined with your bootprint was. And sometimes they even cared enough to stick you with a dry cleaning bill, which was really the last thing you needed. So, you avoided stepping on people in general.

Festival days were good business days, generally, but you needed to find the right location to set up. Too much in the thick of it and you’d risk your wares getting knocked over by overeager or drunk patrons. Too far out and no one would be interested.

You located, after a few minutes of searching, an alcove that offered enough shade to be comfortable, and enough light to draw in patrons. As soon as you reached the spot, you snapped open your charmed bag and pulled out a sturdy roll of carpet, which you set on the ground in front of you, and your wares.

A table would have been better to show them off, since putting them so close to the ground risked them getting dirty, but even a collapsed folding table would have been hard to fit through the opening of your bag, so you let it be. The carpet sufficed, and you had two thin racks to display your best work upon. They would be sufficient to draw customer attention.

This part was the worst part. You enjoyed the crafting and the creating and not so much the selling. But, well. It was part of the job. So, you slapped the best smile you could on your face and started waving enthusiastically to the crowd. Every now and then, you’d see someone pause as their eyes snag on one of your creations and you called out to them. “Hello, ma’am! Yes, this mask will go wonderfully with your costume, see the lovely yellow, and the purple accents will bring out the richness of the color! Oh, and I have a hairpiece that goes perfectly if you’d like to bundle them together-”

You’re not bad at selling, but it does feel a lot like you’re putting up an act. It’s not like you’re not proud of your work- you wouldn’t sell your festival masks and accessories if you weren’t pleased with how they came out. But the energy required to act cheery and polite and overly-enthusiastic was ridiculously draining. By a couple of hours in, your stock was over half-gone, and you were utterly grateful. Perhaps you would sell out early and you could grab some delicious fried food and scuttle away to your home before the night got too wild.

“Well, aren’t these just delightful,” someone mused from entirely too close to you, and it took all your customer service skills to smile cheerfully instead of screaming and leaping out of your skin.

The prospective customer was leaning over your stand, gazing at your wares with clear interest. You recognized them, if only dimly. They worked as a butcher, and you’d seen them several times when you picked up food from the store. However, they’d always had their hair up and their feathers tucked away when they worked. Now, they were letting their hair hang free down their back, almost to their waist. Their skin was oddly colored, almost milky, with scales along the backs of their limbs. Plumes of feathers decorated their ears and their scaled tail. AS they shifted their weight, one of their hands resting on their generous hips, their skin caught the light and glowed in opalescence. The scales on their forehead had been picked out with some silvery makeup, making them stand out even more.

You picked your jaw off the floor and slapped your customer service hat back on. “Ah, thank you very much! You already seem fairly well-feathered, but perhaps I could offer you a small hairpin? I have some that aren’t quite so ornate if you’re looking for something lower key.”

As they leaned forward to examine your wares, you swept a critical eye over them. It was sort of a fun guessing game you tried to play with yourself, to figure out exactly what species each customer was. Most of the time, you didn’t get an answer, since it was pretty rude to ask someone casually what they were, but it was still fun. The oddest one had been a combination between a merfolk and a dragon, which had resulted in something like a human upper half, albeit completely covered in scales, and a sea-serpent tail. They’d also been a remarkably good customer, though they’d tried haggling for a better price.

This person… well, the scales suggested a dragon, but feathered dragons were rare, and even more rarely did they assume a humanoid form. Not to mention they had wings. Perhaps some sort of hybrid, then? Or maybe a harpy and dragon hybrid? You’d never seen one, though it did seem like this one should be more feathered if it really was a combination.

They cleared their throat and you hurried to focus your mind on their purchase. You could speculate after they were done. “See anything you like?”

“I believe so,” they said, their eyes flicking up to meet yours. “But I…” They hesitate, their tail curling. The feathered tufts of their ears twitch. “I…”

“Can’t decide?” you asked. It was always sort of flattering when customers felt that way- nice to know you’d been able to catch their eye with multiple pieces. Perhaps a better salesperson would have convinced them to buy both, but you figured if they wanted both, they would have bought them in the first place. You were happy to sell even one piece. “I can help you decide. Which ones do you like?”

The customer hesitated, then selected two ornamented hair clips- a pale pink and a deep sea-green. Both of them matched shades that appeared in their feathers and along their glimmering scales. Either would have been a good choice. You picked them up and held them out consideringly.

“Here, let’s see…” You held both clips up, one on either side of their face, and directed them to look into the mirror. “The pink one is a bit simpler than the green one- less feathers and jewels, see? You’ve got feathers on you already, so I don’t think you need the excess feathers, unless you’re going for an over-the-top look.” You glance over them with a critical eye. “However, the pink also blends in with your outfit a little more, so if you want it to stand out, the green might work better. Are you thinking of wearing this for daily use or just when you’re getting dressed up for a festival or party?”

“I suppose daily,” they said, tilting their head from side to side. Their eyes, bright yellow as topaz, glitter in the sunlight.

“Then the pink might be a little more lowkey,” you declared. “But it’s all up to you, of course.”

They hesitated for a moment longer, considering. “The pink, then,” they said.

“Wonderful,” you said, placing the green clip down on the table. “Would you like me to wrap this or would you like to wear it right away?”

“Right away,” they said.

“Sure! Makes sense that you’d want to wear it for the festival,” you said. “Now, your total is fifteen shen.”

They reached into their pocket to pull out their wallet and passed you a few coins. You tucked them smoothly away. “I can put it in your hair for you, if you’d like,” you added. They stared at you, yellow eyes going wide. “Only if you’d like! Some people just have a difficult time getting the clip into their hair on their own- but you can also just borrow a mirror if you would like.”

“No, I would appreciate the help,” they said. You gestured for them to turn and they did so, crouching down to allow you to reach. They were tall, so that was another suggestion they were related to a dragon. Then again, you had some gnomish blood, so most everyone was taller than you.

You gathered the silky strands of their hair into your hand and settled the clip in place. They twitched a little under your touch and their tail shuddered when you took an extra moment to stroke a few strands of hair back into place.

“There. Does it look all right to you?” you asked, offering them a mirror that was angled so they could see the back of their head. They nodded and brushed off their front as they stood.

“Thank you for the help,” they said. “And your work is quite lovely. I hope you’re finding success here.”

“That’s very kind of you,” you said. “Ah, here, take this as well!” You reached down and grabbed a small, though still pretty, tail cuff. It was designed to clip into place, with an adjustable band to keep it from slipping down the tail. You pressed it into their hands.

The feathers on their tail and ears fluffed up in surprise. “Oh- but I didn’t pay for-”

“The Avieras Festival is for celebrating feathered creatures,” you said, pressing the tail cuff on them more insistently. “Think of it as a party favor. And you’ve been quite sweet, I think you deserve it.”

Their eyes went wide and they took the tail cuff like it was a holy artifact. “Thank you,” they said. They smiled, showing off their pearly white canines. “You really are a sweet thing, aren’t you?”

With that, they reached out, affectionately patted my cheek, then headed off into the crowd. You blinked after them. You had been pretty sure you were flustering them for a moment there, so it was a bit strange to have the entire thing turned around on you. Fortunately, another customer arrived in a moment and you could launch straight back into your customer service mode.

The pace of sales picked up throughout the night. You sold out quicker than you’d anticipated, with plenty of time to enjoy the festival. You packed away your belongings in your bag and headed out to explore.

It was late evening as you headed out into the main section of the festival. The town center was full of people dressed in feathered outfits. The Avieras Festival was a celebration of avians- typically, that meant people with some kind of bird relation, like harpies, but it technically included all kinds of feathered creatures. That meant that everyone was dressed in feathers. Some people had more elaborate outfits than others, with multicolored feathers and even bird masks, but most people were just wearing feather accessories. Harpies and other flying creatures soared through the sky in an impressive array of aerial dancing. Music floated through the air with them, bright and lively.

Exploring the festival involved you getting as much unique food as you could and shoving it all in your mouth while you examined the items for sale. There were several games set up along the streets. One of them was a modified version of flight chicken, where two contestants were suspended by magic and then dropped toward the (magically cushioned) ground. The goal was to pin your opponent underneath you before you hit the ground. While most people participating seemed pretty poor at it, the matches that involved experienced partners were fascinating. There were a couple other games that were usually played in the air that had been modified so everyone could enjoy them, plus some other games that could by played just as easily by people on the ground. You tried a couple of rounds of a game like ring toss, which involved getting a wooden circle to land around a peg from several feet up, and won a tiny, simple wooden bird. You probably could have bought it for less than you’d paid to play the game, but willing it made the experience better.

After playing a few more games, you wandered over to the art installation that covered the far side of the festival. It was meant to cover the multiple traditional forms of art from different harpy flocks, from fashion to paintings, and there were even a few sphinx artifacts. A large platform toward the middle of the installation held a rotating cast of musicians and dancers. You paused to watch a group of harpies weave in and around each other, smoothly moving from dancing on the ground to in the air. A sphinx passed by, flexing her wings in time to the music. You even caught sight of what was probably an aasimar, gold-skinned and faintly glowing, examining a flight cape.

By the time you finished the art exhibit, it was getting late. Several of the games and activities made for children had packed up, and the party had shifted to more of a late-night-club vibe. Pulsing lights lined the buildings, casting a multicolored glow across the scene. It was pretty, and you did consider staying for a bit longer, but you were already exhausted from selling and walking around. As a large portion of the townspeople headed out to continue the party, you headed back to your home.

The streets got clearer the further you headed away from the festivities, though there were still pockets of people. Some of them were rather drunk. Just as you turned a corner, a group of stumbling drunks bowled into you, practically trampling you as you fell to the ground.

“Hey!” you protested, but your voice wasn’t that loud thanks to your surprise. Two of them, the taller two of the bunch, barely seemed to notice you. The third one turned and gave you an apologetic wave before being dragged off.

You cursed to yourself as you got up. Parties always brought out the asshole drunks- admittedly, you were on the small side (curse that gnomish blood) and the lighting wasn’t good here, so it was possible that they hadn’t seen you. But they still could have at least paused when they hit you!

“Oh dear,” someone murmured, and you heard rapidly approaching footsteps. Someone crouched and a slender, pale hand entered your field of vision. “Are you all right? Can you get up?”

“I’m fine,” you groused, taking their hand so they could tug you up. “Not hurt or anything- ow.” You put weight on your left leg and it throbbed. Probably not broken or even sprained, but there was going to be a very nasty bruise in the morning.

“I beg to differ,” your helper said, and you finally looked at them properly. To your surprise, you knew who they were. Their hair clip and tail clip were still secured neatly in place, right where they’d been place when they’d bought them. “You’re bleeding.”

“What?” You lifted one of your hands to brush the dirt off your shirt and paused when you saw the oozing scratches along your palms. There were little bits of grit in the cuts. You winced. “Ow. Damn.”

“You should get those cleaned out,” they said. “Here, there’s a water pump nearby.” They took you gently by your wrist and led you a few feet away to a public water pump. They withdrew a pack of tissues from their side pouch and wet them before turning back to you. “Let me see your hands.”

You extended your hands out, palms up. They gave you a grateful smile and started swiping the wet tissues over the cuts.

It stung, of course, and you sucked in a sharp breath. They crooned in their throat, a gentle shushing noise. “I know it hurts, I just need to get all that gunk out.” Their thumb traced your wrist, stroking over the pulse point. You swallowed.

They took a few moments to clean it out, then paused, tilting your hand back and forth to make sure the dirt is gone. “There we are,” they murmured. “I don’t have any bandages on me, I’m afraid.”

“It’s really not necessary,” you said. “They’re just small scratches. See, they’re hardly even bleeding anymore.” You held your hand out- the cuts were still red, but no longer bleeding. They looked them over carefully, their tail swaying slightly as they focused.

“And nothing else hurts?” they asked. “You’re feeling okay otherwise?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m fine. It’s not a problem.”

They nodded, then looked around you to glare in the direction the tramplers had gone. “Hmph. Shame that festivals can bring out the worst in people. They didn’t even bother to stop.”

“No, but I’m fine, really,” you said.

They flicked their tail with a ruffle of feathers. “Yes, but you if you haven’t been…” They shook their head. “Ah, well. I suppose we should just be grateful it wasn’t worse.” They slipped their hand under your chin with a feather-light touch and tilted your head back and forth. “And at least there’s no damage to your cute face, hm?”

A warm flush rolled over your entire body. Their tone was lightly teasing, but still quite sweet, and it wasn’t like you were used to receiving flirtation like that. You stepped back, pulling your chin from their grasp in embarrassment. “I- uh. Th- thank you.”

They hummed pleasantly. “Of course. No problem.” They gave you another look over, their brows furrowing. “Ah… would you mind if I walked you home? I don’t mean to be pushy, but I do want to make sure you’re safe.”

“I think I’ll be fine,” you said, taking a step forward. One of your ankles throbbed, but it held your weight.

They looked unconvinced. “You’re favoring your left ankle. Are you certain you’re all right?”

“Probably,” you said. “It hurts, but my home’s only a couple of blocks from here. I can manage.”

They frowned. Their tail swayed back and forth. “At least let me walk with you? I just don’t want you collapsing as soon as you’re out of sight. It will give me some comfort.”

“If you insist,” you said, offering them a weak smile. They seemed genuinely worried about you, and in all honestly, you weren’t totally sure how well you could walk anyway.

They stayed by your side as you headed toward your house. A couple of times, they needed to reach out and steady you when you forgot your ankle was bad and put your weight on it. The insistent throbbing pain got worse every few steps, and by the time you were within a few feet of your home, you were practically dragging your leg behind you. Your eyes watered with the pain.

Your companion put a hand to your shoulder, encouraging you to lean against them. “Are you certain you shouldn’t see a healer?” they asked. “You look like you’re about to collapse.”

“If it still feels bad tomorrow, I’ll see a healer. Right now, I just need to put it on ice and elevate it,” you said.

“If you’re sure,” they said. They paused, still looking at you with obvious worry, then their expression brightened. “Ah, let me give you this.” They rummaged in their pocket for a moment, then pulled out a small, shimmering disc. They took one of your hands in their own, turning it so your palm was facing upright, then pressed the small disc into your palm. Their hands completely covered yours. You could feel the disc against your palm, thin but surprisingly sturdy.

“What is it?” you asked as they withdraw their hands. You lifted the disc closer to your face to examine it. It was thin, strong, and pale colored. When you turned it in your hands, a pale stream of light illuminated it, turning it opalescent. Exactly like-

“It’s one of my scales,” they say. “If your ankle is worse tomorrow, you can just say my name to it and I’ll come to help you out.”

You blinked. “Really? But- are you sure?” Scales were strange things to give away. For the magically inclined, scales could be made to always be connected to their body, even when physically separated. If you said your name to the scale, they would know you were calling for them, no matter how far away you were.

They winked, golden eyes gleaming. “Say Tazriel, and I’ll come. I like making sure good people are well taken care of.” With no further explanation, they strolled off into the night. Their pale scales made them stand out against the gloom for a while before they finally faded into shadows.

You tucked the scale close to your chest as you hobbled the rest of the way home. It wasn’t far, and after resting for a few moments, you felt better. Though when you had to rummage through your freezer get the ice out, then stack your pillows to elevate your leg, then get comfortably settled in you seat only to realize you had to pee- well, maybe it would have been better to have a little help.

You fell asleep after some time of fitfully turning and shifting in your position. It was hard to find a comfortable sleeping spot with your ankle elevated. And apparently your sleeping body had no consideration for your health, because when you woke up, your ankle was no longer elevated, but twisted haphazardly under you. When you flexed it to get an idea of how fucked you were, pain rolled up your ankle and punched you in the gut. Okay. Pretty fucked.

It took a few tries to actually stand and hobble your way into the bathroom to really assess things. Your ankle was swollen and bruised and it hurt to put weight on it. Bad. You couldn’t assess whether or not it was broken, but it was sprained at a minimum. God dammit. You’d really wanted to avoid seeing a doctor. Maybe you could just give it time? If it healed on its own, everything would be fine, right? And if it didn’t get any better, then you could see a doctor. There was no reason to go to all the trouble when you hadn’t even given it a chance to heal. Right?

Part of you was aware that you were in denial and grasping at straws. A larger part of you was willing to accept anything that meant no doctor’s visit. So you hobbled your way back to bed, with a pit stop in the kitchen to stock up on food, and flopped back down, fully intending to stay in that spot all day.

As you did so, you saw something gleaming on the covers next to you. You scooped it up and- oh, right. The scale.

You rolled the little thing over in your fingers, enjoying how the light played off of its surface. It would be gorgeous to use on one of your projects- though they’d also probably be hard to get. Most people didn’t make a habit of handing out their scales, and even if you managed to find a seller, the quantity would be pretty small. Couldn’t be yanking out every one of your scales to sell, of course.

You rotated it in your hands, recalling their words from the night before. Say Tazriel and I’ll come. Interesting. That was a little unusual. People, as you’d already said, didn’t tend to go handing out their scales. On the other hand, they had seemed genuinely kindhearted and concerned, and you’d never heard a bad word about them. Though, to be fair, most of the words you heard about them tended to focus on how pretty they were. But still, people in this town were gossips, so if anyone had a problem with them, you were sure you’d have heard of it. But you’d also never heard of them handing out their scales like candy to anybody else. Bit of a mystery there.

After a few more moments of looking at the scale and considering, you turned and set it carefully on the table next to your bed. The offer was kind, but you were reluctant to drag anyone else into your mess. Maybe if it wasn’t feeling any better the next day, you would call them and ask for their help to get to the doctor.

You spent another boring day in bed, reading a couple of books and flipping through random videos on the scrynet. It was mind-numbing, and your hands were twitching by the end of it, but you didn’t really want to get out of bed. Eventually, you fell into a fitful, unrestful sleep.

When you woke, the pain in your ankle seemed to have dulled. Cocksure and overconfident, you swung out of bed, placed your feet on the floor, and collapsed when your bad ankle rolled under you and sent waves of pain up your leg.

Well. Crap. Had it somehow gotten worse overnight? How was that even possible? You blinked back the sting of tears from your eyes and twisted to look at it. Bruises still mottled the skin around the ankle, and it was definitely still swollen, though it wasn’t quite as bad as it had been the day before. You probed the skin with the tips of your fingers and hissed. Pain. Bad enough to make your stomach tighten. Once you were actually braced for the pain, you could put some weight on it, though it wasn’t fun.

Son of a bitch. You’d really been hoping it would get better. You considered your options as you limped to the kitchen to get something to eat. It wasn’t so bad to put weight on, you reasoned. It was painful, sure, but a little pain wasn’t so bad. You could handle it.

You sat down and examined your ankle once more. Like, okay. It was probably bad, and you should probably go to a doctor. But it wasn’t like you couldn’t walk at all. That would be the point where it got bad, right? If you couldn’t walk at all. You could still keep off it for a while, for the most part, and then it would heal up. Why go to the doctor if they were just going to tell you to rest your ankle, which is what you were already doing?

(Again, there was that part of you that recognized you were just making excuses and that you really should just go to a doctor. But the bigger part of you still wanted to avoid going, and that bigger part was winning out.)

You ate and dragged yourself back to your room, collapsing onto your bed. Okay. Another day in bed. That wasn’t so bad. And you could probably try to work at least a little. You sat down for most of it. That wouldn’t bother your ankle too much, right?

Just as you were making the firm decision that you were probably fine to work, a gleam of light on your night table caught your eye.

You shuffled a little closer and reached out. As your fingertips met the light, you felt something small and disc-like. The scale. You curled your fingers around it and brought it up to your face.

It was definitely glowing. The entire thing shone like it was reflecting a strong beam of sunlight. You squinted at it, rotating it back and forth. Weird. Did scales do that often? Did it mean something? You’d barely gotten any instructions on how it worked. Maybe you could do some scrying later, see if you could find anything on scales. Though you still weren’t completely sure of their species, which might make it harder. They were probably a feathered dragon, right? Harpies didn’t really have scales like this.

The scale gleamed, sending a beam of light directly into your eyes. You winced. Was it getting brighter? How were you supposed to make it stop? You ran your thumb over it a few times, hoping to maybe trigger something, but nothing happened. You grimaced. Whatever. You could figure it out later.

As you grabbed a couple books to stash the scale under, so that maybe it wouldn’t burn your eyes out while you were trying to sleep, your mind wandered back to what they’d said. Call their name… “Tazriel,” you muttered absently as you placed the books on top of the scale. That was how they’d said it, right? It was a pretty name. You still felt a little awkward about calling them, but maybe you could stop by once your ankle was feeling better and let them know you appreciated the gesture. Yeah, that seemed the best way to handle things.

The decision firm in your mind, you settled back into bed and tried to ignore your ankle so you could fall back asleep.

You were just about to fall back asleep when the sound of someone knocking on your front door made you open your eyes. It was a polite knock, not like someone was banging down your door for an emergency. Maybe it was a delivery driver. They’d leave the package eventually.

You closed your eyes again. Only to open them again when the knock sounded once more. It was a little more urgent this time, though still not what you would consider an emergency knock. You considered getting up, but if it was a visitor, they would eventually figure out you weren’t home or something. It was fine.

The silence lasted a little longer this time, so you were settled back comfortably by the time the knock sounded again. This time, it was distinctly louder and rushed. You gritted your teeth. Okay. This person was not taking a hint, which either meant they were really obtuse or they had something important for you. But getting to the door meant getting out of bed and you were awfully reluctant to do that. The silence stretched on as you debated the finer points of getting out of bed versus staying nice and comfy.

After a couple minutes of silence, you realized the person at your door hadn’t knocked again. They’d wandered off, presumably. That was good. You could just lie back and relax and they would come back later if they needed anything else.

And then you heard the click and creak of the doorknob turning and your door- your FRONT DOOR- opening.

The indignation was enough to get you out of bed. Common sense stopped you from getting further than the hallway. You had a busted ankle- what were you going to do against a (possibly armed) thief? At best, maybe you could look so pathetic, they’d feel bad and leave.

Then your name, called in a semi-frantic voice, floated down the hall. That was surprising. Why would someone who broke into your house be calling for you? You hobbled a few steps out into the main entranceway of your house and stopped in surprise.

You knew both of the people standing in front of your open door, one more familiar than the other. The more familiar figure was your neighbor, a twitchy, if also kindly, water elemental. The less familiar figure was your savior from the other night, Tazriel. Their face lit up at the sight of you. “You’re all right?”

You shifted your weight onto your good leg and positioned your bad ankle so the swelling was not as noticeable. “I’m fine. What are you doing in my house?”

Tazriel blanched. It was hard for scaled creatures to blush, but they seemed to be trying their level best. “You called me.”

You blinked. “I did?” Almost as soon as the words had left your mouth, you remembered sliding the scale away and mumbling ‘Tazriel’ a moment before your fingers actually broke contact. Oops. “Oh. I did.”

Tazriel seemed to be regaining their confidence. “I was worried, of course, so I came by, but you didn’t answer your door. Fortunately, your neighbor did, and she said she had a key, so…” They trailed off, looking toward your neighbor. You stare at her too. She awkwardly rubs one of her arms.

“They seemed really worried, and you did tell me to use your key in emergencies,” she mumbled. She cast a shy glance sideways at Tazriel and you did not roll your eyes, but it was a near thing. Okay, they were pretty good looking, but you weren’t pleased that your neighbor was such a sucker for a pretty face that she would let them into your house.

“They’re quite kind,” Tazriel said, smiling at your neighbor, and she practically turned into steam. “They were worried about you too, once I told them what was going on.”

“Right,” you said. “So what’s going on?”

Tazriel blinked at you like it should be obvious. “You called for me and then didn’t answer the door. I thought you were really hurt.”

Oh. Actually, that wasn’t a strange conclusion to come to. “W-well, that’s very kind of you, but I’m, uh. Actually doing fine. It was sort of an accident that I called you. I’m sorry for disturbing you. But you don’t need to stay.”

They gave you a critical look, gaze roving over your body and fixing on your ankle. You shuffled it further behind your good leg to avoid their look, but this seemed to backfire. Their gaze grew more concerned. “You’re not putting any weight on your ankle.”

“I am,” you said, and gingerly placed your bad ankle on the ground. You leaned on it until your eyes were watering with pain and hoped they weren’t paying too much attention. “I’m fine. You can go back to your life.”

They narrowed their eyes, but didn’t say anything. For a moment, you were certain they were actually going to take your advice and leave, but then your neighbor piped in with, “You’ve been holding yourself all stiff since we got here. You’re in a lot of pain, aren’t you?”

You shot her a glare as Tazriel gave you a new, more appraising look. “You are tense.” Their expression grew alarmed. “You shouldn’t be standing, should you?”

“I really have to assure you that I’m fine,” you said, but Tazriel and your neighbor were already dismissing your protests out of hand.

“Last time you told me you were fine, you had such bad food poisoning you could barely keep anything down,” your neighbor said. Tazriel brushed past the both of you and into the kitchen to fetch a chair. “I didn’t find out until two days later when I ran into you at the store looking like death warmed over.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” you muttered. “And what were you going to do about it? It was food poisoning. You just have to wait it out.”

“You could have asked me to check on you. I would have done it. Or you could have asked me to take you to a doctor.”

You grimaced. Tazriel set a chair down next to you and gestured for you to sit in it. Once you were down, they crouched and peered at your ankle. “Why didn’t you call me sooner?” they asked. “This looks bad.”

“It looks worse than it is,” you said hurriedly. “I really don’t need all this fuss. I’m just going to stay home until it feels better.”

Tazriel looked up. “You’re not going to see a doctor?”

“I don’t need one,” you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt.

“You do,” Tazriel insisted. They probed at your ankle with their fingertips and you nearly jumped out of your skin. “You can’t walk on this. And it must hurt a lot.” They looked up at you and you were surprised by exactly how much concern was evident in their eyes. Their feathered ears twitched. It was ridiculous how cute it was.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” you said, but their gaze was really hard to resist. “I just… I don’t want to go to the doctor.” Before they could comment on that, you braced a hand against the nearby wall and used the leverage to haul yourself to your feet. Well. To one of your feet. The other was still being held by Tazriel. “And they’ll just tell me to ice and rest it, which is what I’m already doing! Thank you all very much for your concern, but I think I’ll be heading back to doing that, so unless there’s anything else I can help you with…” You gave a pointed look to Tazriel. They were still holding your foot. They did not let go.

“You need a doctor,” they said, enunciating every word carefully, like you were a child or hard of hearing. “Your ankle could be broken.”

Your shoulders drooped a bit. “You don’t think it’s that bad, do you?” “I don’t know,” Tazriel said. “I can’t say. Because I’m not a doctor. Which is why you need one.” They folded their feathered ears back against their head and fixed you with their brilliantly golden eyes. It wasn’t quite a puppy-dog look, though it was pleading. Come now, their expression seemed to say. I want you to be all right. Won’t you let me help you? Their thumb was also tracing circles on your calf, which was making it surprisingly hard to focus.

“It’s… I just…” Your protests died on your tongue. They were just looking at you, but it was making your head feel sort of funny. Were they using their prettiness to hypnotize you? Was that what this was? Weaponized prettiness?

“If you’re nervous about going to the doctor, I could go with you,” Tazriel suggested. Their feathered ears perked up and you cursed internally. Somehow, that made them even cuter. “I know a doctor, actually. I could take you to her, if you’d like.”

They were giving you a look. An eager look, like they were already proud of themselves for having solved the problem. But you also got the impression they were not leaving here taking ‘no’ for an answer. They were going to be leaving here with you on a trip to the doctor’s or you were going to have a new roommate.

“Eh… uh…” You tried to think of a way out of this. They’re pretty, your brain supplied unhelpfully. It’d be nice to spend more time with them. Your own mind was even turning against you. “I guess that’d be… okay.”

They beamed. The fact that they looked even prettier when they did that was like adding insult to injury. “Wonderful! I’ll need to call ahead to let her know we’re coming, but she owes me a favor, I’m sure she’ll set some time aside for you.” They scrambled to their feet and practically skipped outside. You and your neighbor watched them go.

“Lucky,” she said in an undertone.

“Lucky?” you muttered back. “For breaking my ankle?”

She rolled her eyes. “For having someone so worried about you. Do you realize how frantic they were when they were banging on my door? It was kind of sweet.”

You weren’t sure how to respond to that, so you didn’t. Tazriel stepped back into the room at that moment, sparing you the indignity. “She says we can come in whenever we want,” they said. “But we’ll have a better chance of getting in right away if we go as soon as possible.”

“Just give me a couple minutes,” you said. “I just… need to brush my teeth.” Ever since hurting your ankle, your self-care activities, otherwise known as basic hygiene, had kind of gone down the drain. No one had commented on it so far, but the longer you were in the presence of a water elemental and the perfectly polished Tazriel, the worse you felt about it.

You hobbled to the bathroom and did as quick of a spot clean as you could. Once you’d determined that it was as good as it was going to get in the time frame allowed, you pulled on some slightly-nicer clothes and headed back out to Tazriel.

Your neighbor was gone by that point, and Tazriel was waiting for you in the doorway. “Are you ready to go?” they asked, fixing you with a cheerful smile. You nodded.

“Yeah, yeah.” There was a part of your mind insisting that, despite the indignity of it, you could probably get away with slamming the door in their face and burying yourself under the blankets until everyone forgot about this doctor thing. But that would be hideously embarrassing and you weren’t sure it would stop Tazriel anyway. They seemed rather determined. “Let’s get this over with.”

Tazriel nodded cheerily, then took a step forward, holding their arms out awkwardly. You took a fumbling step back, hands up. “Hey, woah, what are you doing?”

They paused. “You can hardly walk,” they said, as though that were completely obvious. “But I can.”

You did not lower your arms from their defensive position. “You’re going to carry me?”

They looked like at you like it was a perfectly normal thing to do. “Yes, of course. I can handle it.”

“Uh,” you said, looking them up and down uncertainly. “You’re sure?”

“Of course,” they said. To their credit, they sounded extremely confident. “You’re rather small, aren’t you? I can carry you.”

You felt weirdly embarrassed about being referred to as ‘small.’ “Uh. Well.” Why wasn’t your brain working? You couldn’t string together any thoughts! “I guess, if you’re okay with it…”

They grinned and scooped you up like you were a couple of grapes. You looped your arms around their neck. It was impressive how effortless the lift seemed to them. “Comfortable?” they asked. You made a nondescript sound that roughly meant, ‘as comfortable as it is possible to be right now.’ Apparently, they could interpret that, because they took off at a slow jog.

You’d been expecting they would take one of the trains, but they ended up heading in a completely different direction than the local station. It was slightly unnerving, but they seemed to know what they were doing. You did your best to relax back into their arms. While you usually felt rather uncomfortable about having someone carry you, this felt somehow reassuring. Maybe because they were strong enough that there was no wavering of their grip or unsteadiness.

They jogged for a little while, turning down some of the main roads. People looked at the sight with some interest, though few people actively stared, which you appreciated. After turning around a few corners, they slowed down and approached a decently large building painted in white and pink. They shifted you in their arms a bit before pulling open the glass door.

It definitely smelled like a doctor’s clinic when you stepped inside, with that stinging scent of antiseptic. A few other people were milling around the room. You couldn’t get a good look at most of them, but there was someone standing in a pile of feathers in the corner. You resisted the urge to snicker. There was always someone who took a feather-enhancing potion during the Avieras Festival and then had to deal with the consequences a few days later.

Tazriel ignored the front desk and headed toward the exam area. They nudged the door open with their tail and glanced around as they stepped inside. “Doctor Gella?”

There was a moment of silence, then a middle-aged woman wearing thick spectacles poked her head out of a room a few doors down. She had an enormous set of ram’s horns sprouting from her temples and a thin tail tipped with a trident. Oh, and bright yellow skin.

“Tazriel,” she said, nodding at them. “I assume this is the patient.” She gave you a sympathetic smile. “Why don’t you step into an exam room and put them down?”

The exam room was pretty standard doctor fare- a sink and a few cabinets, a machine for checking blood pressure, a couple of uncomfortable-looking chairs up against the far wall, and a bulky exam table covered in paper taking up a majority of the space. Tazriel set you down upon it and took up one of the seats. Dr. Gella gave them a pointed look. “It was kind of them to bring you here, Tazriel, but I’m afraid I can’t let you stay in the exam room while they’re being examined. Unless you would feel more comfortable if Taz stayed?” She directed the last question toward you.

“I think I can handle it on my own,” you said. Ever since you’d started smelling the antiseptic, your heart rate had picked up, and sitting on the crinkly exam table wasn’t doing it any favors. Why did doctor’s offices all have to look the same? But you’d been through this before. You didn’t need anyone to hold your hand. Tazriel nodded amiably and headed for the door.

“I’ll be in the waiting room,” they said. They gave you an amiable wink, then the door closed behind them.

The room felt a lot more confining all of a sudden.

Dr. Gella rolled a wheeled chair up to the edge of the exam table. “They’re quite sweet, but they forget the most obvious things sometimes. One of the reasons they could never work here.”

“Did they want to?”

“They were interested in one point. That’s how we got to know each other- they volunteered here when they were younger. But, as I’ve said, they’re a bit too distracted to be an attentive healer. Their knowledge of anatomy is impeccable, though. Hence why they ended up being a butcher.” Dr. Gella looked at your legs. “Ah. I see that’s the bum ankle they mentioned?”

You shifted, embarrassed. “Yeah. They told me I needed to come here, but…” You trailed off. Dr. Gella gave a half-smile.

“Not a fan of the doctor’s?” she asked. You shook your head. “That’s all right. Plenty of people aren’t. I’ll try to be as gentle as I can.”

She shifted your leg up onto the exam table and slipped off your shoe and sock. The shoe was easy, since your ankle was swollen enough that it didn’t go on all the way. The sock was a little harder, and no matter how gentle she tried to be, it still hurt. You gritted your teeth and struggled as hard as you could not to kick her.

“There we go,” she said, setting your sock next to you. “Hm.” She grimaced. “I can see why they wanted you to come in.”

“I didn’t think it was that bad,” you said, a little sheepish. Dr. Gella hummed disapprovingly.

“It’s definitely a bad sprain, at minimum. How long ago did you injure it?”

“Couple of days?” you said, shrinking back a little more sheepishly when Dr. Gella frowned.

“It might not have been that bad at first, but it’s certainly become worse thanks to not treating it right. I’m going to have to get a brace for it, and you’ll have to stay off it for a few weeks at least.” Her eyes glowed, suggesting she was using some kind of seeing-through spell. “Yes, it doesn’t look like there’s anything broken, but it’s certainly bruised and damaged and walking on it will make it worse.”

“Do I have to wear a cast?” you asked, hesitant.

“It’ll be a soft cast,” Dr. Gella said. You grimaced. “That bothers you?”

“I just… don’t like it.” You shifted in place, wincing when that shifted your ankle. “It bothers me.”

Dr. Gella smiled sympathetically. “If you don’t want to wear the cast, I’m certainly not going to make you do so. But it is my medical recommendation that you do so, as it will make sure that things heal better.”

You didn’t say anything. Yes, you needed to wear the cast. Yes, the idea of doing so made you feel sick to your stomach. You weren’t sure how to reconcile those emotions. Dr. Gella watched your expression, taking in your uncertainty, then forced a small smile.

“Tell you what,” she said. “I have another patient that shouldn’t take too long. You can take some time to think it over. If you’re too uncomfortable for it, then I can just give you some instructions for taking care of it, and if you feel better about the cast, we can put it on after I’m done with that patient. Sound good?”

You let out a relieved breath. At the very least, it got you out of the exam room so you could take a breather. “Okay. Thank you.”

“Certainly. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” Dr. Gella helped you out of the room and offered you a set of crutches. Together, you hobbled back to the waiting room.

Tazriel was waiting in a seat close to the door when you stepped out. You nodded to Dr. Gella and went to sit next to them as she called in her next patient. Tazriel tilted their head, taking in your crutches and swollen ankle. “Are you done?”

“I’m not,” you said. “It’s… I’m…” You fumbled over your next words. Tazriel waited patiently. “Ugh. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. Dr. Gella was right, I don’t have to know. It’s your health,” Tazriel said. “I can leave now, if you want me too, and as long as you have a way home-”

“You don’t have to leave,” you said. Talking to them was at least a distraction from both the throbbing pain in your ankle and the swirling anxiety in your chest. “I don’t like doctor’s offices.”

Tazriel nodded. “I sort of guessed. From the way you were acting about having to go.” They hesitated. “I know I probably overstepped, bringing you here, but you really did need someone to see to that ankle.”

“Yeah, you were right. I actually do need a cast on this thing.” You shifted your ankle and immediately winced. Bad idea. “But I can’t… bring myself to get one.”

Tazriel was silent for a moment, until it was clear you weren’t going to say more. “What bothers you about it?”

You hesitated. “When I was a kid, I screwed up my arm. It was a pretty bad break, from what I remember. And they put a cast on it. I complained about the cast a lot. It was tight and itchy and I didn’t like wearing it at all.”

Tazriel nodded. “Most people don’t.”

“And then, like a week and a half into wearing the cast, it started to hurt. Really badly. I complained about it, but I’d already been complaining about it so much, everyone thought I was just continuing with that. It kept getting worse, but it took another week before anyone believed me enough to take my back to the doctor. And then the doctor was really dismissive when we did go in, so it was a few more days before my parents finally got anyone to pay attention to what was actually happening.” You took a deep breath. “The cast was too tight. And there was some damage to my hand by the time they figured it out and took it off.”

Tazriel blinked, recoiling a little. You saw them sneak a glance at your hand, subtly trying to see what was wrong without being too obvious about it. “The damage wasn’t permanent, thankfully,” you said, stretching out your arm to show them. “There’s a little scar here, but after physical therapy, I can move my hand pretty much the same as anyone else. There’s a little residual pain, on occasion, but it healed well.”

“That’s why you were so fussy about going to the doctor,” Tazriel said. “You didn’t want another cast.” They curled their tail across their lap. “I… I’m sorry for dragging you here.”

“Ah, it’s not your fault,” you said. “You were right. I did need to go. And I wasn’t going to do it unless someone kicked my ass.” You glanced at the door to the exam rooms. “The doctor said I could go without a cast, if I was really uncomfortable having one on, but I really do need one. I don’t want to screw up my ankle any worse than it already is.”

Tazriel sat for a moment, their tail settled across their lap. They were plucking at their feathers. A little further up their tail was the tail band you’d given to them. It had clearly been taking off and cleaned at one point, maybe even polished because it was even shinier than when you’d had it. “You’re still wearing that,” you said. Tazriel glanced toward the band and gave a faint smile.

“Oh, yes. It’s quite beautiful. I appreciate it.” They ran their finger over it, relishing the little textural differences. “I truly wasn’t expecting a gift.”

You laughed, a little embarrassed by how warm their voice had become. “I’m sure people trip all over themselves to give you free samples. You must be swimming in them by now.”

“Sometimes,” they admitted with a sheepish grin. “I try not to accept them too often. I don’t like to take things without paying for them. It feels unfair.”

You nudged their side playfully. “Except when you’re taking from me, huh? Trying to drive me out of business?”

Their face scrunched up in a strange way. “Eh… well…” They ran their hands up and down their tail. “I had… I had a bit of an idea about that. I was hoping perhaps I could offer to pay you back… by taking you out to dinner.”

You thought for a moment. “You wanted to ask me out to dinner?” They nodded. “Why dinner?”

They blinked, like they hadn’t thought that question would be the next one. “It wouldn’t have to be dinner, I suppose. That’s just traditional. But if you didn’t want dinner, I suppose coffee would work as well? Or if there’s something else you’d like to do?”

Your brain chugged for a moment before everything clicked together. They were asking you on a date. Right? Or maybe you were reading them wrong? You’d never been good with those sort of subtleties- maybe they meant something else? Like a friendly dinner? But if you interpreted it as a friendly dinner and they didn’t, then they would be hurt if you treated it like a friendly date, right? But if you tried to clarify and they weren’t asking you on a date, that would be so embarrassing, and maybe they’d be mad at you for being presumptuous about them asking you out… You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t realize you were staring at them until Tazriel cleared their throat. “Er. I- You don’t have to say yes. I thought it might be charming, I suppose? But I suppose it is a little too pushy, so don’t feel obligated to-”

“No, no! I want to!” you said hurriedly. You couldn’t just sit there and let them feel bad! Although, now you were going to have to find a way to determine if this was a date or not without letting them know that you weren’t sure what you’d signed up for.

It seemed like answering in the affirmative was the correct choice, because their entire face brightened. “Really? Ah, that’s a relief. I’m afraid I’m not all that good with these sort of things- people assume I am, I think, but I’m really not used to it at all.” They gave you a particularly rough pat on the shoulder, which jostled you enough to make your ankle ache. You grimaced and they pulled their hands back, tucking them against their body. “Sorry. We can, uh. Hold off on the dinner until you’re feeling better.”

“Yeah,” you muttered. “I… suppose I should get the cast. To make sure that everything heals all right.”

They looked uncertain. “Are you going to be okay with that?”

“It’ll be scary, but I’m a grown-up. I can handle it.” Despite your words, your stomach churned. It wasn’t even going to be a hard cast, like the one you’d had as a kid, but the idea of something pressing in tight, restricting you like that… how were you going to sit through the procedure and just deal with it?

An impulse darted from your brain to the tip of your tongue before you could think better of it. “Will you sit with me when I get the cast on?”

Tazriel’s ears fluffed up and their eyes went wide. It was hard to tell if they were surprised or pleased to be asked. Or both. “You want me to go in with you?” Their tail gave one large wag before they settled it back into their lap. “I don’t know if I’m allowed.”

“If I say you can be in there, then you can be in there,” you said. “I’d just like someone else in there with me in case I, like. Freak out or something.”

They looked at you for a long moment and you were just about to rescind the offer out of embarrassment when they nodded. “Of course. I don’t mind at all.”

Their agreement couldn’t have come at a better time, because the exam room door swung open again and Dr. Gella stepped out. “There you are,” she said, nodding in your direction. “Have you made up your mind?”

You nodded. “I’d like Tazriel to come back with me. Just as, uh. Moral support. If that’s all right.”

Dr. Gella looked between the two of you with slightly raised eyebrows, but all she said was, “There’s some paperwork you’ll have to sign, but I don’ t think there will be any problem with it.”

Tazriel gave a single squeeze to your shoulder and followed you and Dr. Gella back to the proper exam room. You hopped back up on the table and signed a few forms Dr. Gella provided for you while Tazriel hovered a bit awkwardly nearby. “Now, I’m going to set your leg in place with magic and form the cast around it,” Dr. Gella said as soon as the paperwork was safely stored away. “That will make the most comfortable and best-fitting cast. But you’re going to have to try and not move.”

“I can try,” you said. The phantom sensation of being held in a vice grip, unable to pull your leg away even as it was clamped down on tighter and tighter and tighter hit you and you took an unsteady, gulping breath.

Tazriel moved closer so their shoulder was brushing against yours. Even with the high examination table, they had to bend over a bit. “Where were you thinking of going for dinner?”

“F-for dinner?” you said, distracted. Dr. Gella carefully worked a disinfectant and cleaning spell over your ankle, causing a race of cold tingles over your skin. The magic sparked and seemed to solidify as she shifted the magic to start holding your leg still.

“Hey.” Tazriel’s voice dropped a little, adopting a soothing register. “Don’t focus on that, okay? Look at me.”

You turned your head to catch Tazriel’s golden eyes. They beamed. “There you go! Now, I asked you about dinner, remember?” Their face took on a thoughtful expression. “Oh, but you weren’t sure about dinner, were you? I’m happy to go with whatever you’d like.”

“U-um.” The grip around your ankle was tightening, enough to put pressure on the swelling. It ached awfully. “I- I guess… lunch would be fine?” Dinner was too fancy, right? Getting lunch seemed much more low-key. Though, if they were asking you on a proper date, dinner would be more traditional, right?

“Lunch works,” Tazriel said amiably. “Anywhere in particular you want to go?”

“I’m not sure.” You hazarded a glance at your ankle, but before you could get a proper look at it, Tazriel was calling your attention back.

“There’s a cute little bistro near my workplace. If you have no objections, we could go there. Have you ever been? I don’t remember the name, but it’s a pale green building with ivy crawling up the side.”

“I think I’ve seen that,” you said. The grip around your ankle had stopped tightening, but the pressure was still there. You couldn’t flex it at all. Your head thundered erratically. “It looks nice. I’ve never been there.”

“I’ve only been there once, for breakfast, but they had quite a good egg sandwich.” Your gaze started to wander back toward your leg and Tazriel squeezed your hand, drawing your attention back to them. “But they’ve got a lot of variety, so I’m sure you can find something you’ll like there.”

“Uh huh,” you murmured, still distracted. The magic was solidifying into a soft cast, molding itself to the shape of your leg. There wasn’t much pain, but the feeling was still unsettling.

Tazriel licked their lips, their tail flicking rapidly. “Ah, um… Maybe you could talk about how you made this?” They swung their tail around to show off the clip still set against their scales. “It’s lovely. I was very surprised you were willing to give it to me.”

“Well, it is good business practice to make sure customers come back,” you said. “And you were a nice customer.” And maybe the fact that they were cute hadn’t hurt either. Had you actually been flirting with them without realizing it? Well, you weren’t that good at flirting when you were trying at it. Maybe flirting while you weren’t trying made you better at it. It had gotten you a maybe-date, hadn’t it?

“There we are.” Dr. Gella stepped back to examine her handiwork. “Well done. It’s all set.”

You looked down at your leg. It was booted up in a deep blue material, making one of your legs significantly heavier and more awkward than the other. You could move your leg with a decent amount of effort, but you couldn’t really flex your ankle. Gingerly, you slid off the table. Tazriel caught your arm immediately, letting you lean against their body.

“Careful,” Dr. Gella said. You couldn’t tell whether she was talking to you or Tazriel. “Your ankle’s still going to be fragile, so I’d suggest using crutches and keeping as much weight off of it as possible. I’ll write you a script for some pain medication. Take it easy for at least two weeks, then come back in and we can reassess.

“I will,” you said. “Thank you for all your help.”

She waved it off. “Of course. I’m always ready to help Tazriel’s friends.”

“Let me walk you back to your house,” Tazriel said. “Just to make sure you get back okay and have everything you need.” Their tail swayed back and forth eagerly. “And you still have my scale, right? You can call me if it gets worse or you need anything.”

Dr. Gella made a noise of surprise. “A scale, Tazriel? Really?” They paused, looking at her like they’d forgotten she was in the room. “I thought those were important to feathered dragons.”

That answered one of your questions. “I’ve never met a feathered dragon before,” you said, giving Tazriel a surprised look. They rubbed the back of their neck.

“I’m only three quarters- My grandma married a harpy. I’ve got a few more feathers than most feathered dragons.” They swayed their plumed tail back and forth, displaying the pretty feathers there. “And most modern dragons don’t hold to that old notion of scales being given to- you know. It’s convenient.”

“A seerstone is more convenient,” Dr. Gella said. You looked between them, feeling like you’d missed something important.

“What old notion?” you asked. Tazriel shook their head at Dr. Gella, who continued speaking as if she hadn’t seen them at all.

“It was an old tradition for dragons to give out scales to people they were interested in establishing a courtship with,” she said. Tazriel dropped their face into their hands. Their tail drooped to hit the ground with a dull thump. “Admittedly, courtship has fallen out of fashion, so it’s not quite as common anymore, but plenty of dragons still hold to the-”

“Okay, I think maybe you need to go home and rest,” Tazriel said, popping up from their hands and speaking much louder than was necessary for such a small room. They scooped you up over their shoulder with one arm and grabbed the crutches Dr. Gella had for you with the other.

“Be careful,” Dr. Gella said. “You don’t want to jostle their-”

“I’m always very careful,” Tazriel said in their too-loud voice. “I’ll see you another time, thank you.”

You awkwardly propped your head up from where it was hanging down Tazriel’s back. “Thank you, Dr. Gella.”

“Of course. If you need anything else, please give me a call. Just ask Tazriel for my contact information,” she said. Then Tazriel left the room and the door swung shut behind you.

You let yourself lay limply over their shoulder, ignoring the bewildered stares as you walked through the waiting room. Once you were outside and Tazriel’s embarrassed walk had slowed, you picked your head up again. “Perhaps you could give me an opportunity to walk on my own?”

Tazriel stuttered to a stop. “Oh. Yes.” They moved to the shadow of a building and carefully put you down so you could lean against the wall while they put the crutches down. “I shouldn’t have picked you up like that, I was just…” They trailed off.

“It’s fine,” you said, deciding to be polite and not call attention back to their embarrassment. Then you had a question and decided to do it anyway. “Um. So, the thing with the scale…” Tazriel immediately looked like they were considering making a run for it. “It would have been more convenient to use a seerstone, wouldn’t it? Why did you pick the scale?”

Tazriel really looked like they were hoping the ground would swallow them up, but, to their credit, they stood there and answered. “It.... isn’t used as a way to start courting anymore, but… there are certain connotations to it and there are a lot of old legends and…” They cleared their throat and stared firmly at the ground. “I was planning on asking you out. I just hadn’t quite plucked up the courage yet. The scale was more spur of the moment than anything. I didn’t want to ask you out in that moment, not when you were hurt, so I picked something that was similar, but not something you would recognize. I hoped it would maybe help me feel braver next time I saw you. And I suppose I thought maybe the scale would make it more likely for you to call me than just connecting with a seerstone.”

Well. That answered your other question. It was a date. A pleasant prickling sensation rolled through your chest. “I- I thought it was sweet,” you said, partially because it was true and partially so Tazriel didn’t look so painfully shy anymore. They smiled at that.

“Let’s get you home. And connect seerstones so we can actually plan everything out for our lunch.” Tazriel helped you get set up with the crutches and you began your slow journey back to your house.

It took a while to get back to your home, but Tazriel was a pleasant conversationalist. In fact, you were almost disappointed when they stopped at your front door.

“I’ll see you again,” they said. “Get some rest. If you need anything else, I’m available. By scale or seerstone.”

“I’ll call. I promise,” you said. “Thank you for everything.” You carefully balanced yourself on your crutches and reached one of your arms up toward them. They obligingly leaned closer. You took their face in your palm and tugged them in close for just long enough to press a kiss to their cheek.

They didn’t make a sound, but their tail and ear feathers fluffed up. “I’ll call you,” you said. They nodded rapidly. Grinning, you stepped back into your house. You needed to rest up your leg. Once you were healed, you had a date to go on.

#exophilia #monster partner #monster lover #dragon #feathered dragon #dragon lover #monster romance #monster love

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moonslesbology · 1 year

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The Lucky One I

prologue - next chapter

YEARS HAD PASSED AND NOTHING ABOUT FINNICK ODAIR REALLY CHANGED, ALWAYS REMAINING THE KID WITH CUTS ON HIS HANDS AND HIS HEART ON HIS SLEEVE. Though, he was always annoyed at Eleanor for taking longer shifts than necessary at St Magdalene Rossetti and exhausting herself to an unneeded extent. That was his only complain, though Eleanor didn't care though. She preferred the serenity of a doctor's office over the dead silence of a house. Yes, she was only seventeen, but doctors in District 4 were a rarity, not to mention the teenager had been learning all you can about anatomy since she was eight.

She had decided that her potential future as a doctor was much more plausible than becoming a career, fully leaving the academy after Finnick's games just two years prior. Though both Annie and Finnick were annoyed at Eleanor, they both understood why she made her choice.

So, instead she traded her knives and spears for needles and a pair of surgical gloves, content with a life of service to her community. Every year she watched as innocent children were saved in reapings, and while she couldn't save them from the games, she could save them from the grief and guilt.

Eleanor Eves, District 4's local sweetheart, was nothing short than a gentle being with a softness for children, flowers, and her best friends, Finnick Odair and Annie Cresta. If she wasn't working in St Magdalene Rossetti, she was always seen with them, mostly her and Annie tackling Finnick whenever they had a chance.

There wasn't a single bone in her body that allowed Eleanor the ability to take a life.

Breathing in heavily, Eleanor rubbed her eyes as she opened the door for Mr Ives, an older man with greying hair but warm eyes. Everyone knew of his unlucky streak down at the docks, always managing to cut his hands with the knives he weaved through the scales of fish caught at sea.

Mr Ives, a man who seemed to have a streak for always cutting his hand whenever he cut the fish, seemed overtly fond of the brunette for her sweetness. Men from The Quay had brought him in just fifteen minutes before and he had adamantly insisted only Eleanor stitch up his cut. He had known her since she began working properly and trusted her to work on his wounds after she had expertly patched him up after a nasty cut on his hand, something her mother's unsteady hands struggled to do. At the time, the thirteen year old was figuring out the busy environment of a doctor's office, and watched as her mother struggled to steady her hand over Mr Ives' bleeding wound. Eleanor had logically gone and took the instruments off her mother, patching him up quickly and without many words. Ever since then, it was always Eleanor who helped him.

"You know Sweetheart, you have a real talent," Mr Ives had remarked, wincing as Eleanor injected the Morphling into his arm. She unwrapped the cloth that had been tied over the cut, immediately wiping away any of the excess blood. She grabbed onto the thread, tying it to the needle, before exhaling as she began sewing up the cut.

Eleanor gave him a small smile. "Believe me I wouldn't be this good if you didn't get injured this much, Mr Ives." She laughed apologising as she saw him wince slightly from the sight of the needle. "How's Martha and the baby?"

He gave a laugh. "The little lady's getting proper done with the kid, I'll tell you that." Mr Ives was a sweet man, Eleanor always thought so. He had always given her family extra fish whenever he could spare some. He was eternally grateful for her mother helping his wife get through a nasty case of the flu two winters prior and by association, was in debt to Eleanor. "She keeps demanding I wash in the garden since she pukes whenever I'm near her after my shifts."

Eleanor shook her head. "She is seven months along now and fish does smell bad when it's on you." Eleanor ignored the playful glare Mr Ives gave her. She decided on changing the topic. "Do you guys have any name ideas?"

"None Sweetheart." He shook his head with a laugh. "Wanted to call her Eleri and Martha nearly throttled me. She said that name made her feel sick as a fish." She laughed as he rolled his eyes, mimicking Martha's thick District 4 accent with a shake of his head. Martha Ives had come from The Cove, a region seemingly alienated from the rest of District 4. Their accents stood out like sore thumbs and Martha's was thick and rich, something Mr Ives adored.

Eleanor grinned, finally finishing off the stitches. She finally cut away at the thread, patting down on the stitches before pulling out a bandage. She wrapped it carefully around the hand, finally nodding up at him as she finished. "There, you better go home now." She told the man with an authoritative tone. There was a hint of playfulness in her voice as she instructed him. "No fishing for at least a week. Keep the stitches dry and come back in about a week. Mary'll remove them then." She pulled Mr Ives into a hug, laughing as he pressed a kiss to her cheek.

"Sweetheart you are an absolute gem!" He laughed. He reached into his pocket, trying to pull out any spare change he had, only for Eleanor to shake her head at him. "Oh come off it, it's the least I can do."

She shook her head adamantly. "Policy is policy, Mr Ives. We don't care about money here, we aren't struggling for it at all. Now go, I don't want to see you until Martha has the baby."

He kissed her on the cheek once more, getting up and leaving the room. Eleanor sighed heavily, grabbing the cup of water which sat on the desk and taking a sip. She yawned, rubbing her eyes slightly. Then, she finally heard his voice and sobered up, blinking quickly to wash away any feelings of exhaustion.

Finnick Odair despised the days where Eleanor worked longer than necessary. Sometimes, his hatred took the literal form of him storming into St Magdalene Rossetti, just like today. As much as he tried convincing her otherwise, often using the excuse that he misses her way too much, Eleanor always found herself spending most her days cooped up with foolish men who injured themselves down on the docks. It wasn't a bad job per say, just tedious with how frequently the same men came back constantly.

As Finnick walked in, Eleanor exhaled heavily.

There were several ways in which Finnick Odair could be here:

A. He's injured.

B. He helped someone get here injured.

C. He simply wanted to annoy her.

Most the time, well at least nowadays, C was always the most logical and most likely explanation. "I swear to god, Finnick, you better not be injured again!" Eleanor raged as she walked around the room, pulling out bandaids and gauzes. She could already hear his choked laughs, rolling her eyes as she finally got off the ground. Finnick was stood in the centre of the room, holding a bouquet of tulips, scratching his head with a bashful smile. Her eyes softened, a blush already brewing on her cheeks. "Flowers?"

"Tulips," He grinned as she finally stood next to him, Finnick moving to smell the tulips and sighing breathlessly. He watched with fond eyes as she grinned at the bouquet, clearly not expecting the gesture. "My favourite which should be your favourite."

Eleanor grinned, a small blush already coating her cheeks. She couldn't help the way her heart fluttered as she took the tulips, holding them up to her nose and smelling them with a sigh. She wondered if flowers meant anything to Finnick, and if so, did they mean anything because he was giving them to her?

"Flirt with me when I'm not working, Odair." She rolled her eyes as he audibly groaned, quickly moving to grab a vase from the window. She gave the flowers one last smell, placing them in the empty vase and turning to see Finnick simply grinning at her. She gave an exhausted smile, hoping her cheeks weren't obviously red. She hoped she could just pass them off as a small sunburn if they were. "Seriously, why are you here?"

"Can't a guy miss his best girl?" He gave a lopsided grin, bouncing from one foot to the other.

Eleanor rolled her eyes. "Bother Annie, I'm sure she's not busy." She sighed, placing the bandaids down on the desk. She could feel Finnick's eyes on her, those stupid sea green eyes fixed on her figure as she finally took off her scrubs. "Don't tell me, you can't find her."

He nodded. "She's a good hider." Finnick scratched the back of his head with a bashful grin, watching Eleanor with a warm gaze.

"We always did beat you at hide and seek."

Finnick's eyebrows furrowed at Eleanor. "You mean, Annie, always beat me. You just followed her." He gave a laugh as Eleanor pushed him a way, scoffing in offence. Finally though, he held his hand out to her, looking at the clock momentarily before deciding for the both of them what they'd do next. "Come on, you're taking a break. Tell Ida and Margaret you're clocking out. You need a break."

Eleanor shook her head. "No, I've only got," she paused, looking at the clock before counting in her head. "four more hours." But it seemed as though Finnick wasn't having it, grabbing onto Eleanor and dragging her out, much to her protests. It seemed as though both Ida and Margaret were elated seeing the pair, waving Eleanor off with grins. "Finnick!"

Finnick grinned back at her, practically skipping alongside her. "You've been working all day! Have some fun!"

#The Hunger Games #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair fic #finnick odair #fanfic #Annie Cresta #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x oc #finnick odair angst #finnick odair fluff #annie cresta x fem oc #lgbtq #the hunger games x oc #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #haymitch abernathy #mags flanagan

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bowieandqueen11 · 2 years

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Objection / Phoenix Wright Imagine

Request: Hi! If possible could I get Phoenix Wright getting invited to a childhood friends wedding, only for him to realize that he has feelings for his friend? Thank you!

Oooh this is an interesting request and my first one for my main man Phoenie!!! Thank you so much@miyonorii1317!

I’ve decided to make this a series so this is part one, if you enjoy please let me know and I’ll continue it! :)

(I do not own Phoenix Wright or its characters, all rights go to creators. Beautiful gif credit goes to @arkarti.)

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

‘Nick!! Oooohhh, did you see those flowers?? They’re so pretty - I love daffodils!!’

‘...I don’t think you’re supposed to talk during this part.’

Phoenix is too distracted to notice the innocent squabble going on from the wedding guests he’s sitting sandwiched between. Despite the fact Maya is nearly leaning over him to win the argument, the defence attorney is too busy trying to figure out why the garlands of silver flowers weaving through the wicker chairs are making him feel so gloomy inside. Why each clustering blaze of burning gold confetti that brushed over the aisle and against his dress shoe made him want to grab the fringes of his hair and pull his spikes out. Why the tide of wedding guests flowing in through the looming chamber doors, with champagne flutes and orders of service tucked underneath their arms, made his hands clench into his kneecaps and send shooting, trembling sparks through his body in its desperation to run away.

‘Says you Edgey. You’re talking too!’

He thinks he’s managed to escape having to intervene when a woman from the second row turns round, squints towards them, and raises a finger to her snarling lips. Nick has to shove his fist into his mouth to stop himself busting over in stitches when he spots Miles’ cheeks turning a matching shade of maroon to his freshly pressed suit; he slides down in his chair, eyes wild with a manic shock as he prays that the shushing woman, whom he immediately recognised as a blushed up Ms. Oldbag, is too busy mumbling crankily to herself to realise who he is. Maya flusters, crossing her arms and huffing back into her seat, only to nearly jump nearly a mile into the air a second later with a quiet ‘ah!’ when someone’s face appears from the corner of her eye.

‘Yo, Nick, do you know when this party is supposed to get started?’ Larry leans forward over Phoenix’s seat, resting his chin on his best friend’s blue lined shoulder and peering over his ear to stare at him. Although Nick tries to glance at him out of the side of his eye, Larry’s gaudy bright orange suit, fitted to boot with taffy pink stricken love hearts has him blinking rapidly and recoiling back in horror.

‘It’s a wedding, Larry, the reception hasn’t even started yet. We’ve only just sat down, it will probably be another hour at least.’ Nick bites the bottom of his lip, fervently enough to tear the skin away and send a droplet of blood dribbling down his lip; his eyes are gleaming with a waning anguish that makes even Edgeworth raise a concerned eyebrow. Thankfully Maya manages to tear him away from his thought for a moment, shoving Nick’s shoulder with an excited puff of air and turning round to beam at Larry. ‘And then we get to eat cake’, she near-shouts, clenching her fists and pummelling a yammering Nick. ‘And throw some shapes on the dancefloor!’

‘And we also get free food!’, a delighted Gumshoe chimes in from where he’s slouched back next to Larry, whose busy nodding fervently in agreement. ‘My paycheck got slashed again last week, so it sure will be nice to eat something other than instant noodles for every meal.’

To try and revive the situation (and the sour, guilty and sympathetic frowns that had fallen over the faces of his friends), Larry tries to draw everyone’s attention over to the organ music that has slowly begun to swill over the buzzing and whispering crowd. ‘Can you believe it? Our little Y/n is all grown up and getting married,’ Larry takes a break to sniffle and wipe a tear away from his eye with the edge of his pointer finger. ‘Who would have thought one of our little ‘Signal Samurai’ four-o would end up here so quickly??’

‘It’s called a quartet, Larry. And we’re all twenty eight years old. We’re hardly children.’ Miles has decided to brave sitting up in his chair again, and is now facing the ivy arched altar with a stoic expression on his face and a finger tapping his crossed arms. It turns into a flashing look of disgust when Larry decides to flop his head from Nick’s shoulder over to his instead. ‘Besides, I think that’s Y/n coming in now, so everyone quieten down.’

Phoenix feels like he’s about to burst, a biting ice shooting through his veins as if a distant childhood memory had suddenly been flung free from the recesses of his mind and left to wreak havoc. He can barely look towards you as you make your way down the aisle, the sound of Maya aawing beside him and looping her arm through his elbow turning him green in the face. The only person who seems to have it worse is Edgeworth; Larry is still leaning his head against his neck, sobbing into his pristine suit as he gently tries to both prod him off and awkwardly pat the top of his head in some form of cold, uncomfortable comfort the emotionally repressed Miles is trying his best to give. Bombarded from the other side by Gumshoe blowing his nose into a hankie right by his ear, Miles gives a withering look towards the centre of the room, as if he’s wishing he could just disappear from the situation completely.

The vows seem to rush by in a blur. Nick is too busy lost in his thoughts, eyes glazed over and body busy holding a leaning Maya up to even really notice what’s going on; he just can’t stop thinking about his childhood. About all the moments he missed. All the chances he had. All the courage he never realised was stored away, locked down inside him and only waiting for love and friendship to let it out. Of all the times he had sat beside you in class, a sad, snivelling, dishevelled boy worried about making friends and fitting in and, most of all, trying to make you laugh. It was always the most glorious sound in the world, and he swore every time you would hide your head in your homework book and stifle a giggle, he wanted to spend his life making you so overjoyed, so that sound is all he would ever hear. He would always look forward to walking home with you, playing tag and running through the streets as if you were the only people in the world, feeling free. To be honest, he’s spent his whole life since chasing that sublimity that he had only felt with you; the thoughts of what would have happened if you hadn’t moved overseas plaguing his dreams every night, the thought of what would have happened if he had been brave enough to send you just one more letter haunting his every decision.

Maya lifts her head in confusion as tears began to leak from the corners of Feenie’s eyes. She looked at him, and then to you, and then whipped back to Nick, the cogs beginning to stir in her mind. She squinted, ‘hmm’ing quietly to herself at the way the quivering attorney beside her was dumbfoundedly gazing at you with dewy eyes, as if you were a blanket of fresh snow coating over the cresting coppery dawn of a new day.

‘If anyone has any objections, speak now or forever hold your peace.’

He doesn’t know what comes over him. One second he’s slack jawed, leaning over his elbows quizzically, and the next he’s standing up beside an aghast Edgeworth. ‘Objection! I object uh - your honour.’ He rubs the back of his head, stuttering bashfully over his words as he feels the weight of every pair of angry and bewildered eyes flash towards him. Maya grabs his arm and tries to tug him back down onto the chair, Larry doing his best to fist the back of his jacket and make him fall back down as well, but Nick is stock still. Whether it’s determination, or the look on your face when you turn to look at your beetroot red best friend, he doesn’t know. But he does know one thing: Phoenix Wright isn’t going to leave this courthouse until his truth comes out.

‘I- I object. Because... well... because I-I love you! I always have Y/n! I’m in love with you, and I always will be!’

#phoenix wright #miles edgeworth #ace attorney #phoenix wright imagine #phoenix wright x reader #ace attorney imagine #phoenix wright fluff #phoenix wright angst #ace attorney fanfic #ace attorney fanfiction #miles edgeworth imagine #maya fey #maya fey imagine #larry butz #larry butz imagine

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darkwolf76 · 6 months

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@emilykaldwen really got me back into HoTD with her lovely OC Abrogail, and as she and my OC Deidre are fictional sisters of House Strong, I did a little writing with the two of them, to get back in the swing of things. Very much in the spirit of the hurt/comfort prompt: "It's going to be okay. I promise you."

Deidre felt it before she heard it. Twas a peaceful night. Yet, the air tasted bitter and felt heavy in her lungs. Samwell told her the feelings were her anger over of the whole affair. How the crown had treated them, and her family, House Strong, after so many years of loyal service. ‘Things will get better once we’re out of the clutches of the Dragons, and back in the Riverlands where we belong,’ he’d said. But even as servants packed the possessions of the Blackwood household, she gathered her brood close to her.

It been harder than she thought, getting her children to spend one evening away from the dragon princes and princess they’d all grown up along side, spent their childhoods intertwined with, as Deidre had with both their mothers. It made Deidre see just how much they really needed to leave King’s Landing, at least for a while.bDeidre thought perhaps she’d write to her father of letting her take Abrogail too. Her childhood had been woven just as close to the Targaryen and Valeryon princes as her own children’s, Blackwood and Rivers, but the more time that passed, Deidre questioned how dangerous that was.

Time back among the rivers, in Harrenhal’s walls, might be good for Abby, to reconnect with their cousins and roots in a way Deidre had not been able to at her age. And Harwin would be there, and she would be, for their little sister. Abby was a part of Deidre’s brood, as much as the four children she’d birthed. Her little sister wasn’t even a year older than Dyana and Tristan, her little Rivers twins, and she owed it to Celeste, her stepmother long passed, to mother Abrogail, when Celeste had been such a mother and sister to her, in Deidre’s time of shame and despair.

“I don’t understand why Helaena can’t join us.” Abby frowned, her blue eyes questioning, as she sat at Deidre’s feet, letting her little niece Elyssa braid a part of her bright red hair. Elyssa frowned up at Deidre, a lighter blue gaze boring into her as well. “Is something wrong, mama? Queen Alicent said we could stay the night with Helaena. She was going to let us pick flowers from her garden to weave into each other’s hair.” Deidre stroked her daughter’s ebony Blackwood locks, before turning to look at her little sister, smiling. “I just thought it might be nice for us to spend the evening as a family. It has been a while after all…”

Abby's blue eyes met her older sister’s green. “But aren’t the Queen and Helaena family?” Deidre tensed when she saw the girl didn’t look convinced by her reasoning.

Deidre sighed. “They are your kin, sweet girl. But…” She knelt by her daughter and sister as the words died on her tongue. These two were her family. And Deidre had spent enough of her life acting as a sister to dragons that did not think the same of her, when the truth of it all came out.

She turned her gaze to Dyana, sitting across the room. Her little Rivers lass possessed a temperament so much more fierce then her sister or aunt and was much more likely to be found near the tiltyard than in the Queen’s or Helaena’s room. She was of an age with Abby, but so different. Dyana boasted sun-kissed copper skin, complimented by dark eyes and hair, hinting at the Dornish in her blood, while Abby sported a fair complexion with bright copper hair and deep blue eyes, testaments of her Riverlands and Westerland heritage. Abby sweet girl that she was, must have sensed Deidre’s discomfort. Instead of demanding more answers from her older sister, she tried to make her happy, bringing all the girls of their family together. “Dyana, I can braid your hair! Helaena showed me a style that would look lovely on you!” Deidre’s Rivers lass, as fierce as she normally was, thankfully was quite happy to have Abby mess with her dark brown hair.

Deidre smiled at all her girls gathering close, her two daughters and little sister, and she breathed a bit easier. She knelt by their side and stroked all their hair, bright copper, dark Dornish brown, and Blackwood ebony. Her boys, Tristan and Benjicot, sat on the balcony within her sight, her Rivers boy reading to her Blackwood boy, brothers though they could not say it. Once Sam returned for the night, most of her family would be safe, within reach. And soon enough they’d all be back in the Riverlands, close enough to Harwin to ensure he was safe too. Father and Larys would be missing, but both would be fine here in this city of Dragons. The Targaryens had not sunk their claws in and drawn blood from them, not yet, not the way they’d done to Harwin, to her, to her children, to Abby.

The smile that spread across her lips died when Sam returned not an hour later, and the air in her lungs turned to stone, as she took in his grim face. The Stranger walked among them. The gods had stolen someone once more. Her husband’s voice grew muffled as he drew near, placed firm, steadying hands on her and Abrogail’s shoulders, and spoke in low calming tones to be a balm against the pain of his words.

Deidre froze up, a statue numb and cold, while Abrogail’s emotions burst forth in a way they usually did not. Deidre faltered in her own shock. She failed to be the motherly rock the little girl needed as Abrogail’s face crumpled, tears and sobs tumbling out of her at Samwell’s words. She shook her head, yanking away from Samwell’s grip, and Deidre simply sat, staring, when she should have reached for the little red headed girl, her little sister. Twas only once Abby ran from the room that Deidre found her feet. Sam shaking her shoulder jolted her back. Dyana’s fingers on her cheeks, asking her mother what was wrong, made Deidre realize the tears pouring down her face. She stood, looked at Samwell, entrusting him with the four children that called him father, before she picked up her skirts and ran out into the Red Keep to seek the little girl that now had no parents to call her own.

Deidre must have looked a mad woman, tearing through the halls with her skirts bunched in her hands, tears running free down her cheeks as she called for her little sister in a broken, desperate voice. She could have been looking for Abby for a moment or hours, before the despair over took her. She leaned against a pillar, panting as a sob tore from her throat. Deidre leaned forward, covering her mouth, trying to force back the tears. She needed to be strong, for Abby, for her own children. All of them would grieve the loss too. But Abby, especially. She was just a little girl. Deidre was a woman grown, married with babes of her own halfway to adulthood. Abrogail was still such a young little thing. Deidre wept as much for her as for herself. They’d both lost their father that day, and their oldest brother, who’d been their most ardent protector. She needed to find Abrogail desperately, to show the young girl that she was not alone. That she still had someone who loved her, that she still had a protector and caretaker, a family that would love and shelter her against this cold, cruel world.

Of all the people to find her, she did not think it would be him. “My lady.” She flinched, her eyes wide when she felt his touch on her shoulder. Criston Cole had not laid a hand on her in well over a decade. Her heart hammered out of its chest as her green eyes met his brown. “I heard the news of your loss from her Grace, the Queen. I am sorry.” His tone and face held none of the hardness nor anger that had become his norm the last ten years. Concern, genuine sorrow, even tenderness lay in his eyes. A bit of the young knight she had so loved. “Do you need…is there anything that I can…” His words were cautious.

“I need to find her.” Desperate for comfort, support of any kind, Deidre leaned into his touch even though she knew she shouldn’t. “Abrogail. She was in my family’s rooms when the news came. She ran away before I could stop her. I need to…I need…” She broke down into sobs, and Criston caught her as her steps faltered, as he often did many years ago. And for a moment, she let him hold her, leaning into his gleaming chest plate, before he coughed and shifted her away.

“The Queen sent me in search of Prince Aegon. He rushed off in search of Lady Abrogail as well, when he heard the news. Perhaps they’ll be together.” His calm tone and steady gaze brought Deidre back from her unyielding tidal wave of grief. She nodded, and took a deep breath to steady herself, before closing her eyes. She dung her nails into her palm so hard, a small bead of blood came out. ‘Take my offering, and show me my sister. She needs me, and I need her,’ she prayed silently in her head. She then listened. And she felt the smallest of breezes, the smallest whisper, brush her skirts. Her eyes still closed, she let her feet follow it. Let old, nameless gods guide her, shield her from the grief. She heard Ser Criston call out after her, his heavy armored foot falls followed her, but she did not stop for him.

Her feet guided her to the Red Keep’s small godswood. At the base of the weirwood, a little girl with hair just as red as it’s leaves curled up, and a prince with hair as silver as its bark sat beside her. Deidre stopped a little ways a way, taking in the scene. How familiar, how similar it all looked and felt. True blood sisters she and Abrogail were. Though Abby did not follow the old gods as she did, both sisters still found comfort under the same tree, anf silver haired dragons were never far behind to comfort them. But also to claim them and tear them apart.

Aegon looked so tender with Abby. A boy no one thought capable of such warmth or care anymore, and yet he was with Abrogail. But then again, so had Criston been that way towards Deidre, once upon a time, and that had ended in only pain for them both. “You’re not alone.” Deidre heard the prince whispering in Abby’s hair as she approached. “I’ll take care of you. Mother will let you stay with Helaena, I’m sure of it. And when you’re old enough, I’ll marry you, and you won’t ever have to leave.” Truly, sweet words from the boy, despite his arrogant and increasingly boorish nature, that had only sweet intentions, Deidre believed. But they were poisoned all the same, dangerous words that hinted at a dangerous future, that neither Aegon nor Abrogail realized. One Deidre had to save her sister from, all her children from.

“Abby!” Deidre called out, too tired to hide her despair as her voice broke again. She ran forward as Abrogail looked up in shock. She knelt down next to the girl and pushed Aegon away so she could fully enclose the girl in her own embrace.

“Hey!” Aegon shouted, tenderness turning to anger as his lilac eyes shifted from the younger Strong sister to the older. Deidre squeezed her sister tight to her as anger flashed in Aegon’s eyes. So similar his temper was to Rhaenyra’s, Deidre would have chuckled at it, had protectiveness not seized her heart. She’d faced Rhaenyra’s wrath enough times over the years that this boy prince would not frighten her. But before either could further act, a strong authoritative voice called “Aegon!”

Ser Criston approached, his eyes hard, and an unreadable expression on his face. “Your mother wants you in her chambers, immediately.”

“What could she possibly want with me? Abby needs me—” Aegon’s argument was cut off by the Kingsgaurd.

“Lady Abrogail is well tended by her family. The Queen demands your presence now, my prince.” That harsh tone that Deidre had come to loath over the years, she could not be more grateful for in that moment. The prince only glanced back and forth between the Strong sisters and knight a few times before he gave into the command, letting out a growl before he said, “I will make sure you’re safe, Abby. I promise.” Deidre watched Aegon follow Ser Criston out of the godswood, squeezing Abby tighter to her as the knight nodded to her, before leading the prince away.

Fearful of Aegon’s words, Deidre pulled Abrogail tight against her chest and muttered into her little sister’s red hair. “It’s going to be okay, I promise you. Father and Harwin may be gone, but I will love you fierce enough to make up for it. You’ll be safe in the Riverlands with me and Sam. You’ll want for nothing. I promise, ceann beagg.”

Abby cried harder at the epitaph. Little one, in the old tongue, an affectionate nickname Lyonel had used for both his daughters in their youths. Deidre wished to be strong, that she could dry her younger sister’s tears, reassure her that all would be well. But the fire of Harrenhal had made orphans of both of them that day, and taken a protector from both of them in Harwin too. It did not matter their separation of age and life experiences. They were full sisters in grief, though only half by blood, and Deidre could only share herself with her sister, broken as she was. “I love you, Abby.” Deidre hugged her sister tight as Abby squeezed her. “I cannot fill the hole our father, or your mother left behind. But I will try. I will try.” She hugged her little sister, stroked her hair, rocked her, even as she sobbed just as hard as Abrogail. All night they shared in grief and tears, not disturbed until the first rays of dawn, when a tap of a cane followed foot steps.

Abby had fallen asleep against Deidre. Though Larys was their brother, and the fire had made an orphan out of him too, Deidre still tightened her grip on Abby as Larys came walking down the path, expression unreadable as he fixed his bluish green gaze on his sisters. “Sister, it seems you both have heard the sad news.” He frowned, his tone sorrowful, but grief did not reach his eyes.

“We did,” Deidre croaked. She stroked Abrogail’s hair in comfort. “I’m sorry Larys…it must be hard for you too.” Larys simply gave a small smile, she supposed it was supposed to be sad, and shrugged. Deidre shivered, squeezing Abrogail tighter, and waking the small girl.

“Deidre?” Her voice seemed so fragile, so weak. A little broken bird.

“It’s alright sweet one. Larys has joined us.” Abrogail shifted in Deidre’s arms, sniffling as she turned blood shot eyes to meet their brother’s gaze. He smiled at Abby and slowly approached his sisters. He reached his free hand out and brushed over Deidre’s brown hair before settling his hand on Abrogail’s head.

“Abrogail, how are you faring this morning?”

“I’m fi—”

“You do not need to say that sweet girl,” Deidre cut her sister off. She narrowed her eyes at Larys. “None of us are well brother, nor shall we be for some time I wager.”

“Aye,” Larys sighed, leaning on his cane as he gave a pensive look up at the heart tree they stood under. “This tragedy has made orphans of us all. Its a small comfort at least that we have each other, untouched by the flames, as I take up our father’s mantle, that should have been Harwin’s.”

At the mention of the fire, Abrogail shuddered and started to cry again. Deidre rubbed her back and pulled her tighter against her body, to give her some comfort. Something about Larys’ words strummed something cold and horrible in Deidre’s veins. She narrowed her eyes at their older brother in censure. “I will do my best brother, to support you in your burden, and to care for our sister.” She swallowed before forcing out the words, “Has Uncle Simon sent any word about arrangements for Harwin and Father’s…” Deidre bit her lip to contain a sob. “Have you started making your travel plans? Sam could help…we were already making preparations to travel home. It wouldn’t be too hard to make room for you and Abby in our retinue. We can stop at Harrenhal before heading back to Raventree Hall.”

“Uncle is still assessing the damage I’m afraid.” Larys shook his head. “But as for me and Abrogail, we shall not be traveling to the Riverlands for a while yet, and perhaps you will want to change your own plans sister, after speaking to the Queen.”

“What does the Queen have to do with our family’s affairs?” Deidre snapped. Abrogail pulled away from Deidre a bit at her harsh tone, turning her confused, bloodshot gaze between her older sister and brother.

“Word came from Driftmark that Prince Daemon’s wife, the Lady Laena, has died. He is bringing her and their daughters back home it seems to give the lady a proper burial. The whole royal family and their attendants are expected to attend the funeral to pay respects. You were friends with Laena once upon a time were you not, sister?”

“Yes, but she is not my kin! Not like Harwin or Father! Why in the nine hells would we worry about her funeral when we have theirs to attend?”

Abrogail started crying again at Deidre’s words. Larys moved to put a hand on her in comfort, but Deidre grabbed Abrogial and pulled her against her roughly. Larys frowned, raising a brow, before saying, “You and your husband are free to do as you wish sister, but I as, a member of the Small Council and Abrogail, as the Queen’s ward, we will be expected to attend the rights of Driftmark. We will of course travel to Harrenhal after to pay our respects.”

“Since when have you been a member of the Small Council, and Abby the Queen’s ward?”

“The Queen let me know the honor while I was dining with her last night . And once I received the horrid news of our father’s death, I turned to her for advisement on how to ensure our sister’s future. She kindly offered to take Abrogial into her own household, as her kin.”

Deidre squeezed Abrogail tighter to her still, even as the little maid gasped and tensed in her sister’s grip. “As am I Larys! I am her sister! I have helped father raise her since her mother passed. She needs to stay with me! She needs to see our father and brother buried, not be used by the crown it whatever scheme you and Alicent are making together!”

“As the head of House Strong now, what Abrogial needs is my responsibility to determine, sister, not yours. The Queen is her kin, and has served as a motherly influence, just as you have these past few years, but can offer her better opportunities and education than you could. Do you not want the best for our little sister?”

Abby squirmed in Deidre’s arms enough for Deidre to tear her gaze away from their brother. Abrogail’s blue eyes were wide, scared, darting between her siblings as they bickered about her future. “I’m sorry, ceann beagg.” Deidre forced a tearful smile as she stroked her sister’s messed red curls. “We haven’t even asked you…what do you want? What do you need?”

“I-I don’t want to leave my home. Or my friends…” Abrogail muttered. “I don’t want you, or your family, to leave either. We’re family. Shouldn’t we all stay together?” Deidre’s heart constricted at her sister’s wide eyes, her sweet words, not understanding the games all these dragons played, Alicent and Larys along with them.

“I won’t leave you, ceann beagg,” Deidre promised, resigned, hugging her sister to her. “No matter what. I promise.” Despite Deidre’s efforts to free her family from these dragons by fleeing back to the Riverlands after Harwin, her sister would remain chained to them. Not long after, Alicent so graciously offered to take Tristan Rivers as a ward as well, to stay in King’s Landing to train as a knight and continue to serve as companion to her sons, such good friends as they were. Not to be outdone, Rhaenyra offered to take Dyana Rivers into her household on Dragon Stone, as a lady for her new stepdaughter, Lady Baela. And how could Deidre refuse, for her Rivers twins loved the dragon children as much as Abrogail, and Larys was right? Royal wards were afforded the best opportunities. Her sister and her children would never be free the Targaryens’ reach, and therefore, never would she. And Deidre already knew, for the Old Gods whispered to her, all within the dragons’ reach would burn.

#hotd fanfic #oc: deidre strong #friend's oc #hotd oc #hotd

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