#Wooden teeth family
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The gal
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base by Spadecraftt on DeviantArt
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Demons In His Head
Heroes that never were
Brokenwhistle vision
@ambitiousauthor
Bonus:
Base by Suppurnovae on DA!
#brokenwhistle#tadpolekit#songkit#wc#wooden teeth family#eye-out family#warriors#wc horror#warriors horror#warrior cats#warrior cats art#wc oc art
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I'd say "Maybe part of this is clouded by nostalgia" (The 90s movies were very formative for me), but a friend of mine watched Wednesday without knowing the other things, and after we watched the 90s movies and parts of the 60s show, she agreed with me. So it's not (just) Nostalgia but also that Wednesday missed the mark at some point.
Imo, Wednesday is a decent show but it's not a very good Addams Family show. It's missing the Togetherness of the family. It's a new continuity, sure, but the 90s movies had Morticia reading cute children's books to Pubert when he was sick and wanted those, and while they were concerned about Pugsley being in the boy scouts, they didn't punish him for it and accepted indulging him as an option - and that was a far "stranger" thing to them than Wednesday, what, not wanting to date/marry? I'd expect both 60s and 90s Morticia to be thrilled and suggest like three different ways Wednesday could use staying single against others. "Oh, just like Great-Aunt Snip!". Which might be annoying in the way parents can be annoying sometimes, but not in the "oh no I am so different" way, just the way it's annoying if your mom knows you have a crush and keeps pestering you about it.
You know what they could've done to get both that and the rebellion? Have Wednesday ask them to. Like, literally. "I would like to try out 'teenage rebellion'; can you disparage my choices, claiming it's 'for my own good' even when I specifically ask you not to?". They'd go, sure, and do that. Hell you could even do it retroactively by just having Wednesday go "Thank you for acting in ways allowing me try out teenage rebellion. I've decided I've had enough of the experience, so we can go back to normal now.".
Also, the Addamses are way, way too hinged. Not as important as the Togetherness aspect, but still there.
60s show? "I'll shoot him in the back!" is treated as just a little Quirk of Fester's, nothing to be worried about (and it's implied he did in fact shoot someone before). They're loudly proud of their serial killer ancestors. Kitty cat has definitely eaten a human before (though it gave him tummy issues so now he doesn't do it anymore). Duels to the death are suggested more than once.
And 90s? There's the boiling liquid they were preparing to pour over the carolers. The stripper getting baked in the cake just gets an "Poor girl. Oh well! Anyway!". Morticia pretty clearly threatens "Gordon's" life. The camp counselors, if they're not dead afterwards, will at least have some pretty gnarly burns.
Moving the Addamses from being completely unaware of their strangeness to being a bit more uh, tethered to reality, fine (Wednesday especially seemed more aware of that in general, at least in the 90s version). Imo it could have made some interesting scenes if they were still unaware and just thought everyone else was strange, but I'm okay with that change. But usually, the Addamses weren't just a bit unhinged, the entire doorframe and perhaps the door too had been disintegrated. "I know you couldn't kill anyone, Father" No? You sure? Really?
Like they're not just Goth Aesthetic put on a normal family. They're different. And Wednesday keeps doing references to those things (like Wednesday sipping on some poison, that "Oh you've never looked so attractive as when you were accused of murder", the "Oh no they'd know I failed" about the piranhas) but never quite commits.
why is it that all the new addams family media from the last like 20 years has been like âoh wednesday doesnât fit in with her familyâ âoh wednesday is striking out on her own and discovering her own interestsâ as if sheâs not literally the perfect ideal addams and she doesnât love being the perfect ideal addams meanwhile pugsley is a colorful bright-haired optimist who adopted a puppy and then joined the boy scouts until his parents called a therapist on him
#I remember people on TVTropes for the 90s movies also going#''Oh no no the carolers are fiiine it probably cooled down!! They joke about murder but they wouldn't actually do it!''#no don't pull their teeth they absolutely would.#I love them and theyd be fun neighbors and if you went up to their house they'd treat you super well#(which might suck for you bc they cook with poisonous plants and their preferred type of bed is either a wooden plate or nails but still)#But also they don't have many qualms about murder and that's fine#Like I wouldn't mind adjusting that bit BUT! They'd still need to be unhinged#maybe in a different way#but there can be no hinges in that family!#The 60s show had them making basically anyone threatening run away just by being friendly lmao#their version of friendly is just a tad worrisome to normal people#Like if you want a softer Addams Family you even could give them superhuman resilience to all kinds of murdery things#And them doing those affectionately#though then you'd need to put the ''aren't aware they're not Normal''#back#And you just canNOT get around the Togetherness aspect#If you want friction within the family you gotta go the ''Parents Are Annoying'' route#Not bad. Not ''I hate them''. Just annoying.
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[Toon x Mobster] Chapter 1.1: Unfamiliar.
Previously // Next - (chapter list)
Gavriel Huffmanâs consciousness drifted back in pieces, slowly. The first sensation he registered was the pain. A throbbing, burning ache in his side that shot throughout his body with each ragged breath he took. His hand twitched reflexively, wanting to clutch at the wound, but his limbs felt heavy, sluggish.
He groaned, eyelids fluttering open before having to close them as his blurry vision was assaulted by the bright sunlight peaking through the cracks of the window blinds. Gavriel winced, turning his head slightly to escape the light. The movement sent another jolt of pain lancing through his body making him grit his teeth. The pain, though familiar, was sharper now, less numbed by adrenaline.
His instincts screamed at him to assess his surroundings, and with great effort, he forced his unsteady vision to focus. What he saw made him slightly more awake with disoriented alarm.
The room was cozy. Unbearably so. The walls had warm tones of colors that made the room feel welcoming. The bed he laid on was draped in a checkered quilt with a few stitches here and there. It wasn't as feathery soft or as luxurious as the one he had back in his place, but the worn down cheap quality of it only made them feel more homely in comparison. The air was filled with a subtle, comforting scent, and the one Gavriel noticed immediately was the smell of baked goods.
It was the kind of room he had only ever seen through windows in neighborhoods he didnât belong in.
Gavrielâs brow furrowed, his jaw tightening. He didnât belong here. The dissonance between his bleak, gritty world and this gentle, almost absurd comfort was jarring. It made his head spin, not just from the pain.
He hadn't been thinking very clearly then, but he could vaguely recall memories of the rain and the blood soaking into his clothes and him collapsing into unconsciousness, but everything after that was a blur. How had he ended up here?
Where the hell was he? His hand felt heavy as he reached up to touch the wound in his side, and he was surprised to find it wrapped in bandages. The dressing was hastily done.
He pushed the blanket aside, revealing his current state. His torso was bare, the bandages wrapped tight around his injury, and he was wearing pants that definitely werenât his. The worn, clean fabric was more snug than anything heâd ever put on.
He frowns at this. Gavriel didnât trust kindness. It's a luxury reserved for people who hadnât been forced to scrape and claw their way through life.
With a grunt, he forced himself upright, teeth gritting as another wave of pain rippled throughout his body. He braced himself on the nightstand, the wooden surface creaking under his grip, and scanned the room for any signs of danger.
His eyes landed on a small framed photo on the nightstand. It showed a cheerful looking man with a wide goofy smile and a thumbs-up, standing next to⊠what he assumes to be his family, accompanied with a clean and comfortable-looking set of clothing sitting there waiting for him to wear alongside his glasses.
He reached out for it, seating the frame on his nose bridge and ears. Gavriel turned to squint at the image, something tugging in his head as he tried to place the face of that male toon. Then his mind flashed to the moment before he went unconscious. Someone had crouched down beside him when he was dying in that alleyway.
But why? The idea that someone had helped him, patched up a criminal covered in blood, was almost laughable. People didnât do that for him- for them. At least, not in the place where he belongs.
Currently though, that wasn't his main concern. His dark eyes narrowed. Where the hell was his gun?
His fingers instinctively moved to his waist, but the comfort of the cold metal wasn't there. Gavriel sighed as a familiar wave of dullness washed over him, pulling him in a state of rumination. He was still hurt, still vulnerable, and that meant he was in danger, no matter how deceptively safe this place looked. He clenched his fists, not even giving a wince at the painful ache in his body.
All of this made him feel rather numb and confused, but it doesn't show on his face which he'd trained to never waver even in danger.
The dull ache of his wounds, the confusion of being in this unsettlingly mellow room, and the disorientation of having just woken up alive when he very well should've been dead in an alleyway somewhere. It all pressed down on him heavily. His mind felt like it was wrapped in fog, every thought coming in with a painful throb. He tried to think, to piece together why he hadnât bled out in that alley.
He knew that his injuries had been severe enough to be fatal, the kind of wounds that left little hope for survival. A few hasty bandages and dressings wouldnât have done much to stop the life bleeding out of his dying body.
Yet here he was, hurting but very much still alive. He rubbed his forehead, the motion sluggish from pain as he racked his brain for an answer. It wasnât until he sat there for a hot minute that realization struck.
Oh, right. He was in a city reigned by the Toon genre.
It was common knowledge to all that the Toons leaned heavily on the whimsical side, or more specifically, it was the environment itself that exuded this sort of vitality. One that let its residents survive otherwise fatal mishaps with only a momentâs comedic daze and maybe a few tweeting birds circling their heads.
He couldnât be bothered to recite the specifics of it. Something about places in the Toon genre having stronger healing properties or some nonsense like that. But now, in this moment, the absurdity wasnât so easy to dismiss as it had been the very thing that had led to him surviving his death, a miracle in of itself.
Gavrielâs hand reached up to softly graze the large scar on the side of his neck, healed yet still deep and harrowing, which told stories of a much darker time. Touching it had been a habit he'd developed a long time ago in times of stress or simply whenever he contemplated.
He had no patience for the whimsical workings of this place, no desire to analyze the wonders or whatever it was that had saved him. The only thing that mattered to him was that it had and he's alive because of it.
It didnât change his wariness though. If anything, it only made him more resolute to understand who had brought him here and why.
Then Gavriel hears the door click open.
---------------
Jack Desmond stepped into the bedroom, carefully balancing a steaming mug of coffee in one hand and a bowl of warm porridge in the other. He didn't have anything special in his kitchen at the moment so he was only able to put together a simple meal, figuring that even the scariest man in the world deserved something warm and filling in his stomach to help him heal. That was, if the food hadn't already gone cold by the time he awoke.
Jack wore his usual friendly smile, ready to show the stranger some hospitality when he froze in confusion the moment he saw that the bed was empty.
âHuh?â Jack murmured, his brow furrowing. His eyes darted around the room, searching for any sign of where the man might have gone, but there was nothing.
"Hugh!"
Coffee and porridge spilled to the ground as the cup and plate he'd been holding came crashing down on the ground, splattering everywhere.
Rough hands closed around his neck from behind. The force of the grip was firm, not quite strangling but strong enough to hold Jack in place.
Cold sweat beaded on his forehead and rolled down his temples, his hair standing on its end. It felt like his heart was caught in his throat, he didn't even dare breathe too hard.
The presence behind him was suffocating, a dense aura of danger which didn't fit with the comfort of the room they were in.
The hand holding him didnât need a weapon.
It didn't take much for Jack to instinctively realize that he was currently bordering the line of life and death, a primal understanding that this man could end him effortlessly if he choses to.
Jackâs throat bobbed as he tried to swallow but can't, his mouth dry as a desert. It was as if time had slowed down. He could feel his heart thundering inside, each beat thudding louder and louder in his ears as he stood there, unable to do anything but wait.
The silence was deafening. Jack's mind told him to yell, scream loudly for help, but he couldnât even force out a sound.
Jack felt his breath hitch as the manâs deep, rumbling voice cut through the suffocating silence. The voice was hoarse from fatigue and pain, but it still carried a commanding weight to it as he spoke.
"Who are you?" the voice demanded, each word slow and deliberate, laced with a barely restrained irritation. "Where am I and why am I here?"
Despite the fear pressing down on him, Jackâs mind raced, and something other than terror roused his senses. He sniffs subconsciously, his nose picking up a change in the air. That sharp, metallic tang that made his stomach twist.
"I-Iâll tell you everything you want to know," he stammered. "But please, d-donât move too much." He could smell it. The fresh, unmistakable scent of blood. "You're hurt, s-sirâŠ"
With those words, the room fell into silence again. The man behind him didn't say anything, as if contemplating Jackâs words, yet the grip around Jackâs neck remained firm. Each second seemed to stretch into eternity, and Jack held his breath, waiting for a response as a cold bead of sweat rolls down his face.
Finally, after what felt like a forever, the grip released. Jack released his breath, silently gasping for air as his feet planted into the ground, trying to steady his balance after that terrifying experience. Slowly, he turns around, stumbling away slightly as he looks up to face the much larger man.
Gavriel stood there, towering over him with one hand clutching his wounded side, blood seeping through the bandages and staining his skin anew. With a shadow cast over his face, his sharp glare intensified.
His dark eyes narrowed, scarred face twisted into a pained look of irritation. Even when injured, such a sight would be enough to intimidate anyone with the sheer menace he radiated.
But as Jackâs heart raced in his chest, his gaze drifted almost unconsciously to Gavrielâs wound. The fear was still there, pressing down on Jackâs chest, but something else was too.
Concern.
The sight of the reopened wound stirred something deeply instinctive and kind in Jack, something that momentarily outweighed his terror. He couldnât help it. Despite the terrifying glare, despite understanding that this man could kill him if he wanted to, Jackâs eyes lingered more on his injury rather than his scary appearance.
âYouâre bleeding again,â Jack whispered, his voice small but genuine, before he presses his lips, meekly looking up to meet the man's eyes. The words had slipped out before he could stop them, his worry winning over self-preservation for just a second.
Gavrielâs glare remained unwavering, burning with a mix of suspicion and impatience. âAnswer my questions,â he ordered.
Jack nodded quickly in agreement, returning his focus on the wound, which now had blood dripping from Gavrielâs side, pooling on the floor in droplets.
Jack frowns, a wave of empathy coursing through him, and he took a small step forward without thinking, wanting to help.
Gavriel reacted instantly, his expression souring like a cornered animal. His lips pulled back into a nasty snarl, and Jack immediately froze, eyes darting back to the man's face, his look carrying a clear message.
Donât come any closer.
Jack was hesitant, but he took a shaky breath and showed Gavriel his palm, trying to show him that he meant no harm. âI just⊠I just want to help.â His eyes showed nothing but genuine concern, a warmth that was out of place in the tension.
For a moment, Gavriel didnât move. His gaze bore into Jack with an intensity that made the toon feel exposed but Jack holds his ground, knowing that the man in front of him was in pain and had only been acting out of self preservation.
Jack cautiously inched closer, his hands still raised, palm facing upwards to try and ease the man that he wouldn't do anything bad to him. The closer he got, the more he could see the strain in Gavrielâs features. It was a silent battle between the pain and the effort to appear unwavering.
Finally, he reached the manâs side. Gavriel's eyes followed, but he didnât stop him as Jack extended his palm towards him. Jack's hand flinches and hesitates for a second when Gavriel's grip on his wound tightened⊠Jack steels himself and gently touched the lower side of the man's hip, his fingers being stained with the blood that ran steadily down it.
Despite not being injured himself, Jack still winced sympathetically at the sight. Though Gavrielâs face showed no change, Jack didnât miss the way the muscle around the injury flinched at his touch.
âOkay⊠okay.â Jack murmured, his voice soft but determined. His mind buzzed with worry, already trying to think of what he could do to keep the wound from worsening.
With a pang of dread, it finally dawned on him in fullness that this was only the beginning of him having to temporarily keep this dangerous man in his apartment.
Oh, boy. This was going to be a long week.
#toon x mobster#txm#jack desmond#gavriel huffman#oc#ocs#original character#original characters#oc art#original character art#my drawing museum
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Out Of The Woods
summary: The war is over and Rhaenyraâs daughter gets a fresh start in The North.
pairing: Cregan x Targaryen!Reader
word count: 842
warnings: Description of pain & childbirth, grief, RIP Jace <\3
note: SoooâŠâŠ. It appears that Iâm in Cregan Simp Mode
It is a brighter day than usual when your labors start. The sun even begins to peak behind the clouds, casting a gorgeous gleam over Winterfell. It has been six months since the civil war between your family has ended and it seems as though the smoke-like grief that clouds your mind is finally beginning to clear. After all of your pain and suffering, you are now far away from Dragonstone and even farther away from Kingâs Landing. As your younger brother sits the Iron Throne, you have a hope for a peaceful realm. As well as hope that you and Cregan will finally be able to start anew.
Things are different in Winterfell, especially now that the dance has ended. There is no pressure for your babe to have silver hair or violet eyes. No pressure for it to be born with a cock. All that matters is that the babe is healthy. Your child will not suffer the same hardships as you and your siblings once did.
You can hear heavy footsteps outside of the chamber as Cregan paces restlessly. While you endure another hour of labor, you try to keep your mind elsewhere. Your gaze is fixed on the flicker of the candle that sits in the chandelier above your head.
One of your earlier memories is your mother being in labor with Joffrey. You remember wincing at her screams and placing judgement on the names she called her midwives. Now you donât blame her. You even admire her for going through this so many times. You miss her terribly.
Your hand grips tightly onto the wooden headboard as you try your hardest to listen to the instructions of your midwife.
âPush into the pain,â she advises you, âwhen the pain is at its worst, thatâs when you will want to push the hardest, my lady.â
Your knees are at your chest, a thin layer of sweat covers your entire body, and your once white nightgown is now stained red. You inhale deeply as you brace yourself for another painful contraction.
And just like that, itâs happening again. It begins as a dull ache in your spine that eventually overtakes you completely. It feels as if you were being torn to shreds. Your muscles begin to spasm and each wave of pain is worse than the last.
A particularly loud scream echoes out into the hallway and it has Cregan bursting through the door into the room, his auburn brows furrowed.
âThis is not the place for men, my Lord,â your midwife sternly warns him.
âI do not care! Whatâs happened?â
âNothing!â you bark at him, your teeth gritted. This is a pain he is unable to comprehend.
âIâm fine, weâre fine. It just hurts. Thatâs all.â
Cregan frowns at you as he comes to stand at your side.
âMy lordââ your midwife tries to interject once again.
âIâm staying.â
He keeps true to his word and remains at your side for the rest of your labor, despite your midwifeâs wishes â earning him many dirty looks.
Another painful contraction comes and the pain is mind blowing. But it seems to be the light at the end of the tunnel. You bring your chin down to your chest and push with all of your might. You push as if your life depends on it, because it does.
âThatâs it, my lady! Perfect. I can see the babe already, a full head of hair,â she states.
Just when you swear you cannot push anymore, you feel sudden relief and loud cries fill the room.
âItâs a boy,â your midwife declares, and Cregan squeezes onto your hand tightly.
âAnd he is one healthy pup! With quite the set of lungs!â she adds.
About an hour later, once you are moved from the birthing bed and all cleaned up, you sit in your large bed that you and Cregan share. Your babe is cozily bundled up and suckling at your breast, his tiny gums gnawing at your flesh.
âDo we have a name for him?â Cregan asks you as he comes to take solace beside you, peering down at the tiny babe.
âIâm not quite sure yet,â you reply, your mind still hazy, your heart full, âdid you have something in mind?â
âI was thinking⊠he holds a striking resemblance to your brother. What do you think?â
You glance down at your newborn son. An angelic face matched with tiny wisps of dark hair that threaten to grow into a thick head of curls.
âOh,â you coo, âyeah⊠yeah, he does, doesnât he?â
Cregan smiles widely at you, in a way that makes your heart want to burst right out of your chest.
You and Cregan both held great love for Jacaerys. It was something you bonded over when you were first getting to know one another. After spending so much time with him at the beginning of the dance, Cregan began to care for Jace as if he was a brother of his own.
âSo itâs settled then,â he states with pride, âweâll call him Jacaerys.â
âJacaerys,â you breathe out in agreement as your husband places as gentle kiss on your forehead.
#cregan stark#cregan stark x reader#cregan stark fluff#cregan stark x you#cregan x you#cregan x targaryen!reader#cregan stark x strong!reader#cregan stark fic#cregan stark oneshot#hotd#house of the dragon#tom taylor#cregan x y/n#cregan imagine#cregan fanfiction#hotd cregan#dad!cregan#dad!cregan stark
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à° đđđđđđđ
W.C âș 5.6k
Warnings âș Chapter 1. Male omegas have a bit of a strange anatomy. Tried to explain it well. In any case, male omegas have pussies.
Plot âș You go through a Pseudo heat and learn more about what your parents truly did to your body
Kinks âș use of pussy, dirty talk, cumming untouched
àłàŸàż ËË-
đđ”đźđœđđČđż đź:
đŸđđ©đ§đȘđš & đŒđ„đ§đđđ€đ©đš
àłàŸàż ËË-
â ăć
ăĄăăăă©ăăăŠç§ăćźăŁăŠăăăȘăăŁăăźïŒ â
âDo they hate me?â
âMhm? Who is they?â
âYou know.â
âI donât, (Name).â
âYes you do. But mom actually likes you.â
âThis again?â
âYukina is gone. Now Iâm her target. Why canât you see that?â
âItâs nonsense, thatâs why. No mother could ever hate her child. No parent would ever hate their children. Familial love is one that canât be replaced.â
ââŠNaoki would understand. But you⊠youâŠâ
âNaoki? Seriously? Have you taken your suppressants?â
âNaoki says I shouldnât take it! No one else takes it. You donât even take it. My scent is sweet, itâs not sour like yours. Itâs fineââ
â(Name), think for a moment. You being an omega is already enough on the family. Would it hurt you to just try and make our parents proud? Canât you just do this one thing for them? For us?â
â ăȘăă§ăăïŒèŠăăăăçŽæščăâ
âWill he be okay? Has he even gone through a heat before? Is he a late bloomer?â
Miya sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose as she glanced over at Watanabe. You were barricaded in your bedroomâthe smell of heat spilling in from underneath the door. Watanabe was by the kitchen, his hands grasped tightly at the wooden chair Miya usually used when she wanted to cook without standing.
She could already see the chipped wood forming beneath his palms. The sound of the wood breaking slowly.
Sheâd complain about that another time. It was a shock Watanabe was even lucid enough to not bust the door down and mate you. This sight of Watanabe was interesting. His cool bad boy facade was long gone, replaced by an anxious alpha.
Youâd think Watanabe had mated you ages ago.
âMhm. I donât know. Heâs never had a heat before because ofâŠâ Her voice trailed off, her lips pursing together. Did he know? Would it be safe to tell him? Would you even want her to tell him?
âBecause of?â Watanabe muttered, finally looking over at Miya. She could see his eyes were blown, unfocused. They looked to be struggling to not narrow in at your bedroom door.
Miya didnât know why she hasnât kicked him out yet. The whole journey here she wanted to get you away from him. But she could tell just from his soured scent that he wasnât focused on fucking you. He was genuinely scared right now.
âHe presented late, thatâs all.â It wasnât a total lie.
A strangled moan left your bedroom and Miya could see in seconds Watanabeâs gaze zero in on your door. His grip tightened on the chair and she heard the wood crack. Slowly his palms bleed red as he grit his teeth, closing his eyes as he began to whisper something to himself.
Miya inched over to the door, ready to defend your safety if need be. She didnât care that she only reached his chest, stomach really. Sheâd fight to the death for you if she had to.
A knock on the door caught her attention. âHuh? WhoâŠ?â
âMy mom.â Watanabe suddenly whispered, moving his hand away from the chair. The chair was totally destroyed, coated in his blood. His hands had pricks and splinters as he plucked out the large ones and dropped them by the trash as he stiffly walks to the front door.
âWhen did you even call your mom?â Miya asked, wondering what his mother could possibly do in a situation like this.
âTexted.â He bluntly said, pulling the front door open.
A chubby woman with greying brown hair pulled into a neat bun was shown, dressed in a nurse garment. Ah, thatâs why. Her lips were pursed as she narrowed at Watanabeâs bleeding hands. She pulled out a first aid kit from her bag and stepped inside, handing it over to Watanabe.
Ms. Watanabe glanced around the room before sniffing the air, a frown pulling on her lips as she noticed Miya by the door. âAh, are you Tanakaâs alpha?â She asked, walking over to Miya.
Miya hummed, needing to get used to the title. âAh.. Yes. Furukawa Miya.â
âWatanabe Hitomi. Iâm a doctor that specializes in omegas healthcare. Ah, ignore the nurse garments, today was my day off, I just put whatever on.â She laughed to herself, smiling brightly.
âMhm. Then⊠can you check on (Name)? Heâs never had a heat before.â
âYes, of course. I just wanted to make sure I had permission.â
âPermission?â
âYes. Alphas are so territorial! Even with betas like me,â she giggled. âRiki, you havenât mated Tanaka yet, yes?â
Watanabe only grunted, busy bandaging his hands.
âIâll be back, Furukawa-San.â
Miya bowed her head. âThank you, Watanabe-San.â
âAh, call me Hitomi. I have a feeling weâll be like family soon.â Hitomi grinned, opening the bedroom door and stepping inside.
Hitomi couldnât help her gasp as she slammed the door behind herself quickly, hoping none of your scent had slipped out. She pulled out a small packet of pills and a water bottle as she stepped over to your bed.
And there you were, nude burying your face into a sweater that was seeped in Miyaâs citrus scent. You whined at the sight of Hitomi, too horny to care about your nudity. Hitomiâs beta scent was refreshing. Minty like any other beta. But it was nice. Miyaâs scent was doing nothing for you.
But there was something in Hitomiâs scent that caught your attention, no matter how fuzzy it was.
Ume?
Riki? Does she know him? Mhm, UmeâŠ
âTanaka-San, Iâm sorry this is how we meet. Iâm Watanabe Hitomi, Rikiâs mother. He wanted me to check on you because itâs your first ever heat, yes?â
You only whined at the mention of Rikiâs name. Why wasnât he here with you right now? Did he not want you? Were you not enough?
A cool hand against your neck caused you to flinch, your eyes opening again to look at Hitomi. She smiled softly, sitting down on the bed as she rest the water bottle on the night stand.
âItâs okay, Omega. Breathe. Your Alpha loves you.â She whispered, her voice motherly. âBut he canât be here. Itâs your first ever heat, itâs a dangerous time for you, Pup. He could accidentally hurt you.â
You whined, feeling your fist tighten their grip on Miyaâs sweater. Hurt you? Riki would never. He could never hurt you. Just what was this lady talking about?
Hitomi chuckled. âWell you can growl so I donât need to check that.â
Growl? You didnât even notice you were making any noise beside whimpering.
âI have something to help with the pain, Pup. Itâs a heat suppressant. Have you taken any other suppressants? One that wasnât only for heats?â
Shame creeped up on you as you looked away, biting your lip. Hitomi watched as you slowly nod. She didnât say anything for a momentâas if waiting for you to elaborate. You slowly reached over and pulled open your night standâs drawer.
âIs it in here?â She asked, looking over as she reached inside and pulled out the empty packets. You watched as her calm eyes began to widen in horror as she read the name. ââŠLâŠLimited XâŠ?! Tanaka-San, are you serious?!â
She calmed down when you responded with a whimper, curling up into yourself further in embarrassment. âIâm sorry, Iâm sorry, Pup. I didnât mean to yell at you.â Hitomi leaned down and pressed a soft kiss on your forehead. You couldnât help but purr.
Doctors arenât supposed to be this loving but you would ignore it in the fact she was your alphaâs mother. Wasnât she practically your mother now?
âMiya said you were a late bloomer⊠Was that a lie? Did you present?â She took your whine as a yes. âWhen did you start taking Limited X?â
A grunt left your throat as you parted your lips, ââŠnineâŠâ
âNineâŠ? When.. When did you present?!â
âNineâŠâ
Hitomi pulled away. You saw from the corner of your eye her panicked expression as she whispered something herself. Was it that bad? Your situation couldnât have been that rare. She let out a sigh before turning back over to you, a small smile on her lips.
âYour parents are awful, Pup. But itâs okay now. I got you.â She whispered, her voice shaky as she reached over and gently brushed your cheek. Her hand trailed down to your neck as she touched your scent gland. A broken gasp left her lips at the tough skin her fingers grazed.
âMhm..?â You whined
âYour scent gland isnât evenâŠâ Her look of surprise was soon replaced with fury. Her jaw tightened as she shook her head, patting your back as she stood up. âIâm sorry, Pup. I canât let you take the suppressants. You need to let the heat run its course. Is there anything you want before I go? Iâll come back to visit you in a day or two.â
âRiki⊠I want RikiâŠâ
âIâm sorry, but he canât spend it with you. Itâs for your safety, baby.â
âPlease⊠Please⊠Want himâŠâ
Hitomi pursed her lips as she glanced over at the door. âOkay. For a minute.â She left the room, leaving you alone. Your hand found the fluidity to toss Miyaâs sweater across the room, wanting the citrus scent far away from your nose.
Your eyes fluttered open when you felt a cool hand gently touch your cheek. You hadnât even realized you had fallen asleep. A low purr left your throat when your eyes met Rikiâs. There he was.
Well, he was a bit far from you.
You hum and raise an eyebrow, reaching over to grab his hand and pull him closer. But he quickly resisted, pulling his hand away. The sound that leaves you is almost like that of a kicked puppy as you look at him in shock.
The words are on the tip of your tongue but you were too far gone in your heat to speak now.
âSorry⊠Sorry, I canât get too close. Itâs hard enough being here.â Riki muttered, his eyes looking at everything but you. You noticed his tense posture, back straight entirely with his fists clenched at his sides. The bandages wrapped around his fists catch your attention as you whimper, wondering how he got hurt in such a short amount of time.
Did Miya fight him??? Oh god, you hoped that they would get close not fight.
A strangled grunt leaving Rikiâs chest made you look up at him, seeing his jaw set tight. Was your scent affecting him this badly?
âAh, (Name), I canât stay in here much longer.â Riki groaned, reaching down and pulling off his shirt. Your eyes widen as your legs clamp together, an eager smirk pulling on your lips. Neither can you, you felt as if you would burst if he just continued to stand there.
But whatever you thought was going to happened was ignored when he tossed the shirt at your face. Any disappointment was drowned out when you sniffed the shirt, sighing in relief at having the Japanese apricots fill your nostrils.
âWhy didnât she tell me you were nakedâŠ.â
Your eyes peek open to see Riki moving away, the sound of his pants falling onto the ground causing you to purr in appreciation at the sight of his ass. He also tossed his pants at you. It hit your square in the face but you didnât care, eager to just bury your nose in his scent.
âRikiâŠâ You mewled, slick coating the bedsheets beneath you.
âShh. If you say my name again Iâll cum.â He said bluntly, his hand gripping at his boxers before pulling them off. You couldnât help the slight squeal that left you as he tossed the boxers to you. You forgot all about his pants and shirt as you bit at his boxers, purring at the fabric in your hands.
Ah, it was right against his cock.
You thought he was now coming to join you in bed but you whined as you watched him slip on some clothes. What?! What the fuck?! He changed into a plain old t-shirt and sweatpants. Where did he even get that?!
You felt like throwing a tantrum.
Here you were, pliant, soaking wet, practically begging for him. And he was only nice enough to give you his boxers?!
Riki finally turned around, rubbing the bridge of his nose. âDonât give me those eyes. Iâm following my momâs instructions. Iâll visit you again tomorrow.â He walked over to you with his fingers pinching his nose. A slight giggle left your lips at the sight as he leaned down and pressed a kiss on your lips before quickly pulling away and sprinting to the door.
âBye!â He yelled, closing the door behind him.
He was lucky heâs cuteâŠ
You glanced down at the boxers still in your hand and sighed. This will have to do for tonight.
àœàœČâ€ïžàœàŸ
âArenât they cute?â
You kneel down, peering into the small pond. The koi fish swirl around each other as you poke your finger in the water. They disburse away from your small ripple, finding safety near the other side. A slight giggle leaves your lips.
âTheyâre funny.â
âFunny? Mhm, I donât know. I think youâre more funny looking.â
A gasp leaves you as you turn over to face Naoki, pouting at the laugher that begins to escape him. He falls back onto his butt while you cross your arms together and fane a look of disappointment at his teasing.
âMeanie. The girls at my school say Iâm cute. And that I smell sweet!â
âDo they? What did you bribe them with?â
âB..BriâŠbe..? What does that mean?â
Naoki only chuckled, reaching over to pull you close with him on the grass. âAsk your teacher. But you do smell sweet, (Name). My little pudding.â
âWellâŠ! You smell like vanilla!â
âVanilla? Thatâs too sweet for an alpha like me.â
âDonât care. Youâre sweet. Sweet alphas are better than smelly alphas like Daichi.â
âReally? Then I hope you get with an alpha with the sweetest scent there is.â
âEw! I donât like alphas. Only you and Miya. Yuck!â
Naoki laughed. You couldnât remember his face. It hurt so much to only remember his heart shaped smile. Why couldnât you remember his eyes? His nose? The only person to love you and you canât even remember him properly?
â(Name), câmon, drink this!â
A groan left your throat as your eyes open, staring up at the ceiling. You looked to your left and saw Miya holding a glass of water. She smiled and reached down, wiping at your face before helping you sit up.
âDid you sleep well? You had a big smile on your face before I woke you up.â She asked, sitting down on the bed. You hummed absentmindedly, eager to quench your thirst.
âHow long has it been?â
âA week.â
âWeek?! Heats only last three daysâŠâ
âYeah will you havenât exactly gone through a heat before. Anyway, Hitomi-San came to visit you everyday to make sure you didnât die.â
âDie?!â
Miya hummed. âYou were sometimes so cold during the night or really hot. She would sometimes stay the night to make sure you didnât stop breathing too.â
âCrap⊠I donât remember anything that happenedâŠâ
âWell you didnât do anything embarrassing if youâre worried about that.â Miya said, taking the empty glass from you. Her lip slightly twitched as she smirked. âAh, wait, no thatâs not true⊠you did embarrass yourself when Watanabe came.â
You froze, looking over at Miya with a look of fear. Miya smirked and began to laugh, enjoying your panicked expression.
âWhat?! What did I do?â
âIt was so funny⊠Hitomi-San was cleaning the slick off your body when Watanabe came into the room to give you fresh clothes with his scent. You practically shoved Hitomi-San off the bed to launch yourself at Watanabe. I shouldâve recorded it!!â
âIs Hitomi-San okay?!â
âYeah, sheâs fine. Watanabe wasnât, you made him fall and knock his head against your desk! Then you started crying as if you killed him because he was knocked out for a second. Anyway he had to get stitches on the back of his head.â
You stared at Miya with your mouth agape, physically imagining the event in your head. You were so glad you couldnât remember anything. It was already bringing you shame and embarrassment at the fact you literally attacked Riki just cause of your stupid heat.
Not to mention shoving away the woman who was helping you live⊠Gosh, you wanted to curl up and die.
Miya had finally stopped laughing and pulled out her phone, showing you a picture she mustâve took of that night. Sure enough, there you are, naked as the day you were born. Luckily enough Miya had cropped it to where it was only the upper half of your body.
You were straddling Riki, holding his face in your hands as you looked to be in a mid cry. There was a small amount of blood on the floor from what you could tell so he really did get hurt. Miya swiped, showing a short video that was Riki waking up, looking absolutely disoriented before narrowing in on you. Immediately a blush appeared on his face and he practically bucked you off of him.
Your cries were heard in the background as you were flung off camera. Video Miya yelled something about being careful while Hitomi had moved over to you. Riki moved to stood up but soon collapsed back onto the ground, earning a shrill scream from what you could only assume was yourself. The video soon ended with Miya accidentally turning the camera on your bare butt as you once again shoved Hitomi away to get to Riki.
That wasâŠ
âOh my god.â You whispered, wanting to end it all right then and there while Miya laughed her ass off.
âIâve never seen you act so animal like!â Miya laughed, wiping away the stray tears from her face. âIt was nice. Felt like the first time you were truly yourself. Even if it was while you were butt naked, dripping slick all over the carpet.â
âMiya!!â
âWhat? Itâs a normal bodily function. Donât get embarrassed.â She patted you on the back and stood up, stretching. âAnyway, Hitomi-San and Watanabe will be here in a few hours. Take a shower⊠a long one.â
With that, she left your room, leaving it open as Ume sprinted inside. Ume purred as she jumped onto your bed and immediately got comfortable, curling into herself. You couldnât help but smile, knowing Ume mustâve been upset to not have access to your room for such a long time.
She hated closed doors. Ume practically owned the place.
You rubbed at your neck, groaning as you stretched your sore body. Your body sputtered for a moment as your fingers gently rubbed against the lower center of your neck. It⊠was a bit softer?
It was still sold and rough but there was a slight softness that wasnât there before.
It wasnât too late for youâŠ?
You could be mated?
Youâd have to ask Hitomi. But you couldnât help the slight giddy smile on your lips. You could be Rikiâs if it really was softening⊠A slight glob of slick soaked the bedsheets beneath you. You groaned, rolling your eyes. This was going to have to take some getting used to.
àœàœČâ€ïžàœàŸ
Miya fiddled with her phone, her eyes flickering around as she closed the apartment door behind her. Her phone began to ringâstartling her out of her thoughts as she quickly answered it without looking at the caller ID.
âHey. How are things there?â She whispered, walking to lean over the railing. Her dyed purple hair was pulled back into a small ponytail as the wind blew her bangs upward.
The voice on the other line as hushed and quiet.
âTerrible. Heâs back.â
âWhich one?â
âObviously the eldest. He had a wedding ring on his finger. I think heâs married now.â
âMarriedâŠ? He didnât tell (Name)? Does he even have a mating mark?â
âThat type of alpha would never let anyone mark him. Anyway, he talked to me as if weâre friends. The nerve.â
âShit. Did he say anything weird?â
âBesides the fact he was not so subtly making fun of me for still living at momâs place, no. He did insult me being a mangaka, I donât remember telling him that. Did (Name) tell him?â
âReally, Yuzuru? (Name) doesnât even talk to his mom unless she calls. Heâs not talking to Daichi.â
âWatch your mouth. Iâm still the oldest, little shit. I donât have to do this spying shit for you.â
âThen say goodbye to your precious beta reader!â
âWait! Sorry, sorry. Anyway, I still havenât seen Naoki. I⊠huh?â
âMhm? Whatâs wrong?â
âUh⊠Daichi just came back with a woman⊠an omega I think.â
âOmega? No way in hell⊠those alpha elitist would never mate with an omegaâŠâ Miya waited for her brother to continue speaking but she soon heard the sound of a woman talking before the phone abruptly cut off.
She cursed, ready to call Yuzuru back when she saw Hitomi and Watanabe walk up the stairs to the complex. Sheâd have to call him back later. With a huff, she put her phone away and grinned, waving at Hitomi.
Hitomi smiled, her eyes closing into crescent moons. âMorning, Miya-Chan! I brought breakfast for you and Tanaka. Did you sleep well?â
âYes, I did! (Name)-Kun is doing great thanks to your help. He just woke up a few minutes ago.â Miya reached over and took the plastic bag away from Hitomi, opening the apartment door to let them inside. She rolled her eyes at Watanabeâs lack of greeting.
She could tell he was fidgety. His eyes quickly narrowing in on your bedroom door, practically waiting for you to come out so he could see if you were truly okay.
Hitomi pulled out a MedKit from her bag, going straight to your room. She didnât knock, just pushed the door open before shutting it behind her.
Just your luck, you were putting on your underwear when she came in. You shrieked, reaching to cover your nude body from her eyes.
âCalm down, Pup. Iâve seen everything by now.â She said honestly, resting the MedKit on your nightstand as she pulled out what looked to be a thermometer and some pills. âCome here once youâre dressed.â
You slipped on a baggy t-shirt and shorts, wondering if you should bring up the whole⊠shoving incident. âUhm⊠If⊠uh.. there.. was anything weird I did⊠while⊠yâknow⊠in heat⊠I uhmâŠâ
Hitomi glanced over at you. âYou mean giving my son a concussion and having him bleed out on the floor?â
Your breathing halted, your eyes widening at her words. Well when she puts it that wayâŠ
Her gaze was harsh on you before a gummy smile pulled on her lips. âItâs okay, Pup. You arenât the craziest patient Iâve had to dealt with. You were tame. Now câmere.â
You walked over to where she was by your desk and watched as she held up the thermometer, motioning for you to pry your lips apart.
âBesides,â she said, slipping the thermometer into your mouth. âYou look cute while crying. You cared so much for my Riki. I think if Miya hadnât held you back, you wouldâve followed us to the hospital.â
âFollowedâŠ?â You muttered, taking the thermometer out of your mouth to once it beeped. Hitomi took it from you and hummed. A good temperature youâd assume.
âYes. You wouldnât even let me touch Riki at first. Took Riki waking back up and telling you to calm down for you to finally release him.â
âI didnât know omegas could be⊠territorial.â
âEveryone is territorial. Especially for someone they love. Omegas can be scary when they want to. You almost bit me.â Hitomi said nonchalantly.
âBit?!â
âItâs fine. Like I said, you were like a kitten compared to other patients Iâve had.â She opened the bottle of pills and poured out two capsules, handing them over to you. âYou seem fine. But you didnât go through a full heat. It was just a pre-heat. Your full heat will be in two months.â
âOnly a pre-heatâŠ? But it was intense.â
âMhm. It was. Your body was only getting you ready. You are severely underdeveloped,â she said, her tone turning serious. âI advise you to not have any penetrative sex until your hole⊠has grown.â
âGrown?â
âYes. I checked it. Itâs too small for an omega. Your cock should also become small as well.â
âWhat? Wait? I thought male omegas could have dicks?â
âWho told you that? Male omegas are born with dicks but they lose them during their first heat. Then a vagina begins to form and your dick will become a clit. Your hole is there, just too small to be called a vagina at the moment.â
âYou werenât talking about my butt hole..?â
âNo.â Hitomi frowned. âDid no one teach you about male omegas? I know theyâre rare but they should still teach you all about these things. You need to know your bodyâŠâ Her lips pursed as if she was in thought before looking over at the door.
You glanced over, wondering if she saw something.
âAh. Have Riki show you where your hole is. Iâm sure you donât want me touching it.â She said, putting away her materials. âYou can also have him help you stretch it. Itâll help with the process.â
âS..Stretch it..?â
âYes. Finger you. You can always finger yourself but at least let him show you where it is.â With that, she grabbed her MedKit and left the room, leaving you standing there with your mouth agape.
Vagina� Clit...? Fingering?!
You felt lightheaded. All this time, your body was underdeveloped. Your genitalia was a lie this entire time! Your cock was going to turn into a fucking clit!!!
â(Name)? Your scent soured.â
Your body jumped as the door was harshly pushed up, a tense Riki standing in the doorway. His eyes roamed your bodyâlooking for any damage before pausing at your face. He tilted his head, walking over to you as he began to sniff you.
âWhat? Did my mom tell you bad news?â He asked, his hand reaching up, as if to touch your face but he stopped himself and placed it on your desk. You couldnât help the slight whimper at that.
âNo⊠No bad news. Just thatâwellâIâll be growing a vagina!â
âHuh? You already have one. I saw it when we were in the classroom.â
âHah?! You saw it?!â
âMhm. Itâs so tiny, I was wondering why it looked like that but Iâve never been with a male omega before.â Riki said nonchalantly, his posture relaxing now that he realized there was nothing wrong. âYouâve never felt it?â
You blushed. âWell, I donât really masturbate touching myself down there.. just my cock.â
Riki tilted his head as a smirk pulled on his lips. âMhm? Youâll have to learn the other way soon, your little cock is turning into a clit.â He laughed.
The urge to punch him the face was strong. He felt just like the Riki you met at the sushi restaurant. It was going to take some getting used to with Rikiâs personality. It was like he could switch between a sadist and timid puppy.
âUhm. Your mom.. said that you could help.â
âHelp? You want me to touch your pussy?â
Your cheeks flushed as you looked at everything but him. âDonât call it that!â
âWhy canât I? Is it not a pussy?â Riki grinned as he moved closer, his nose teasing your neck as he leaned down. Your breathing hitched as you subconsciously tilted your head, giving him easy access to your scent gland. âI was sad that Iâll have to wait so long to properly fuck youâŠâ
His hand grasped your crotch, earning a stuttered gasp from you as your body tensed. Your hand gripped the desk behind you for stability as he harshly fondled you. âBut fingering you until you get a proper pussy sounds hot. Iâll be making a pussy just for me to touch. For me to fuck. For me to knot whenever I please.â
âRikiâŠâ you gasped. The thought was already intoxicating. Any fear you had about this new body part growing was long gone at the thought of Riki truly molding you into something just for him. You were only disappointed that youâd have to wait so long to get what your body so desperately craves.
Only two month⊠You can last two monthsâŠ
âDo you like that? The thought of your body changing itself just from my touch?â He whispered, his hand gripping your cock through your shorts. Your body arched against the desk as you feel your legs part to give Riki easier access.
âNngh⊠Thatâll⊠Thatâll make me good for Alpha.â You manage to whine, looking up at him with watery eyes. Rikiâs eyes widen before he chuckled, pressing a kiss on your neck.
âYouâre already a good omega for me, (Name). But I wonât lie and say you getting a pretty pussy wonât make me happy. I can already imagine sinking my fingers inside, stretching you wide before I stuff you with my knot. Would you like that, Omega? My knot stretching you, ruining you for me and only me?â
A strangled cry left your throat as the thought clouded your mind and your hands gripped the desk, your toes curling. Your body felt as if it was spasming until you felt a growing wetness in your shorts.
Riki released your crotch as he glanced down, a laugh leaving his lips. âYou came untouched. Did I excite you that much?â
âShut up.â You weakly whine, wanting to curl up into a ball and die.
âAhem.â
You and Rikiâs body froze as there was a slight knock on the door. There stood Miya, her face unimpressed.
âWe are still here, by the way. Maybe close the door if youâre going to start having sex.â She said, âAlso thereâs breakfast, (Name)⊠come get it after you take a shower⊠again.â
This was it. You were going to die of embarrassment.
Riki looked as if heâd seen a ghost. You could tell he mustâve realized his mother heard his dirty talking. Hopefully they didnât hear everythingâŠ
âUh⊠We can talk about the whole fingering thing later.â You whispered.
àœàœČâ€ïžàœàŸ
In front of him, he stood tall, overpowering. His scent was muskyâdrowning out any other scent in the room. Brown eyes flickered around the living room before settling on a framed picture on the wall near the TV.
You, so young and cute, a wide smile while Miya hugged you tightly against her chest. It was an older picture, around the age of thirteen. Yuzuru was standing behind the both of you, aged eighteen, a small slight smile on his lips. His large circular glasses taking up half of his face.
Daichi looked over Yuzuru now, sitting on the couch across of him. Glasses long gone and smile replaced a tight frown. It was a shame, Daichi thought to himself. Yuzuru was supposedly an omega but looked nothing like it.
He took another look at Yuzuru, wondering how he gained so much weight. Yuzuru wasnât the stick thin omega he was back in high school. He was fuller, his mother must be over feeding him.
Yuzuru kissed his teeth together, catching Daichiâs attention. âIf youâre done scrutinizing me, why are you here?â
Mrs. Furukawa gently patted Yuzuruâs lap, giving him a tight smile. âWhat Yuzu was saying.. Is what made you want to visit us? Itâs been forever.â
Daichi grinned, opening his coat and pulling out an envelope. âItâs nothing special.â He said. âYuzuru is almost in his late twenties and my colleagues mentioned something about a blind date for omegas to find an alpha. Iâm sure⊠it would be helpful for your case.â
A pin could be dropped as Yuzuruâs eyes widen, his lips parting as his fingers dug into the armchair of the couch. He looked ready to blow, jump across this stupid coffee table and show Daichi what he was made of. But his mother grabbed his arm as she grabbed the envelope from Daichi.
âIs that?â She asked, her voice devoid of any emotion.
âAh. Yes⊠You have (Name)âs address, yes? I want to talk to him.â
âWhy would I willingly give you his address?â Yuzuru muttered.
âWell⊠Itâs been ages since Iâve seen my little brother.. I wanted to check up on him.â
âYou can call him.â Yuzuru whispered.
Daichi hummed. âI guess I could. I suppose I wanted to get a better look at you, Yuzuru. Since you seem to be so interested in me these days.â
Yuzuru froze, looking away. He noticed? What the fuck?
With the tension tight and heavy, Daichi left without another word.
àœàœČâ€ïžàœàŸ
You were gently drying your hair when you grabbed your phone off the night stand. There was texts and emails that you didnât care too much about responding to except one from a number you didnât recognize.
It was just a picture that they sent.
You clicked on the picture and felt the color drain from your face.
It wasnât just one picture. It was two.
One picture of an ultrasound.
And another of a wedding.
Daichi and a woman youâve seen before.
But she was an omega⊠Why would someone like Daichi marry her?
But that wasnât the most important thing you cared about. No, you cared more about who she was. Who she was before supposedly becoming Daichiâs wife, his mate.
Naokiâs ex girlfriend.
Sorry for the wait! I just recently moved to my college dorms, forgot to write lol. Hopefully it wonât take too long for chapter 3, there will be actual smut in that one, trust.. ask to be added to the tag list for rikiâs story. Some people donât show up when I try to tag them tho, sorry about that :/ also thereâs a limit smh
Tag list: @the-ultimate-librarian @mello-life25 @tehyunnie @lanoslamp @sweetheart4you @chill-guy-but-cooler @ofclyde @remdayz @flurrina @smellwell @iwishtobeacrow @kiiyoooo @love-kha1 @star-3214 @rhetorical-conscience @mooncarvers-world @chososlittlestuttyboy @terapung @gay4letti @lixamplanet @oreoqueen @1account2blogs @hnazwan @blaxvoid @theorye @yanrandom @berrycolaa @darlinqvi @diamondnightsky23 @yourn0tmydad @https-tan-com @kiekole @cinder-angel @yuzuukix @sugar-p0p @anime-meme-sanctuary @caffineandoranges @barbatos-mybeloved @gaynesspersonified @sheepame @snowtiger00 @kgeyamaa @teoluvsyou @chweuphoria @sooobiinn @hope0o0 @yoon-zino @mef0rg0r @gojosdumpydump @me-when-life
Translations:
â ăć
ăĄăăăă©ăăăŠç§ăćźăŁăŠăăăȘăăŁăăźïŒ â â brother, why didnât you protect me?
â ăȘăă§ăăïŒèŠăăăăçŽæščăâ â why? Itâs painful, Naoki
#bottom male reader#x male reader#sub male reader#uke male reader#male reader#oc x reader#mlm ns/fw#smut drabble#male bottom reader#original character
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Training Yard
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader
Summary: One of Y/n's most common habits is admiring her husband's training every day. On a particularly hot day, the jealousy of the other ladies makes her achieve everything she has been dreaming of for a long time..
WARNING: 18+ mdni! Smut, p in v, swords being used inappropriately, jealousy sex, dom/sub tones if you squint, no description for reader.
Word cont: 2.800 k
Author's note: Okay, I think those gifs and images with a special focus on Aemond's sword changed the chemistry of my brain, and from that change this one short was born. English is not my first language so be kind if you can.
When Y/n was promised to Aemond and traveled with her family to Kings landing to meet him the first time she saw him was at the training camp. He was brandishing a sword and fighting like a demon. The look of concentration on his face, the way he moved fluidly, the sweat that dripped down his forehead, all of it caught Y/n's attention and made her thighs press together in a way she hadn't understood at the time.
Even in her homeland when the marriage was announced, everyone told her that Prince Aemond was a great warrior, but nothing had prepared her for that. It didn't take long for both of them to get married and gradually build their own daily routine. Y/n, just as her husband woke up very early, and they both had breakfast together, soon after Aemond left for the training yard. And Y/n couldn't even say when it became such a recurring habit to watch her husband training every morning. But she could definitely say that it was one of her favorite parts of the day.
Y/n now knew what that pressure between her thighs meant when she saw her husband in the training yard. She knew even better. And even after almost twelve moons of marriage, she still felt the same feeling whenever she saw him. Today in particular the day was particularly hot, as it was the middle of summer, and even though she was wearing a lighter dress Y/n could still feel the sweat running down between her breasts and down her back as she fanned herself with a fan.
She admired her husband's every move downstairs as he fought with Sir Criston, and she couldn't help but bite her lip gently as she watched him grip the hilt of his sword tightly. Y/n could see that Aemond was sweating wearing all those layers of clothes, his silver hair was damp with sweat, and it was to her great surprise that he had an attitude that she would never have expected. He took off his doublet and opened the thin shirt he was wearing underneath, she sighed when he saw the scene, but the contentment soon passed when she noticed that the other ladies of the court were looking at her husband like hungry dogs would look at a piece of meat.
Y/n gritted her teeth angrily as she held tightly to the wooden support of the balcony, as she thought about how lovely it would be to be able to throw one of them from above. And with her eyes sparkling, she barely waited for the fight to end before going down to the courtyard and approaching where Aemond was.
As soon as Aemond disarmed Sir Cole, causing his sword to be thrown a long distance, and placed his own sword against the older man's throat, the audience applauded happily. But no Y/n, she was smarter than doing something so trivial. And with that in mind she pretended to drop the green fan with gold embroidery that she used to fan herself and relieve the heat.
Aemond immediately bent down, picking up the fan from the floor and handing it into her hands, touching her skin in public even if quickly as he placed the fan back between Y/n's hands.
â Thank you very much husband. â She spoke softly, looking at him from beneath her long eyelashes, already opening the fan again, while she gently bit her lip.
âYou're welcome wife. â He replied, looking lightly at the drops of sweat that fell down his wife's neckline, when she intelligently guided his gaze there using the fan. âI see that you are also feeling very hot.
âWell, I told you not to go out in such heavy clothes today, if you had listened to me maybe you wouldn't be walking around practically naked in public. â She spoke only for Aemond to hear, curving his eyebrows and wrinkling his nose, while he looked at her with that ironic smile that made her want to jump on him, to kill him or other things.
âI'm going to retire to our quarters, my prince, the weather is very hot. â And she turned around, closing the fan and walking away without even looking back, already knowing that it wouldn't be long before he would follow her to the bedroom. Aemond always got a little wild after training, with her teasing him he knew he would want her.
As she passed the court ladies, Y/n made a point of smiling arrogantly before heading inside the fortress. Aemond was her husband, only hers and no one else's. And still with her body tense with jealousy and desire, she entered the dark corridor to get to her own rooms faster. But before she could walk two meters she felt someone covering her mouth with their hand while pulling her firmly around the waist. Y/n screamed muffledly as she struggled, until the soft voice came in her ear.
âEasy, my princess.
Hearing Aemond's voice her whole body instantly relaxed, even as he dragged her into an even darker corner and pinned her firmly against the wall of a cramped alcove.
âWhat did you think you were doing? â He spoke with an irritated voice against her hair while holding her. â Looking at me like that in public, practice begging me to fuck you.
âWell, maybe I wanted to show some unsuspecting people that Prince Aemond has already been married for almost a year before they jump on you! âY/n practically growled the words in annoyance, and it became even worse when she felt Aemond laughing against her neck.
âSo that's what this is about? âHe asked in a mocking voice. â Jealousy.
âI'm not jealous. â She replied grumpily, still pressed against the wall.
âOh no, you are burning with. â He smiled at the realization.
âYou know that my only eye is only for you, wife. â He said kissing her neck from behind. â Just for you.
âYou think I don't see the way you look every morning when you watch me train. â He whispered, nibbling on her neck. â That I don't watch the way you bite your lip every time I grip the sword hilt. â He bit her earlobe as he said that while pressing himself against her clothed ass, making her gasp.
And without warning he pulled the strings of her dress violently while Y/n's eyes widened in shock as they were almost in the middle of a hallway. The flowing dress fell at her feet and Y/n felt herself blushing for being practically naked in that place.
âAemond, what if someone shows up? âShe spoke fearfully.
âShould you have thought about that before. âHe said, pulling her small clothes down and stripping her completely naked while he trailed wet kisses down her back. Suddenly she felt Aemond turn her around and push her in the other direction, lifting her off the floor and sitting her on a small sideboard, knocking over a vase that was previously on top.
âAemond! âShe reprimanded him, but was interrupted when he pressed his lips to hers while holding her thighs, caressing them and keeping them open. He trailed kisses from her lips to her neck, and from her neck to her soft breasts where he feasted on licking and sucking like he knew Y/n liked. And little by little, the caresses that were on her thighs moved up towards her throbbing core, which panted in anticipation every time Aemond's fingers got closer to where she needed him most.
âHusband⊠âShe whimpered when he rubbed two fingers against her wetness.
âSo wet for me. â He said, looking down at her, still paying attention to her breasts.
âI need you inside me. â She begged with a needy voice while Aemond slowly massaged her pearl, and she saw the gleam of malice in his eyes as he shook his head.
âNo, you don't deserve to get what you want. âAemond gently pinched her pearl, making her moan and lightly bite her own hand to muffle the noise. â You were such a negligent wife, leaving in the middle of my training, making me have to drop everything and come to you.
âNo, you deserve something else. â He said, pulling her and making her almost scream in surprise as he turned her around and leaned over the small sideboard.
Y/n listened as Aemond unbuckled his belt and raised her eyebrows in confusion, not understanding what he would do. But the realization came soon after when she felt something cold against her hot and wet intimacy, panting immediately afterwards.
âI noticed some time ago the way you always look at my sword when you think I'm not looking. â Aemond said while lightly brushing the handle of the sheathed sword against Y/n's intimacy, who pressed her eyes firmly while biting her lips in disbelief that this was really happening.
And without warning he penetrated the first part of the handle into her wet pussy, making her squirm with pleasure and bite her own arm to keep from moaning when she felt the cold metal against her hot skin. Aemond watched ecstatically as the rounded part of the handle was swallowed whole while Y/n moaned and panted with pleasure, he waited a few moments before pushing the rest in and no longer moving it letting her adapt to the size, while he smiled at the sight of his wife squirm, leaking more and more against the handle of the sword.
âHusband⊠âShe begged, looking back with her face wet with tears and her lips red from biting them so much. â Husband, please. âAemond smiled maliciously, but did not move the sword even an inch. âAemond, I'm begging you. â She cried rubbing herself against the hilt of the sword.
âLook at you, my dear wife. âHe said caressing her moist lips with his finger. âBegging like a real whore.
Y/n immediately nodded, leaning towards him for a kiss, which Aemond didn't have the courage to refuse. And in the middle of the wet and breathless kiss he moved the handle of the sword, thrusting firmly against Y/n's pussy, making her almost scream against his lips while digging her nails into her husband's neck. Aemond smiled against her lips and little by little he picked up speed, in a constant back and forth that made Y/n shiver with pleasure and lose control about one's own body.
She felt like she was going to collapse at any moment, the feeling of the metal filling her making her feel things she had never imagined before. The wet, filthy sound filling the air and the idea of ââanyone walking by and seeing Aemond doing this to her made her even wetter if that was possible. Heat flooded her entire body and the smell of sweat filled the small alcove at that moment. Y/n did her best to remain silent, but it was almost impossible not to moan her husband's name and beg him to give her more, feeling on the verge of climax.
âMaybe you want them all to listen. â Aemond spoke in a hoarse and low voice close to her ear while sucking her earlobe. âLet them all hear you moan like a little whore while I fuck you with the hilt of my sword.
Y/n couldn't take it anymore, it was like everything inside her broke at once and she came against the hilt of her husband's sword shaking and whimpering as she squirmed and tried to hold on to the small sideboard. Her legs were shaking like jelly and she could barely stand, the feeling of her husband pulling the sword hilt out of her almost made her scream from overstimulation.
Aemond smiled with satisfaction as he pulled the hilt of the sword from inside Y/n, seeing it covered in the white fluids and liquids that came from his wife's pleasure, he never failed to be impressed by the fact that she became even more beautiful destroyed with pleasure. And still smiling, admiring the mess between her legs, he untied the drawstrings of his pants and pulled his own dick out, stroking it a few times and then rubbing it against her moist folds.
Y/n thought she was going to faint from the feeling of being filled again, but now completely. She was so sensitive after her first orgasm that it was as if Aemond was everywhere, and she couldn't help but grind against him for more.
âAlways so good and eager for me.â Aemond praised her as he fucked her harder and harder and caressed her hips and breasts. âSuch a good and wet cunt.
âYou don't need to be jealous, wife, the only one I live for is you, no one else. â He said, sucking her neck and leaving a kiss there while Y/n whimpered and agreed, looking for his lips anxiously.
The two kissed eagerly and Aemond gained even more strength in his thrusts, and when Y/n was on the verge of orgasm again, footsteps sounded in the hallway and Aemond stopped his movements while covering her mouth, signaling for his wife to stay quiet.
Aemond then took advantage of the pause by withdrawing from inside her and turning her to face him and when the steps were far enough away he kissed her again hungrily, and already penetrating her once again with force. Y/n in turn brought her hands to his face, pulling him more and more towards her, wanting to feel every little part of him against her, and she barely noticed when the eye patch fell to the floor, only noticing when they both separated from the kiss. and the shine of the sapphire was present in the dark alcove, making her sigh with contentment at the sight.
âHusband, I want you so much. â She sighed, pulling him into another kiss, feeling closer and closer to the edge with each thrust from Aemond, and feeling him accelerate, she came against his cock, crying and moaning while putting her head in the gap between his neck and shoulder.
âI love you husband, I love you so much. âShe whimpered, leaving kisses on his neck, and hearing his wife say those words while feeling her pussy milking him, Aemond came deeply inside her, shuddering and calling his wife's name with his face contorted with pleasure.
Y/n made a point of lifting her head to see the scene before her, in her opinion there was nothing as beautiful in that world as Aemond's face, the only thing that could compare was Aemond's face after the climax.
She caressed his face gently while she felt him massaging her waist with his fingertips still inside her, both still panting, a few moments later Aemond came out of her and lovingly helped her get dressed.
âI'm going to retire to our quarters, husband. âY/n said visibly tired, and at the same moment Aemond's look changed and he shook his head.
âOh no you won't.âHe said holding her face between his hands firmly looking her in the eyes while speaking in a slightly hoarse voice. â Now you're going to go back there, sit like the obedient and devoted wife you are with my seed running down your legs and watch the rest of the training, knowing that my sword is full of your cunt juice.
âBut husband... â She said with wide eyes.
âAs I've told you a few times, wife, we must think about the consequences before acting. âHe said, replacing his eye patch and fixing his own clothes with a smile.
âIf you're lucky, there will only be you up there at that time.
He then fastened the belt with the sword back around his waist and Y/n could see the hilt still glistening with her fluids, and felt her face burn with embarrassment.
âI will never need a tournament favor again as long as I carry this sword. âAemond said mockingly, looking at her and Y/n rolled her eyes angrily, since her husband didn't even participate in tournaments.
#house of the dragon#hotd#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x reader#hotd aemond#aemond x reader#aemond fanfiction#prince aemond#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen imagine#hotd imagine#hotd fanfic#hotd x reader#aemond x y/n#aemond x you#hotd x you#aemond stannies#aemond targaryen x female reader#hotd fic#house of the dragon fanfiction#house of the dragon fanfic#aemond imagine#aemond fluff#aemond fic#hotd fanfiction#hotd fluff#house of the dragon fic#house of the dragon imagine#ewan mitchell#ewan nation
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Thatâs My Girl
Summary: Bradley has been looking after you for longer than he can remember. Youâve always been his favorite person. So when some guy makes an unwelcomed move on you, that last thing heâs going to do is just sit back and watch it happen.
Pairing: Bradley âRoosterâ Bradshaw x Female Reader
Length: 6.7K
Warning: language, male chauvinism, allusions to smut, some angst with a happy ending
(author's note: this is a fic is set in the 'Like I Can' universe, however it can be read on it's own!
In hindsight, Bradley should have known how rowdy the crowd at the Hard Deck was going to be tonight.
Sailors fresh off a several months long deployment were always a boisterous bunch. But Sailors fresh from a deployment during San Diego Fleet Week were a different thing entirely.
The bar is packed and humid, even with the doors and windows opened for the Pacific breeze. Pennyâs old air conditioning unit might be on its last legs because Bradleyâs shirt is sticking to the skin of his back. Heâd nearly lost his mind when heâd seen that bead of sweat work its way down your neck and between your breasts when youâd pressed a kiss to his cheek and told him you were getting a refill and asked if he wanted anything.
Bradley really hoped youâd be up for leaving soon. He wouldnât mind taking a dip in the pool at your apartment. Or better yet, getting you to join him for a cool shower.
It wasnât the just the deep v of your tank top- or those sweet little embroidered flowers along the edges of it- that hand his fingers twitching to touch you. Although he liked those too.
It was that damn bow.
When Bradley had picked you up from your apartment earlier this evening and seen you wearing that, heâd given you a wolf whistle so loud it had caused your neighborâs dog to start barking.
Heâd taken advantage of your surprised laugh to back you up against your front door to get his mouth along the column of your neck. Heâs always been a big picture kind of guy. And he knew he wouldnât be satisfied until he was tugging open that bow between your breasts with his teeth.
Youâd all but sighed his name as your fingers tangled in his hair.
Bradley.
And just as heâd reached your collarbone, youâd pulled him back up to your mouth like you were going to kiss him and murmured Later against his lips before slipping past him, like the menace that you are, leaving him to chase after the trail of your perfume.
You knew what you were doing, that was for damn sure. Heâs always been a sucker for a bow. And for you.
Bradley had more than appreciated the extra sway youâd put in your hips just for him as you walked down your hallway towards the elevator. Heâd grinned to himself as he set off after you, because at the end of the night, his girlfriend would be coming home with him.
Earlier in the evening, Coyote had been fast to claim the cluster of tables that some Butterbars had left to close out their tabs, most likely onto their way to the next stop of many for the night. It was lucky timing, because thereâd been a nonstop steady stream of people making their way into the unofficial designated Naval watering hole for Fleet Week. There was a mix of civilians, Naval regulars who are stationed at North Island, and the visiting Sailors dressed in their uniforms on liberty. Bradley wasnât sure how many more bodies could be packed in until some of the worn wooden shingles of the bar started popping off.
The lively and loud atmosphere of Fleet Week was something that Bradley had typically enjoyed in the past. He liked seeing people cut loose and laugh as they swapped stories with their friends and families. And heâd been happy to do his part to add to the good times, having been pulled to the piano twice already.
Over the years heâd built up a curated collection crowd-pleasers for occasions just like this. Part peacocking, part coping. While heâs never been the type to shy away from being the center of attention, heâd also found it was easier to breathe in the spotlight. Because with everyoneâs eyes on him, it was impossible to feel alone.
So much has changed for him since getting permanently stationed in San Diego. And all for the better. That loneliness was a thing of the past, because now when he played, he was surrounded by all of his favorite people
But Bradley still ends his impromptu sets the same way he always has, with Jerry Lee Lewis. Only now he gets to sing it directly to the girl whoâd given him the sheet music to the song in the first place.
The same one, heâs realized, who hasnât returned back from getting her refill yet.
Bradley takes a quick glance around the corner of the bar theyâd laid claim too. Bob, Fanboy, and Payback were lounging against the side of the pool table chatting up some of the visiting Sailors, since there wasnât enough room to actually play a round without taking someone out with one of the cues. Coyote was leaning over the jukebox flipping through the albums with a pretty civilian who was out with her friends that heâd met and was clearly trying to impress. And Jake and Nat were seated with him at one of the tall round tables taking about the new Top Gun students, where your chair next to him was still empty.
Everyone was accounted for, except you.
There are so many people packed around the edges of the bar that it takes him a moment to find you. He thought maybe youâd been held up by Penny or Jimmy or some other familiar face, but he doesnât recognize the man who standing way too close to you. But the firm press of your lips tells him everything he needs to know.
He sees the next moment playout as if itâs in slow motion. Watching as you attempt to take a step back, only for the guy to wrap his hand around your wrist to keep you from moving away. Bradley sees you glance down at that hand on you, and back up at the stranger. He knows that look in your eyes as you shake out of his grip. You arenât just annoyed, youâre pissed.
Bradley slams his beer down and shoves his stool back.
He hears Jake curse behind him, âOh, shit.â
Chair legs screech against the wooden floor as his friends hustle to follow after him, but he doesnât wait for them to catch up.
Thereâs a trail of spilled cocktails and beers in his wake as he unapologetically weaves through the tightly crammed bodies that separate him from you. If anyone has an issue with him later, they can put a refill on his tab. But right now, his only goal is getting to you.
He doesnât slow for a second. He just struts right up and steps in between you and the other man.
âDo we have an issue here?â he rasps, folding his arms over his chest.
Bradley takes the guy in with a hard glower. The name tape on his uniform reads Wilson. A LTJG, based on his shoulder boards, from one of the visiting ships. The man is big, but Bradley is bigger. And he outranks him. The guy might not know it yet, but it was just another thing he was planning on making crystal clear.
You put a hand on his tense shoulder. âEverything is fine.â
âIt sure as shit doesnât seem fine.â He doesnât take his glare off of Wilson. âI think itâs time for you to go now.â He jerks his chin towards the front door.
âWeâre just having a friendly conversation,â the other man drawls, sending him a wink. The implied innuendo makes Bradleyâs jaw clench. There wasnât anything âfriendlyâ about the way heâd been using his size to keep you trapped at the bar.
The guy is trashed. Thereâs a blankness behind his eyes that Bradley doesnât like the look of. He must have pre-gamed before going out because Penny and Jimmy werenât ones to overserve.
âNo, what youâre doing is paying your tab and leaving this bar.â Itâs an order.
âBradley.â You say his name like a warning. âIâm handling it.â
You pull on his shoulder, but he shrugs you off.
âNo, kid, Iâm handling it for you.â This asshole was Bradleyâs problem to deal with now. Heâd tapped in the moment heâd seen the man touch you.
âI see.â Wilsonâs gaze bounces back and forth between the two of you, an oily grin appears on his face. âYouâve already got someone for tonight lined up. Damn, you didnât waste any time did you, sweet thing?â
Anger flares hot and bright in his stomach.
âYou better watch your mouth,â Bradley spits, pointing a threatening finger.
The bar around him blurs around the edges, but the man in front of him only gets sharper in focus.
You step around him and tug on his arm. From the corner of his eye, he can see you shaking your head at him. âBradley, stop. I told you, Iâve got it.â Your voice is clipped, tight. âLet me take care of it.â
He knows you want for him to let it go. To back off. And heâs about to- for you- because you want him to. But then he sees the guyâs eyes drop down to the exposed skin of your chest- to that bow between your breasts- and smirks.
Itâs a look so filthy that even Bradley feels dirty. He operates out of instinct. Stretching his arm in front of you, he purposefully pushes you back behind him to where he knows Seresin is standing close by, trusting that his friend will move you out of the way.
âA barrack bunny like you must know her way around. I donât mind another manâs sloppy-â
For a moment, Bradley isnât at the Hard Deck anymore. Heâs standing in Jason Cameronâs kitchen, where the smell of weed and cheap alcohol and Axe hung heavy in the air.
Bradleyâs fist flies on its own.
He barely registers the moment his knuckles connect with the other manâs jaw. He doesnât see the man stumble backwards into the table behind him. He doesnât hear the surprised gasps or the sound of glass breaking or the thud as the man hits the floor. Thereâs only the color red and the sound of his own ragged breathing.
When he shakes off the memory and returns back to his body, heâs almost surprised to see the broken bottles on the floor and not shards from a sliding glass door.
The next few minutes are a flurry of chaos as Wilsonâs friends come and scoop him off the floor to make their exit. From the looks of irritation on their faces, it seems like this might be an all too frequent occurrence. He makes a mental note to try and look up the manâs supervising officer. And if he canât find them on his own, heâll ask Mav to help.
He can feel dozens of eyes on him, but he canât bring himself to care.
Bradley takes a moment to apologize to Penny. He avoids looking directly in her eyes, not wanting to see the disappointment heâs sure is there. The adrenaline is still coursing and sparking through his body. He needs a moment to work off his anger and get his head back on straight before he comes to check on you. But he knows youâre in good hands with his friends.
Without being asked, he rights the table and stools on his way to the supply closet to grab a broom and dustpan. He takes his time meticulously picking up the bits of broken glass off the ground before he sweeps the rest of it up as he waits for his heartrate to settle back down.
When heâs done, he spots Nat and Jake sitting at the bar top and heads towards them. But for the second time tonight, youâre not where you should be.
âThat was some left hook, Bradshaw,â Nat says, pinning him with a flat look over the top of her drink.
He ignores the comment. âHave either of you seen my girlfriend?â
Jake lifts his hand up at about your height. âAbout this tall? Great smile? Dating a man thatâs clearly punching?â He chuckles to himself. âNo pun intended.â Those dimples of his are more grating than usual.
Bradleyâs hand flexes in irritation. His quick fuse is on its way to being lit again.
âSeresin,â he barks, low on patience, âWhereâd she go?â
The other man lets out a low whistle and shares a look with Nat. âShe left out the side patio door like ten minutes ago. Looked like she was about to spit nails too.â
âGoddammit,â he mumbles under his breath. He turns to Phoenix. âDid she really look that pissed?â
She shrugs. âIâm surprised she didnât punch you, I probably would have.â
Bradleyâs mouth drops open. âFor what? For defending her?â
All he did tonight was stand up for you when someone crossed a line and tried to get physical with you. He wasnât ashamed for doing it, heâd do it again in a heartbeat.
âBut did she want you to do that?â she asks, deliberately.
He doesnât understand why Nat is giving him a hard time about this.
âThatâs my girl and that guy wasnât listening.â
Nat lifts a pointed eyebrow at him, âSounds familiar.â
Bradley forces out a breath. âThat was different and you know it.â
âAll Iâm saying is I think she was making herself pretty clear, but you chose not to hear her and did what you wanted anyways.â His teeth clench together as a rock lands hard in his stomach. âAnd from the sound of it, she wanted to handle it her own way.â
âYeah, butâŠâ Youâre his, he wants to say, but holds back at the risk of sounding like the jealous boyfriend Nat thinks heâs being. Except he wasnât being jealous, he just wanted to protect you.
âNo buts, Rooster. You fucked up.â
Nat has always been a straightshooter. It was one of the things heâs always appreciated most about her, that and her keen ability to read people. He trusted her judgement. And if she feels this way, even if he didnât necessarily agree with it, then the chances are very high that you do too.
âShit.â
âYeah, âshitâ. Now go fix it.â She pats his shoulder once, and then gives him a shove to the side door theyâd seen you leave from.
Itâs cooler outside.
The ocean breeze feels good on his hot, sticky skin. Bradley feels like he can breathe a little easier without all those people milling around him.
Youâre not hard to spot. To anyone else youâd a solidary figure facing the ocean, but heâd know the shape of you anywhere.
From what Seresin said, Bradley had figured youâd be half way down the beach. Heâd been planning just to follow the trail of steam to find you. But youâre still as a statue with your arms wrapped around yourself as you stare out at the inky waves.
The noise from the bar is muffled inside the walls of the Hard Deck, but still slips out from the windows that are cracked open and follows him as he walks towards you. The sand shifts beneath his shoes with every step he takes. The tunes from Pennyâs jukebox get carried away on the wind and are replaced with the gentle roar of the waves as he approaches you.
The days are getting longer and dusk is rolling in. The sun is hanging low in the sky. Not quite set, but well on its way. Heâd love nothing more than to pull you into his lap in one of the Adirondack chairs to watch the last glimmering moments of golden hour with you in his arms. But knows thatâs probably not in the cards for tonight.
The two of you have had fights before. Usually over stupid, inconsequential things. Arguing with you feels different now than when it did when you were just friends. Now that youâre his girlfriend, it feels like thereâs more at stake. He knew heâd never forgive himself if he fumbled the best thing thatâs ever happened to him.
Bradley wants to skip over this part to where the two of you are back on the same page. He wants to skip to the part where he gets to see your dimples and hear you laugh.
He stops just a few feet behind you. He knows you know heâs there, in that uncanny way youâve always been able to sense him. The minutes tick by as he stands there and waits for you to acknowledge him. Or to turn around and shoot him that withering glare of yours. Heâd take anything other than your silence.
But you donât.
You give him nothing, which is almost worse.
It feels like a standoff.
He folds first.
âSweet girl,â Bradley says, with a resigned sigh.
He doesnât miss the way your whole body tenses at the sound of his voice.
âI donât want to talk to you right now, Rooster.â
The way you say his callsign lands like a punch in the gut.
Youâre only standing a few feet away from him, but it feels like the two of you are miles apart.
âCâmon, kid, that asshole is gone now. Come back inside.â
âSeriously?â you laugh bitterly, still refusing to look at him. âYouâre seriously going to ignore me right now too? I said I donât want to talk right now.â
He feels his jaw tick. âLook, Iâm sorry,â he starts, still not feeling sorry in the least, âBut-â
You put a hand up and whirl on him, shaking your head in disbelief. The thunderous look on your face would have a lesser man taking a step back, instead Bradley steels his spine and digs his feet into the sand. Â
âI really donât want to hear it. I donât think Iâve ever been this mad at you,â you fume. âNot even in high school when you got in that stupid fucking fight at that Homecoming party when I had to take you to the hospital.â
He presses his lips together firmly. There was a time and place for a conversation about that night, the one where heâd earned the scars on his face, but it wasnât here and now. It was a secret heâd kept to himself for nearly two decades, the only other person whoâd known the full story was his mom. But telling you about it now would only make things worse.
You continue, like a freight train without brakes, âAnd youâd been drunk then. Not that that excuses anything. But youâve had, what? Two beers tonight?â When you lift your eyebrows at him expectantly, he nods curtly in confirmation. âSo tell me what the hell just happened in there?â
He swears that sharp flash of your eyes could cut glass. Â A lick of heat bursts behind his sternum. Hot and fierce.
âHe wasnât backing off,â Bradley grits out, trying to summon the patience he doesnât have. âWhat was I supposed to do? Give him a pat on the back and let him keep hitting on my girlfriend?â You scoff and he feels his pulse kick up in his throat. âI have always had your back, and I will always have your back.â
Bradley doesnât understand why you donât seem to understand that heâd do anything for you. Heâs been looking out for you since your bike handlebars had iridescent tassels streaming from them, and if he has his way heâll be looking out for you until his number is up.
âBut thatâs the thing, Rooster! You didnât have my back in there,â you argue, stepping forward so youâre toe to toe with him. Your use of his callsign again chafes against his ears like sandpaper. âAll you did was manhandle me out of the way to get at him and throw fists. I mean, Mav and Hondo would have let it slide if theyâd been there to see that. But what about Cyclone? Would he? Why would you put your career at risk like that? What were you even thinking?â
Youâre looking at him like you donât know him, and he hates it. Because youâre the person who knows him best.
He runs a hand through his hair in agitation. Heâs been trying to tame his temper, that caged animal that paced within the confines of the ribs in his chest. But his anger and frustration has been feeding off of yours, meeting it measure for measure.
âI wasnât. I wasnât thinking,â Bradley explodes, flinging his arms out to the side. âIâm not going to stop and make a damn pros and cons list while I watch some asshole being disrespectful and getting physical with you. Itâs not going to happen, kid.â
âAnd I told you that I had it handled!â you exclaim.
The sound of the waves gets lost in the way both of your voices are raising with each and every parry in the verbal fencing match youâve found yourselves in. This has escalated quicker than he ever could have expected, and all he wants is to find himself back on the same page with you.
âHow am I the bad guy in all of this right now?â
âDonât you get it? Iâm not mad about you wanting you to be there for me, Iâm mad about how you went about it. You literally pushed me out of the way and passed off to Jake, like my voice and feelings in that moment didnât matter to you. Like you didnât care about what I wanted. You have never treated me like that before.â
Guilt makes his stomach churn.
âYou and I both know thatâs not true,â he replies. Itâs an uncomfortable truth.
That dark period after his mom died and how heâd treated you still haunted him sometimes. When heâd try to set fire to all the bridges around him, including his friendship with you. He hadnât been worth knowing back then, but youâd never given up on him. He remembers it like it was yesterday, heâs never forgotten it. On the nights he couldnât sleep, it was one of the many things that played out behind his eyelids like a highlight reel of all his worst moments.
Your eyebrows pinch together in confusion. He sees the moment it clicks for you because the fire that had been blazing behind those eyes he knows so well transforms into something softer. Something sadder.
âBradley, Iâm not going to hold onto something from when you were eighteen and hurting and heartbroken.â Your voice catches with emotion. âBut tonight? Tonight, you made me feel small. And youâre the very last person I thought whoâd ever make me feel that way.â
He canât even enjoy hearing you say his name again, because you look so disappointed in him. The two of you stand there staring at each other, searching each otherâs eyes as the waves rolling in along the shore fill the silence.
The way your lower lip wobbles steals the fight right out of him. All that righteous indignation that had been whirling in his chest is gone quicker than it came over him at the sight of the tears welling up along your lower lash line.
Heâd let you down back then. And heâd let you down tonight too. He feels like heâs broken a promise to you, one heâd made with himself a longtime ago. Bradley wants to be the man whose shoulders you could lean on, the one you trusted to bet there to support you. He never thought heâd be the guy who makes you cry.
Bradley says your name tenderly. Every single letter of it is precious to him because youâre the most important person in the world to him.
The single tear that escapes the corner of your eye and rolls down your face cracks his chest wide open.
He holds out his hand for you, but you half-heartedly bat it away.
âNo, Iâm still mad at you,â you say, feebly. Itâs unconvincing at best.
âYou can be mad at me, kid,â Bradley murmurs, âBut just let me hold you.â
He needs to know that youâll still let him. That you still want him.
Bradley reaches out for you again and this time you let him pull you into his chest. And when you thread your arms around his torso and hold him just as tight that knot in his stomach loosens. He rests his chin on your head and releases a sigh. With you in his arms, he feels like his feet are finally back on solid ground.
He knows he owes you an apology, a real one this time. He knows that heâs fucked up, he understands where he went wrong. But he canât shake the feeling that he feels like heâs missing something, that thereâs another reason playing into why youâre so upset.
Every one of your quiet sniffles twists the knife thatâs lodged itself between his ribs just a bit more each time.
He doesnât know how long the two of you stand there wrapped up in each other, as he runs his hand up and down your back. Thereâs more to discuss, but he doesnât rush you. Heâll hold you for as long as you need him to.
When you pull away, only far enough to look up at him, he takes the opportunity to gently cup your face in his hands. His thumb skims along the line of your jaw, your eyes are still watery.
âSweet girl, why are you crying? I know you. Why does it feel like thereâs more to this than just me being an idiot?â he asks, quietly. It still feels so fragile between the two of you.
âBecause I l-like you so much. And I know you meant well, but I hated what happened tonight.â You wipe angrily at the fresh tears that streak down your face, like youâre irritated at them for them falling without your permission. Â âMy ex used to pull that kind of bullshit all the time and I always hated the way it made me feel.â
His hands fall from your face.
Your confession surprises him. âJack?â Bradley asks, his eyebrows pulling together. You nod. âI thought you said he was fine? That the break up was mutual because things got stale between the two of you.â
Itâs times like this where heâs reminded of just how much distance there between the two of you over the last decade before you moved to San Diego. Of how much of you heâs missed out on. All the little moments that made up someoneâs life. There was only so much an email, or a text, or a call could do.
You sigh, heavily. âIâm realizing now that there were a lot of things I put up with Jack because I didnât want to rock the boat.â
Bradleyâs fingers flex involuntarily where his hands are resting your hips. He doesnât know what to make of that admission.
âYou got to give me more than that to work with, kid. Help me to understand.â
You run you hand along his forearm soothingly, like you can sense his unease. He slides his thumbs through the loops of your jeans, fixing himself to you.
âJack was really good about wanting to show everyone that he was a good boyfriend. And he was- for a while.â You pause, pressing your lips together. âBut there were a few times where weâd go out and heâd make a scene, like what happened tonight. Except instead of someone being an actual asshole, itâd be someone whoâd started up some polite small talk with me as we waited in line. And it always became a bigger thing than it needed to be. Then afterwards, heâd make it seem like he was defending my honor or something, even though he knew I didnât like the kind of attention and all the looks that came with it afterwards. But Jack was always about Jack, and he liked the hero edit his friends would give him.â
You look away from him towards the ocean, the sunset paints you golden. Bradley knows youâre collecting your thoughts, so he waits. When youâre ready, you turn back towards him. Thereâs a different kind of hurt reflected in your eyes, one that tells him tonight has opened up old wounds for you.
âHeâd say all the right things around other people, but when it was just the two of us alone, I never got that side of him. At the time I believed he was saying them because he meant them, but I can see now that he never really showed me that he meant them. I took his words at face value and settled for them.â
You give him a self-conscious shrug. Like youâre embarrassed. But your big heart was one of the things he loved most about you, and he hated the idea that someone had been careless with it before it made it into his safekeeping.
Bradley swallows hard. That tonight reminded you of the low points in your past relationship is hard for him to hear. And knowing why, makes it even worse.
âI think, more than anything,â you continue, your voice much quieter now, âIâm just mad that I let myself get lost in that for so long. Like I knew I needed more and that I wanted more, but I kept putting him ahead of myself when he wasnât doing that for me.â
You thread your fingers between his and squeeze them lightly. He squeezes yours back.
âBut you, Bradley, say the right things and mean them. You show me how important I am to you, with or without an audience. No one has ever made me feel as special as you do. Like, you donât buy me red roses because you think you should-â
âWait,â he doesnât mean to cut you off, but his mind has snagged on a critical detail, âI thought your favorite flowers were tulips?â
A soft smile coasts over your pretty face. âThey are.â He loves the warm way youâre looking at him right now, tender and fond. âAnd thatâs what Iâm talking about. You show me all the ways you know me because you care about me and want to make me happy. You donât treat me like Iâm an accessory in your life. I mean, I didnât feel like I could even hang art on the walls of the apartment I paid half the rent for without Jack having an opinion on it. And here you are letting me bring over kitchen towels and plants for you, and we donât even live together yet.â
Yet. Such a small word, but it means so much to know that youâre envisioning the same future with him that he sees with you.
âI like that you do that. I want you to do that. I appreciate the way you show me youâre thinking about me too.â Bradley runs his thumbs over the back of your hands. âAlthough, Iâd rather be the one buying them,â he says, only partly teasing.
You made his house feel like a home. He hadnât had that in so long. He wanted you to have things there in his condo that you also liked and made you happy because he wanted you to stay. He couldnât wait for the day the two of you shared one address instead of two.
âDoes that mean I should return the throw pillows I found for you?â He spots a wink of your dimples. âTheyâre soft, but firm enough that you wonât hurt your neck when you inevitably fall asleep on the couch even though you claim youâre just âresting your eyesâ.â He never wants you to stop teasing him.
âNo,â Bradley chuckles. âThey sound perfect, but youâre going to let me Venmo you for them.â
âOk, fine,â you agree. Almost reluctantly.
God, he loves you.
He leans in to kiss you. Once. Twice. Soft, sweet.
Bradley lets go of one of your hands to settle on your lower back and press you closer to him, until thereâs no space between your two bodies. And brings the other one, with your fingers still tangled with his up against his chest. Before resting his forehead against yours.
âIâm so sorry I made you feel like that tonight.â
âThank you, I forgive you.â You set the hand not entwined with his on the side of his face, your thumb sweeps across his cheek. âBut I need you to hear me when I say that I can hold my own just fine, Bradley. I know you want to have my back and look out for me, but please, just not like that. Even if your heart is in the right place, ok?â
He nods. âI hear you, sweet girl. Itâs not going to happen again. I promise.â He turns his head and presses a kiss to your palm. And then lifts the one still in his up to his lips, and drops a kiss to the back it.
âPlus, you taught me how to throw a punch, remember? Iâm pretty sure I broke a guyâs nose one time,â you grin.
âAtta girl,â he says with pride. Itâs so much lighter between the two of you now. He takes a couple step back, letting go of you and giving you a not-so-subtle onceover. âOk, hot shot, show me what you got.â Beckoning you over with both hands.
âIâm not going to punch you, Bradley.â
âCâmon, kid, show me how itâs done.â
You shake your head at him in amused disbelief. âYouâre not going to let this go, are you?â
âNo maâam.â He taps his finger on his abs. âLetâs see it.â
You roll your eyes at him fondly. Then you hook your thumb over the top of your fist, just like he showed you all those years ago. And you ever so slowly, ever so gently press your perfectly aligned fist into his stomach. It could hardly even be considered a graze.
He doubles over with an overexaggerated oof and then tilts his head up at you and winks with a smile.
âYouâre ridiculous.â The sound of your laugh fills his lungs.
Itâs the same sound when heâd toss you into the pool when you were twelve. Itâs the same sound when heâd spin you on the big tire swing when you were fourteen. Itâs the same sound when he twirled you around the dance floor when you were nineteen at your momâs second wedding.
Thereâs not just a glimmer of your dimples anymore, the full force of them hits him right in the chest.
âSpeaking of punching,â Bradley says, straightening back up. âHangman thinks Iâm punching up.â
âOh, does he? Interesting,â you hum. Your eyes shine in amusement.
He grins. âHeâs not wrong. Youâre way out of my league.â
You softly shake your head at him. âIâm just right for you. And youâre just right for me.â
He couldnât agree more, but you donât give him the chance too because youâre threading your arms around his neck and pulling his mouth to yours. With you in his arms and his lips on yours, he feels whole. You werenât just right for him, you were perfect for him. And heâd never stop trying to be the perfectly right man for you.
No oneâs ever had him, not like the way you do.
Youâd always had a special place in his heart, but now the whole thing belonged to you. It was yours for the taking. He knew it would be in good hands with you, and he wasnât going to stop proving to you that he was the one to be trusted with yours.
âDo you want me to take you home or do you want to go back inside?â He asks against your lips.
You kiss him again. âLetâs go back,â you say, wrapping your arm around his waist. âYou owe me a dance, you know.â
He drops an arm over your shoulder. âI do?â
âYou do.â
âWell then, lead the way, sweet girl.â
After he twirls you around on the crowded makeshift dancefloor of the Hard Deck, you let him take you home. Where he apologizes to you again, but this time on his knees with your thigh thrown over his shoulder. And twice more in your bed for good measure.
But not before he got his teeth on that little bow of yours.
He never stood a chance against it.
đ đđđ° đ°đđđ€đŹ đ„đđđđ«
Bradley is about to line up his next shot at the pool table when Jake saddles up and nudges his shoulder.
âLooks like your girl has an admirer.â Hangman points with his beer bottle, directing Bradleyâs gaze to the bar where someone is chatting you up.
He recognizes him from the most recent batch of Top Gun students. To call him overconfident would be an understatement. The guy is clearly as full of himself on the ground as he is in the sky, based on his body language as he monologues to you, all puffed up chest and cocky smiles.
If the guy had any common sense, heâd see that you look like youâd rather be anywhere else. Itâs written all over your face.
âSo it seems,â Bradley agrees, rests a hip against the table.
Heâd noticed the guy checking you out. But it was pretty ballsy of the aviator to be leaning into you the way that he is, considering the two of you had arrived together and that Bradley had been the one tasked with doing some demonstration trainings with them earlier in the week.
The man makes some big gestures with his hands, heâs clearly reached the part of his story thatâs meant to impress you. Bradley chuckles to himself when he sees the less than subtle roll of your eyes.
âAre you going to go all Rocky Balboa on his ass?â Jake asks with a knowing smirk.
You must feel their eyes on you, because you glance over in their direction.
He knows you can handle yourself, but heâll be there if you want him to be.
Bradley lifts his eyebrow in a silent question. You give him a slight shake of your head and he nods.
âNah, sheâs got it.â
He sees the moment the guy fucks up and oversteps, because your eyebrows shoot up. Youâre his sweet girl, but he knows the other guy is in for it when look that promises the best kind of trouble settles over your face.
His favorite menace.
Bradley watches on as you lean over the counter and ring the bell with enthusiasm.
A cheer goes up throughout the bar. He brings his fingers up to his lips and lets out a loud whistle.
You look rightfully smug as Penny points out the wooden sigh strung up between the beer taps to the confused Top Gun student whose bank account will be hurting in the morning.
âDamn. I forgot the kid is a straight hustler,â Jake says, clearly impressed.
âShe sure is,â Bradley grins, still looking at you, âItâs a good thing she likes you or youâd be screwed.â He pats Jakeâs shoulder reassuringly, before pressing the cue into his hands.
You return a few minutes later, with a tray of frothy, freshly poured beers for everyone wearing an all-to-pleased grin that lights up the whole bar.
He waits until the beers are safely on the table before threading a finger through your beltloop and tugging him to you.
âThatâs my girl.â
Bradley tilts your face up for a kiss. Itâs not his best work, youâre making it difficult for him since youâre too busy smiling.
He wouldnât have it any other way.
Disclaimer: my writing playlist included Cassandra, The Prophecy, and Castles Crumbling. So legally I cannot be held accountable for any angst hangovers.
Thank you for reading!
If you want to see what happens next for these two, click here!
You can read more of my stories here!
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boyfriend!steve who loves recording everything
wc: 899
a/n: been thinking about this a lot a lot and finally got around to writing it
.ă»ă.ă»ăâă».ă»â«ă»ăă»ă. .ă»ă.ă»ăâă».ă»â«ă»ăă»ă.
âand here we have my beautiful girlfriend who put this whole party together.â
you looked into the video camera for a brief second, drunkenly smiling into it before looking up at steve. âyouâre having way too much fun with this thing already, birthday boy.â
âwhat? itâs actually a very cool gift.â you could tell steve was a little drunk too, but you didnât think that wouldâve changed how into the gift he was; the camera the kids pooled their money together to get for him. âsay hi.â
âhi,â you said, smiling and looking right into the lens again, and then you playfully stuck your tongue out at it.Â
âi love you,â steve said with a soft happy laugh. âso much.â
âi love you too. so, so much,â you told him and he leaned down to kiss you.Â
âthank you again for doing this whole thing,â he mumbled against your lips. âbest surprise ever.â
you couldnât help but smile. âno need to thank me. you deserve it, best boyfriend ever.â
the camera was filming the wooden floor at this point, but it probably still picked up what you two were saying.Â
you pulled away from steve after a second, knowing that the longer you two were wrapped up in one another, the more your friends would playfully make fun of the two of you.
âyou should go film robin and nancy doing karaoke. i think that them drunkenly singing bohemian rhapsody needs to be documented.âÂ
steve nodded. âgreat idea.â
.ă»ă.ă»ăâă».ă»â«ă»ăă»ă. .ă»ă.ă»ăâă».ă»â«ă»ăă»ă.
after that first night, it shouldâve been obvious, but that camera became steveâs favorite thing. it almost made the new pair of nikes youâd gotten him look like the most boring gift ever, but you didnât really mind it. Â
it was always the most random moments that he wanted to record of you two. âfor memoriesâ was always his response when you asked why he wanted to record you two brushing your teeth in the morning or you two lying on the couch and watching a bad movie that he brought home from family video.Â
or even in this moment when you two were cooking in the kitchen of your shared apartment.
you immediately gave him a look when you noticed him turn on the camera. âsteve, youâre making it seem like weâre cooking something super elaborate. itâs just a grilled cheese.âÂ
âitâs still like a fun cooking show,â he said, smiling as he set the camera up on the counter, placing it on top of a stack of random containers. âwhat do you need, chef?â
there was no way of telling if either of you were actually in the frameâ you had a feeling that at least your heads were cut offâ but still, you decided to play along. he was acting too cute and adorable not to.Â
âbread and cheese, chef,â you told him as you went to grab a pan from the cabinet below you. âoh, and butter too.â
âgot it,â steve nodded and went over to the pantry and then the fridge, and then made a show of showing the camera all of the ingredients he grabbed.Â
you couldnât help but laugh a little as you watched him. you decided to play along further and follow suit as you did most of the actual cooking; making a point of showing the camera exactly what you were doing and even exaggeratingly explaining it too.Â
and when you two were eating at your small kitchen table ten minutes later, you admitted to steve with a smile that he was right, and filming everything did make it feel like a âfun cooking show.â
.ă»ă.ă»ăâă».ă»â«ă»ăă»ă. .ă»ă.ă»ăâă».ă»â«ă»ăă»ă.
and then there were the moments when you were the one to grab the camera and initiate the recording. it was seldom, but when you did do it, steve always got the happiest grin on his face.Â
like, in this moment, when you were coming out of the bathroom and grabbing steveâs t-shirt that had been haphazardly tossed to the floor thirty minutes earlier and slipping it over your body. for no particular reason, other than you found yourself wanting to, you grabbed the camera off of steveâs nightstand and then slid into his lap, straddling him.
he was already smiling as you turned on the camera and the familiar red light came on when you pressed record.Â
âsay hi,â you told him, your own smile on your face as you pointed the camera at him. his messy hair from what you two had previously been doing was probably the cutest thing youâd ever seen and you made sure the camera saw it.Â
he smiled wider. âhi.â
one of his hands found your bare thigh and you let out a contented hum in response.Â
ây'know, iâm surprised you havenât asked to film us yet,â you said softly. "us doing what we just didâŠâ
his eyes widened a bit at your shy suggestion and you smiled wider, zooming in on his expression. âis that an option?â
you stopped recording him then and reached over to set the camera back down on the nightstand.Â
âmaybe,â you answered, shrugging innocently. âi think it could be kinda hot.â
steve shook his head. ânot just kinda. very hot.â
you leaned down to kiss him then. it was slow and languid and steveâs hands immediately went to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer to him. Â
âvery hot,â you hummed in agreement.Â
#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington smut#steve harrington x you#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington x fem!reader#steve harrington fic#steve harrington blurb#steve harrington headcanon#stranger things fluff#stranger things imagine
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A F***ing Trial
Agatha x Rio x Reader
Warnings: sex pollen-like story and SO. MUCH. SMUT.
Reblog this if you like it đ€
Agatha and Rio were already awake once you rose from your exhausted slumber.
After barely surviving the last trial that cut your group down to three, you had conked out by the fire. Your entire body was sore and your emotions in a frenzy. The nightâs sleep helped your body and mind. You were still sad about your other coven members, but you also didnât know them before meeting them three days prior.
Agatha, though. You had met her years ago in Westfield. She finally snapped out of the Scarlet Witchâs spell and found you. She had a list provided by another member of the new coven and your name was on it.
You had no clue you had any magic at all until Agatha tested you. Granted, throwing a chair at someone wasnât the safest way of testing them, but it worked in your case. You flinched and the chair burst into flames, falling to ash as it hit you. You were a fire witch. A protector.
However, you were a fire witch who could only use your powers that one time. After that, it was as if you had a block. Agatha had thrown other things at you as her way of âhelpingâ, though you wondered if she just wanted an excuse for a bit of violence. Nothing. Books and a wooden spoon bounced off of your head.
âWell, weâre just going to have to see what unlocks you,â she said.
The road was brutal and unforgiving, killing one witch per trial. It scared you to know that the next three could do the same to the remaining witches, yourself included.
Rio seemed strangely unaffected by the death surrounding them. Agatha did as well, but seemed a bit more sensitive to it than her ex. You had been a crying mess after the first loss. Now you were just afraid.
You had grown attached to the two other witches. Agatha was captivating. She was intensely ambitious to the point of selfishness, but also contained multitudes. You could see the layers of her emotions peeking through every now and then. She was larger than life and spellbinding. Rio, meanwhile, had more teeth. She was aggressive and passionate. While she seemed detached at times, she had this insatiable desire to live life to the fullest. It was as if she were new to it. Little did you know, she was out of practice when it came to feeling genuine attachment to people and being among the living.
You could tell straight away that the two had a long history. The tension was thick, hanging heavily in the air. The rest of your now deceased coven could feel it too.
When you woke up alone, the two surviving coven members were nowhere to be found. You walked out a bit into the woods, looking for them. You stopped short at the sight of Rio being pinned against a tree by Agatha.
Rio was smirking at the other woman as if to challenge her. Agatha leaned in, biting at Rioâs lips. Her thigh was pressed against her core, grinding against her leather pants. Rio smiled as she craned her head back against the trunk of the tree. Agathaâs hand let her wrist go and slid down her front, dipping beneath her waistband. Rio let out a gasp, earning a smug smile and arched brow from Agatha.
You tried to sneak away, but accidentally stepped on a twig, the snap alerting the couple to your presence. They both looked at you, making the blood in your body rise to your cheeks.
Your fingertips suddenly sparked, the magic you were previously unable to access now activating with arousal. You had always repressed your desires in the past, having been raised in a strict religious family. You had been intimidate with a partner in the past, but it was all very vanilla.
Agatha noticed your hands burning with fire, her mind working to decipher what that could mean about your power.
âI⊠uh, sorry,â you said, quickly retreating back to the fire, jumping when the flame surged on the burnt out logs.
You could hear Rio laughing mockingly in the distance.
A few minutes later, the pair found you. Rio sat next to you with that same smirk from before while Agatha barely even looked at you. Her eyes fell on the newly lit fire.
âInteresting,â she said, her face illuminated by the glow.
âIâll say,â Rio said, her hand resting on your knee.
The moment Rio touched you, the fire grew in intensity. Agathaâs eyes widened, looking both alarmed and excited about what this meant.
âI guess we finally found your spark,â Agatha said, giving you a sly smile.
Two small flames jumped out of the fire, catching on the dirt in a way that wasnât physically possible. A trail ignited, two lines of fire forming and spreading out. Agathaâs fascination turned to worry.
âAlright⊠enough spark, letâs pull it backâŠâ she said nervously.
âIâm not doing anything!â you said, your heart racing.
The fire formed a path, the flames staying in two controlled lines that led them to a tower in the distance. Rio tilted her head, toying with a flower she bloomed from her hand.
âWell, I guess we know whose trial this is,â she said.
Your heart was in your throat. Your power was still so unpredictable. You had used it once in self defense on a chair and once just moments ago. You watched as the two other women led the way. Agatha turned around, regarding you before speaking.
âYou can do this. The road wouldnât be calling you if you couldnât. Letâs go.â
She spun back around, dramatically flipping her coat with no regard for the flames. You took a moment to steel yourself before following them.
The path led to a tower made of ice. The walls reflected the moonlight, giving it a glow against the backdrop of the sky. The door had a stained glass portrait of the full moon with fire surrounding it.
You pushed the door open and stepped through, expecting the usual costume change. You looked at Agatha and Rio to see that they were naked. Agatha looked nonplussed while Rio had a wolfish smile. Looking down, you were mortified to see your own naked body with one addition.
âWell, I didnât know you were packing more than magical heatâŠâ Agatha purred, looking down at the sizable dick that had been bestowed upon you.
âNo, I⊠I donât have⊠the road did it!â you said, shocked at your new anatomy.
âWell, the road has wonderful taste,â she replied as you tried covering it with your hands.
âEnough admiring, we should find the challenge,â Rio said, looking you up and down once more before searching your surroundings.
The ceiling was out of your sight, positioned at the very top of the massive tower. There were portraits lining the circular frozen walls. They were lined up like film, carvings of stone with bodies in different positions. The floor was cushioned and covered in silk sheets and decadent pillows.
You walked along the wall, finally distracted enough to examine the room. You touched a wall and felt the cold against your fingertips. You stepped back to the center with Agatha and Rio. Once you were all in the middle of the room, an ice hourglass began to slowly fill with water, the cube on top melting as time passed. A shelf emerged with four icicles attached. A circle of low burning fire surrounded the coven as the timer began.
Something resembling snow fell from the ceiling, breaking into a fog the three of you breathed in. Your heart began to race and you felt a flush burning your cheeks. There was an iron frame that appeared over one of the portraits. It was a carving of two people entangled in the missionary position.
You noticed the other two women struggling to keep their focus. Their pupils dilated and focused on you. You looked down and saw where all of your blood had rushed to.
Agatha looked up at the carving.
âI think we know what your trial is,â Agatha said, her voice a bit raspy, âLittle miss purity has to discover a few things.â
You would have been resistant if you had been with anyone else, but the two other women had been present in your dreams since the beginning of the road.
âWait, what?â
âYou heard her, firestarter,â Rio said, stalking up to you.
A thin sheen of sweat covered her body, causing a layer of goosebumps to break out. She looked like she was about to consume you.
âI know you feel it too. That need rushing through you?â she said, leaning in to whisper into your ear.
âThe air of arousal,â Agatha said, her body nearly shivering with desire, âThatâs what we breathed in. If we donât satiate it, it can kill you. Are you okay with this?â
Agatha actually seemed to care about how you felt about this, despite the irresistible lust taking her over.
âYes,â you said eagerly before you could stop yourself, âI wanted it before.â
You turned to Rio, who was standing an inch from you, her hands running along your arms. You pulled her into a kiss, the heat within you passing the point of no return. Rio fell back, pulling you with her. You landed over her, catching yourself with your hands. Seeing her beneath you like this was more intense than you could imagine.
Rio reached between you, her hand wrapping around your cock. Her touch sent a shock through you, the flames of the circle rising a bit. You lowered your hips down as she guided you into her. You both gasped at the sensation. Your eyes squeezed shut at the overwhelming feeling.
âMove,â Rio ordered.
You opened your eyes and locked onto hers. You slowly moved your hips, getting used to the motion. You let out a whine as you began to speed up. Rio rolled her hips with yours, bucking and grinding against you. You didnât know what else to do but thrust. She reached down again and began playing with her own clit. Her cunt squeezed around you as her mouth fell open into a moan. The flames grew another foot. An icicle fell from the shelf, crashing against the floor. There were three left.
You could hear a cranking sound as the portraits spun around the room, the frame now over a carving of a woman riding a man. Rio sat up, about to top you when Agatha interrupted.
âYou already got one,â Agatha said to Rio.
She nearly tackled you to the floor, pinning your wrists on either side of your head. She straddled you, grinding herself along the side of your cock. You squirmed, your breath shaking at the feeling of her wet lips massaging you. She reached down and positioned you before sinking down onto you. She threw her head back, her long hair falling down her back. Her chest was shamelessly pushed out as she moved. Her hips rocked and circled, leaving you without a thought in your mind. You bucked up, drawing a gasp from her. She took you by the wrists and guided them over her breasts. You held onto her as you fucked her, your back arching off of the cushioned floor. You sat up, kissing and sucking at her neck. Her arms encircled you, her hand tangled in your hair as she held you to her throat. You moaned against her skin as she rode you.
âFuck⊠fuck, fuck, fuckâŠâ Agatha whispered as she moved faster.
Suddenly, she tensed up, her body freezing her into a vision of pleasure. Her mouth hung open, her eyes squeezing shut. Her slick walls pulsed around you, making you shudder with your own orgasm. Another icicle fell as the fire grew again. You were still terribly hard in a way that was painful.
The whirring of the portraits snapped you from your haze. The one that was picked made your pulse quicken. You could see it had the same effect on your coven members. Rio smiled and Agatha looked you up and down.
Something inside of you took hold. You grabbed Agatha by the waist, flipping her onto her hands and knees. You looked at Rio, saying, âMove.â
Rio didnât have to be told twice. She sat and opened her legs in front of Agatha. You checked the time, the hourglass half full. Sweat trickled down your face, the magic nearly driving you insane.
You moved to your knees behind Agatha, reaching down and grabbing her by the hair. She let out a shocked moan as you pulled her tresses before slamming into her. You shoved her head down into Rioâs pussy.
Her mouth immediately went to work, drawing hitches and sighs from Rio. You grabbed her by the hip with your free hand and pulled her into each thrust. The sound of moans, the wet sounds of Agathaâs mouth exploring Rio, and your thighs slapping against Agathaâs ass filled the tower. You felt a feral need to make her cum. Your hand went from her hair to her back. You dug your nails in and scratched down over its arch. You could feel the way Agatha reacted to it, knowing then that Agatha had a submissive side.
âSlap her,â Rio growled, âShe loves it.â
You reared back, your hand coming down against her ass with a force. Agatha let out a wild cry against Rioâs warmth. She then went back to sucking on Rioâs clit, earning higher and higher moans. You knew she was close and also knew how to help Agatha to catch her up. You reached your arm around her and played with the sensitive bundle of nerves.
âAh! Fuck, yes!â she cried out, pressing her cheek to Rioâs inner thigh before returning to her.
The two womenâs moans rose in pitch until all three of you broke. You fell forward, catching yourself on your hands before crushing Agatha. You could hear the shattering of another icicle as it fell. One left. The flames were several feet high and licking at the walls.
The carvings spun one last time. This one was more confusing than the others. Two women, lying one on top of the other facing the sky. The man was inside of one while the other held her.
âAh, I see,â Rio said.
She guided Agatha as she laid down. Rio lay under her, her front pressing against her back. They were stacked on one another, waiting for you. You looked at the hourglass and saw how close you were to the end of your time.
You were on your knees when you held Agathaâs hips and thrusted into her. Her head fell back against Rioâs shoulder. You took no time for foreplay. You fucked her with abandon before pulling out of her, earning a violent glare.
You then slid into Rio, fucking her with the same force. She kissed and marked Agatha, her neck one big bruise. Your hands covered her breasts, pinching and tugging at them. She leaned down and kissed Agatha, pouring all of the hidden desire you had been harboring for her into it. You pulled out of Rio and sank back into Agatha, a whimper escaping her lips driving you absolutely insane.
She screamed as her cunt strangled you, her body spasming with her climax. You looked at her wild hair and her blissed out face. You wanted to remember this forever.
You then sank into Rio, pulling an animalistic growl from her that slightly scared you. Your thighs ached as you sped your thrusts, angling to find the part of Rio that made her scream. She shook and shrieked as she came with you following soon after, the pleasure blinding you for a moment.
The fire shot up, reaching the top of the tower as the final icicle fell. The walls melted down, water falling and rolling down to the ground. The carvings fell from the melted walls into the dirt. The hourglass filled and broke before disintegrating into a puddle. The fire that had been emanating from your magic returned to your hands. You looked down and your clothes were back and your member was gone.
âWell,â Agatha said, standing on wobbly legs before dusting herself off, âGood job, team.â
Rio snorted with a laugh, getting up and offering you a hand. You took it and walked with them, now knowing the trip down the road would be much more fun.
Thank you for reading! Reblog this if you liked it đ€
#agatha all along#agatha harkness#agathario#rio vidal#agatha x rio#kathryn hahn#aubrey plaza#marvel#lgbtq#agatha x rio x reader#agatha x reader#rio x reader#rio x you#agatha x you#mcu fanfiction#fanfiction#fanfic#agatha all along fanfic
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In general, the wooden teeth family can be separated into several distinct types
- sleek, ultra violent killing machines (Houndtooth, Redjay, Myrtlewing, the triplets
- torties with bad attitudes and no more fucks to give (Bella-May, Jacky, Ash, and Cody)
- cottonball that somehow gained sentience and now craves wet food and sometimes violence (Scooter)
you either die a cottonball or lose enough fucks to become an ultra violent killing machine
#and sometimes the ultra violent killing machine falls in love with the tortie with a bad attitude and no more fucks to give#and that's where babies come from#(want to check for the story--Scooter is Cody's brother right? is it just them?)#wooden teeth family#eye-out family#I have plans for Houndtooth in one short story#redjay#myrtlewing#bella-may#jacky#ash#cody#scooter#houndtooth#stubs#whistler#lamb
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@ambitiousauthorâ
Finally done!
Heâs missing a toe. I like to think that it was either one of the boys or Bella-May (the story amuses him now).
I imagined Bella-May looking at him when they met, thinking him hot, and thinking something like âIâd bet he would taste great.â
Which leads me to wonder--which one was the cannibal first?
--
ref by turukhan
#turukhan#ref by turukhan#sprouting thorns#gorsedaisy's nightmare#houndtooth#wooden teeth#wooden teeth family#eye-out family
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Stars all aligned - Chapter 13
Summary:
If there was one thing that both Azriel and Zahra Archeron had in common, it was that they were both very good at blending into the background.
They just never thought that their family were going to be the ones who never saw them at all.
Warning:
I'll keep the warnings, even though there is no outright mention in this part: Bashing of like...every IC member? Especially the Archeron Sisters, discussion of chronic pain, discussion of Infertility, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Underage Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Accidental Baby Procurement
If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please, take care of your own mental health and don't read it.
(Lovely dividers thanks to @sweetmelodygraphics)
The morning sunlight was streaming in through the open balcony windows, the scents of roses and honey filling the space.Â
It was a lovely day.
And Feyre hated every fucking minute of it.
She couldnât help herself.
Every since she had found out the full truthâŠhad found out about what happened to Zarah⊠She couldnât put it into words.
Devastated wasnât enough, wasnât even close to enoughâŠ
Her chest ached, her hands clenched at her sides. She was stillâŠreeling.
From the looks of it, she thought bitterly as she caught sight of Elain sitting across her, clenching her handsâŠshe wasnât the only one.Â
Even Nesta⊠unruffled Nesta, normally always straight backed say there, her shoulders caving in.
The only one who didnât seem to understand what was going on at all was Nyx, who was happily playing with a couple of wooden blocks and that was it.Â
âWhy did you never tell me?â Feyre demanded weakly. âWhy did you never tell me aboutâŠâ
âThe affair?â Elain asked softly.
âIt wasnât an affair!â Feyre snapped. It wasnât. It had been rape. Plain and simple. Zahra had been raped. For 6 years. Dozens if not hundreds of times.
Elain flinched at her words, her eyes flinching away.
Nesta, meanwhile, just continued to stare off into the distance, her face a mask of cool nonchalance, but Feyre could tellâŠcould see the hurt and pain behind her calm mask.Â
Feyre swallowed back the lump in her throat, trying to control her emotions.
âWhy?â she repeated, her voice softer this time. Why hadnât they never told her about what had happened. Why had she been blinded to this all this time? Why had she never noticed anything?
It was just another failure on her part. Another failure to be a good sister, friendâŠjust an all around failure.
Her hands balled themselves into fists, a hot flush of frustration and anger rising up within her. Silence settled over the space, only broken by the sound of birds and the occasional rustle of leaves from the gardens, of Nyx playing happily with his blocksâŠ
But it wasnât comfortable silence, it was cold and tense.
Feyre didnât know what to say, what to think.
The realization, the weight of what she had never known, settled around her like a shroud. âBecause I didnât want you to get the idea that sleeping with a married man was something you should do too. Isaac Hale was bad enough,â Nesta said, her voice flat.Â
Feyre clenched her jaw, her teeth grinding together. She fought back the urge to retort back with something equally sharp, but she knew it wouldnât help right now. Instead she took a deep breath, her voice shaking.
âZahra wasnât sleeping with a married man, it was rape.â she whispered, her stomach churning with emotion.
Her hands trembled slightly, her palms sweaty. She felt sick. Sick to her stomach at the thought of what her sister had gone through.
She felt sick to her stomach at the thought of what she hadnât known aboutâŠwhat had happened right before her eyes and she hadnâtâŠknown.Â
She had notâŠ
Not one word from Zahra. Not one time where Feyre had thought something was amiss. That something was wrongâŠ
She should have seen it. Should have realised that Zahra wore long sleeves even while cooking, even in the summer. Did she want to know what she had hidden beneath these dresses. Had it been bruises? Had it been something worse?Â
Feyre should have realised that sometimes Zahra had slept on the cold wood floor and not shared the bed with her sisters⊠Not because she hadnât wanted to, but because she probably hasnât been able to stand the thought of another person touching her.
All of those tiny things she hadnât even noticedâŠall of those signs Feyre had missed.
All of the times that Feyre hadnât done anything. Hadnât helped. Hadnât protected her. She should have been there for Zahra. Should have been there as a friend, as a confidant, as a sister. She should have been the one to notice. To step in.Â
Feyre should haveâŠseen it then.
But she hasnât.
Feyre hasnât seen it then.
Feyre hasnât stepped in when she had returned to her family, when they were wealthy again and Zahra was a maid, working for her own family, her own father. Feyre should haveâŠshe should have done something against thatâŠbut she hadnât. She hadnât done anything.Â
She should have done something once her sisters had been turned Fae⊠after the warâŠand not simplyâŠnot simply ignored Zahra because suddenly Elain and Nesta wanted to spend time with herâŠ
She shouldnât have simply accepted their behaviour towards Zahra either.
Feyre should have made sure everyone was fine. That her entire family was doing okay.Instead she had been so wrapped up in herself and her relationship with Rhys, in new motherhood, in everything but what was right before her nose. .
She had been so goddamn oblivious.
And ZahraâŠpoor Zahra hadâŠhad been carrying this horrible secret with her. All alone for so god damned long all the while nobody cared or noticed.
Feyre had been a shitty sister, a shitty friend.
And now her guilt was going to eat her alive.
Feyre swallowed, the bitter taste of guilt and regret filling her mouth.
She had been so selfish. So selfish to not noticeâŠto not see
And AzrielâŠhe had been so furious.Â
His voice like cold death. Vicious in his protection of his mate. She couldnât get over that.
âI just canât see it,â Elain said suddenly. âAzriel and Zahra.â
Elainâs voice snapped Feyre out of her reverie, and she glanced over. Elain had a look of utter bewilderment on her face, as she spoke softly, as if unable to piece the puzzle together within her head. âI just canât picture them together,â she repeated, her tone reflecting the disbelief she was feeling. âTheyâŠjust⊠donât seem like they'd be a good fit,'' Elain continued, her brow furrowed.
She was the picture of confusion, unable to wrap her mind around the match.Â
The comment made Feyre bristle, a rush of protectiveness surging up inside her.
"They are a great fit," she responded firmly, her voice leaving no room for argument.Â
They were. Both content to exist in the quiet, both with a sharp bting humour that only came out sometimesâŠ
They were a good fit. If there was any male that Feyre trusted with her sister after that revelation it was Azriel.Â
âAnd I donât want to hear how he deserves better,â Feyre snapped at Nesta. âZahra is our sister,â she stressed. Their sister.Â
Regardless of the circumstances of her birthday. She was still their sister.Â
Nesta seemingly flinched at that. âShe is.â Nestaâs voice was flat as she said that and Feyre was so surprised that she could just stare at her eldest sister as Nesta lifted a pair of grey eyes to look at her. âWhat, do you wish for me to disagree?â Nesta asked her with a sigh. âGwyn nearly bit off my head, Emerie is so furious that she had a screaming fit and Cassian doesnât even talk to me anymore.â
âIâŠI didn't sayâŠthat," Feyre sputtered, taken aback by the words from her sister.But seeing the look on her faceâŠshe was more than stunned. Seeing her sister like thisâŠit hurt. It made her chest ache with a dull pain.
âHe doesnt talk?â Elain asked surprised.
Nesta looked away, her gaze fluttering to somewhere in the distance. "HeâŠhasn't really said anything," she admitted in a voice that was so small and soft, Feyre had to strain to hear it. She was twisting her hands together in her lap, a strange vulnerability to her eyes as she spoke. She lookedâŠwary, as if afraid of what Feyre might say or do in response.
âHeâs furious with me. But also doesnât want me to fix it,â Nesta spat out suddenly.
"What?" Feyre asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Her eyes locked onto Nestaâs, watching as a flurry of emotions played across her face. There was anger, yes. But there was also pain. Sorrow. Despair. Remorse. Guilt. All of it swirling together in a confusing storm of emotion.Â
Feyreâs heart ached at the sight, her chest tightening in response to the turmoil she was witnessing. She wanted to help, to comfort, to offer some sort of solace in this moment of pain. But she didnât know what to do.Â
âI just want to apologise,â Elain whispered. Didnât they all? Elain looked down at her hands as she spoke, her voice soft and filled with regret. "But how can I? IâŠI donât even know what to say," she admitted, swallowing hard. Her hands curled into small fists, as if the act of speaking the words aloud was physically painful.Â
âAnd we canât even get to her, canât even see her, because Azriel is controlling all access to her!â Nesta snapped.
âNot controlling. Protecting,â Feyre corrected her sister gently, though she shared her frustration.
Her voice was soft, but there was an edge to it, an underlying sense of understanding.
She knew that Azriel was doing everything in his power to protect Zahra, to keep her safe. She understood that drive, the protective instinct that was driving Azriel now. Feyre herself would move mountains to protect those she loved. She understood Azrielâs need to do the same for his mate.Â
ButâŠwas this really the best for Zahra? To cut her off from her sisters?
Her chest ached as she considered the question, and she couldnât help but feel that Azriel was going too far.
He was doing these things out of love and protectiveness, she could see that, but in doing so, he was creating an even bigger divide between Zahra and her sisters.
He was isolating her, and it wasn't right.Â
She knew Azriel had a temper, and that he could be fiercely overprotective when it came to those he cared about. But thisâŠthis was too much.
It wasnât good for anyone.Â
Feyre looked between Elain and Nesta, her heart twinging in sympathy.
She could see the pain in both of their eyes, the hurt.
And she couldnât helpâŠshe couldnât help but remember a time where she herself had been locked away. Out of love. Out of protectivnessâŠ
And now, Feyre couldn't help but wonder if Azriel was now becoming the "Tamlin" in this scenario.Â
She didn't want to think about it, didn't want to believe that Azriel would turn into something like that.But she couldn't deny the signs.
Azriel was acting out of love, certainly, but that didn't mean that what he was doing was right.
It needed to stop. And it needed to stop soon.Â
She let out a deep sigh, reaching to grasp for each of her sisterâs hands.
"We need to talk to him," she said finally, her voice firm. She glanced between them both, her expression resolute. "We canât let this continue. Itâs not good for anyone involved. Especially not for Zahra."
She squeezed both of their hands, hoping that they would understand.
She wasnât going to let her sisters and herâŠher friend, suffer because of Azrielâs overprotective nature.Â
âAnd how do you want to do that?â Elain asked. âPlease remember that your own mate wants us to give her time,â Elain said sharply. âOur options are limited. We have no idea where Rosehall even is!âÂ
True.Â
The other option was tryin to talk to Azriel using her daemati powers, but somehow she doubted that that would go over well eitherâŠ
"Do you think Mor would tell you where Rosehall is?" Nesta asked Feyre.
Feyre paused at that, her brow furrowing slightly. She hadn't even considered asking Mor, but maybe that was a good idea. It was worth a try, at least.
"I donât know," she muttered. "But itâs worth asking, I suppose?"
But all of that didnât evenâŠit didnât really get to the crux of that matter either.Â
âWhy did she never say?â Feyre asked weakly. âI get that she never told you. You hate her!â she spat out. âBut I donât!âÂ
âWe donât hate her!â Elain said immediately. âItâs justâŠâ
âEvery time I looked at Zahra the only thing I could think about is how utterly useless our father was,â Nesta spat out. âBut thatâs my problem and not hers and I shouldnâtâŠI shouldnât have let it out on herâŠâ
"And yet you did!!" Feyre exclaimed, frustration boiling over within her. âYou hated her and treated herâŠ" She trailed off, her voice catching on the words. "You treated her worse than dirt, Nesta," she gritted out, her eyes flashing with anger.Â
âWe all did,â Elain said softly, her voice trembling.
Feyre looked over at her, and her heart ached at the sight of the two of them.
Nesta and Elain were both strong and fierce women, but at this moment, they looked soâŠbroken.
Feyre wanted to say something, to comfort them both, but she couldnât find the words. Instead, she bit her lip, her heart a mess of conflicting emotions.
Guilt, regret, anger, hurt. It all raged within her.Â
She wished she could go back in time, and do something different. But she couldn't. All they could do wasâŠmove forward.
And the first stepâŠthe first step was to get through to Azriel. Somehow. Some way.She just hoped that she could manage it. She let out a small breath, looking between her sisters.
"Let's go talk to Mor," she said finally, her voice quiet yet determined.
She knew it was going to be a difficult conversation, but it was necessary. They needed to do this. For themselves, for each other. And for Zahra.Â
****
Azalea was curled up against Azrielâs chest, scarred hands carefully holding the sleepy baby. Her eyelids were fluttering, her tiny hands grasping at her Father's shirt while her head lolled on his chest.
Azriel was murmuring softly to her, the words too low for Zahra to understand. But the sound of his voice was enough to keep the girl blissfully asleep, her chest rising and falling peacefully.
Azriel's hand was curled protectively around the tiny form in his arms, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on her back in an attempt to soothe the girl.
She had been fighting sleep, refusing to give in to exhaustion despite the long and tiring day. But now...Now she was succumbing to the pull of sleep, her little eyelids drifting closed more and more with every passing second. Azriel's fingers continued their gentle ministrations, his touch careful and loving as he worked to coax the baby into a deep sleep.
His own exhaustion was beginning to show on his face, the lines around his eyes and mouth deeper than usual. But he kept his eyes fixed on the small, vulnerable form he was holding, refusing to look away, as if afraid that she might disappear if he were to blink.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, Azalea's eyes fluttered closed completely, her small body relaxing fully in her father's arms.
Azriel let out a soft breath, his fingers stilling in their movements as he watched the tiny girl's breathing even out. She was finally asleep, her tiny face softened in complete peace and contentment.Â
Azriel carefully adjusted his grip, making sure to keep the baby tucked snugly against his chest, close to his heart. His hand gently brushed a stray strand of hair away from the girl's face, his touch reverent.Â
He tilted his head down slightly, his lips gently kissing the top of the baby's head.
Zahra could see the love in his eyes, the affection practically pouring off of him in waves. âCome to bed,â she whispered softly. Azriel looked up, smiling at her.
Azalea was placed reverently on the bed next to Zahra, where she had carefully rolled up a few blankets to protect the baby from the wall, the bed was pushed against.
Zahra would take the middle, with Azalea to her left and Azriel to her rightâŠÂ
Azalea stirred as Azriel laid her down carefully, a small noise of protest escaping her lips. But as soon as she was settled against Zahra, she immediately curled into the touch, her small hands grasping at her nightgown.
It was like the baby was drawn to her, instinctively seeking out the comfort of her presence even in sleep, and Zahra pressed a kiss to the dark curls that covered her head, pulling a small fur trimmed blanket over her, fussing with it. Â
âWhere can you get these?â She asked Azriel softly as he slipped into bed behind her, schooching closer until he could pull her in his arms. Azriel hummed as he tucked himself against her back, pressing his chest firmly against her. His arms curled around her waist, pulling her in close.
"The blankets?" he mumbled quietly, his breath warm on her neck. âI think my mother made them, with some flannel and furs of some rabbitsI hunted for dinner once.â He took a moment to press a soft kiss to the side of her neck, his lips lingering on her skin. âIâll go hunt some more rabbits tomorrow,â he told her simply.
âYou donât need to do that,â Zahra protested.
He let out a soft snort, his arms tightening around her just a fraction.
"I know I don't need to," he murmured, his tone soft and amused. "But I want to," he added, his voice becoming more serious. âMy girls wonât get cold on my watch.âÂ
My girls.Â
Something in her chest warmed at these words. My girls.Â
Azriel pressed another kiss to her neck before burying his face into the crook of her shoulder, his lips brushing against her skin. âBesides, itâs a point of pride for e very Illyrian male to provide for his wife and children,â Azriel said softly. âProbably the one time I agree with something they do,â he murmured with some sarcasm.Â
Wife.
The word landed in her mind like a bell rung.
Wife.
The way he said the word, the quiet possessiveness in his voice, sent a shiver down her spine.
She could feel his chest pressing against her back, the heat of it seeping through her shirt, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist.
Zahra let out a shaky breath, her heart stuttering inside her chest. "Wife," she repeated quietly, testing the word on her tongue.Â
âOr mate,â Azriel said softly. âEither is fine with me. Whatever you prefer.â
She exhaled shakily. âI donât know if Iâll ever be able to be a proper mate,â she whispered quietly. She wasnât sure if she would ever be able to stand the thought of offering him food and triggering the Mating Frenzy. Wasnât sure if the thought of him, with all his inhibitions bared wasnât going to terrify her. She never wanted to be terrified of Azriel. She never had been eitherâŠbut the thought of that it wasâŠshe wasnât sure if she could do that. But she could⊠âBut I could be your wife.â
Azriel's arms tightened around her at her words, his body shifting to press even closer against her. She could feel him nuzzling his face into the crook of her shoulder, his breath warm against her skin.
"No such thing as a 'proper mate'," he murmured quietly, his voice low and reassuring. "You are my mate. Regardless if we ever go through a mating frenzy or not," he added, his lips finding the soft spot behind her ear. She shivered slightly as his lips grazed her skin, his touch setting her nerves on fire.
Her heart skipped a beat at his words, the possessiveness in his tone making her breath hitch. âWe should get married. You knowâŠonly to make sure that Azalea isnât a bastard,â she told him, biting her lips. Not a bastard like both of the.Â
Azriel let out a low chuckle, his arms tightening around her just a fraction."That's the only reason, huh?" he teased, his voice low and amused.
His lips found her neck again, pressing a trail of kisses against her skin.âI love you,â he whispered into her skin.
The simple words made her shiver, her breath catching in her throat.
His lips continued their path up her neck, warm and soft against her skin. She could feel the heat of his body pressing against her back, the warmth of his chest against her back. His mouth made it to her jawline, his lips brushing against the skin there affectionately. She could feel his breaths against her neck, every exhale sending a fresh wave of heat over her skin and setting her heart a-flutter.
"I love you," he repeated quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I love you and I want to marry you."Â
His lips found hers as he tugged her face around. The kiss was gentle, soft and unhurried.
There was no urgency to it, no desperation or force. Just his lips against hers, tasting her slowly, drinking her in. This and just thisâŠshe could do this.
Nothing in this kiss reminded her off before. Nothing hurt, nothing even threatened to hurt and she let him kiss her lazily a until they both had their fill, before she leaned back into the pillows, one enormous wing coming over to cover her and Azalea as well, still curled against her side.Azriel's arm wrapped around her, his body shifting closer until he was pressed flush against her side.
His wing spread over the three of them, creating a makeshift shelter and a comfortable warmth.
He nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck, his breath soft against her skin as he placed a soft kiss behind her ears. The weight of his body was reassuring, a comfort that settled her.
His wing was curled around them both, the shadows dancing like flickering stars across the darkness as his shadows wrapped themselves around them both.
She could feel the gentle rise and fall of his chest against hers, his body warm and solid, offering comfort and security. His arm was curled around her waist, holding her close, while his other hand began to gently brush her hair.
The motion was soothing, his touch gentle and rhythmic as he combed his fingers through the strands.Â
âIs there a priestess around Rosehall?â She asked him softly.
Azriel let out a soft hum, his hand stilling in her hair as he considered the question.
"There is," he answered quietly, his lips brushing against the side of her neck. "Why?"Â
âIf we do thisâŠâ she said softly, âletâs just do it here. Letâs just do it, just for the two of us and nobody else.â
Azriel's lips curled into a soft smile as she spoke, his arm tightening around her waist.
"Just the two of us?" he asked, his voice soft and full of affection."Are you sure?"
His mouth found her neck again, his lips tracing a slow path up. âMaybe your mother and Azalea,â she said softly. âBut nobody else.â
He chuckled against her skin, the sound so low and soft she could feel the vibrations of it against her spine.
"You want my mother there?" he asked, his voice still tinged with laughter. He nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck again, his lips brushing against her pulse point. âAnd I suppose Azalea can be our flower girl,â he murmured into her skin, amusement in his voice. âBut if you want it like thatâŠweâll do it,â Azriel agreed softly. âI hate big parties, you know that.â
âJust us,â she repeated.
âJust us,â Azriel said softly. âWeâll go see a priestess tomorrow.â
She smiled at him, craning her head to press another kiss against his lips.Azriel hummed against her mouth, returning the kiss with equal affection.
His hand slid back up to sift through her hair again, his fingers carding through the strands in a way that sent pleasurable tingles down her spine.
His wing shifted, curling more closely around them, enveloping them in its darkness. âSleep now, sunshineâ he told her seriously.
And so she did.
With Azriel's body pressed to hers, his arms circled around her waist, his wing draped over her and Azalea and his lips against her neck, she let herself drift into sleep easily.
The sound of Azriel's quiet, steady breaths in her ear was like a lullaby, soothing and familiar.Â
âAre you sure you donât at least want some kind of celebration?!â Esmeray demanded the next morning, while Zarah was wrangling Azalea to eat her porridge and Azriel and asked his mother where to find the Priestess of Rosehall for an impromptu wedding ceremony.
"I don't want any big celebration," Zahra repeated firmly, balancing a wriggling Azalea on her lap as the baby tried to grab at her spoon. She couldn't help but smile as the girl squealed. "We just want a simple ceremony," she insisted, carefully feeding Azalea before the baby could send porridge flying from her mouth. âJust us, Azalea and you,â she told Esmeray. âI donât want to deal with planning a big wedding and neither does Azriel.Â
Esmeray huffed, a look of mock-annoyance crossing her face. "My little boy, having a small wedding?" she teased, her voice laced with sarcasm. âI did not see that coming at all. Itâs so unlike him.â
Zahra couldnât help but laugh. "We prefer it that way," she assured Esmeray. "We just want something simple and intimate. No fuss. Something just for us.â
Esmeray sighed. âIt sounds lovely,â she assured Zahra. âBut donât even think you are get out of buying the poor girl a ring, Azriel!â
Azriel let out a soft laugh at his mother's comment. He was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed leisurely across his chest.
"Of course I'm going to get her a ring," he assured his mother with an amused smile. "I wouldn't dream of not getting her something," he added, his voice soft and affectionate.
He pushed off of the doorframe, striding towards them lazily and sitting down beside Zahra. His wing came out to wrap around them, its shadows playing over Azalea's hair. Azalea squealed, her eyes wide as she tried to swat at the shadows moving about. Zahra couldn't help but laugh at her daughter's antics.
She leaned her head back against Azriel's chest, relishing the comfort of his presence. "Besides," Azriel added, his arm coming around Zahra's shoulders and tugging her closer. "I think she deserves a nice, big, shiny diamond for putting up with me. Donât you?"Â
Esmeray chuckled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Of course. Something large and sparkling is definitely what's in order," she agreed, glancing at Zahra with a warm smile.Â
âDonât you dare,â Zahra said drily. âI want a simple gold band.â
"Oh come on, honey," Esmeray coaxed, her voice full of mirth.âHow about an emerald at least? It would match your eyes!â
âI donât even wear any jewellery half the time,â Zahra said with a snort. âAzriel can save his money. A gold band more than suffices for me,â she promised him. As long as he was the one giving it to herâŠ
Azriel's smirk softened at her words, his eyes softening.
He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her temple.
"Alright, a simple gold band it is," he conceded, though there was still a hint of teasing in his voice. "Your wish is my command," he murmured against her skin.
His hand slid down to grasp her own, lifting it to his lips and placing a soft kiss against the back of her knuckles.Â
âCome on Zahra, weâll figure out a dress, Esmeray said with a smile. âIf you would have given me more than a few hours of time, I would have made you one but alas,â Esmeray clucked her tongueâŠ.weâll need to see what I can scrounge up that is fit for a bride.â
Zahra let out a huff of laughter, allowing Esmeray to tug her out of her chair and away from Azriel. Â
A heavy woolem cream coloured dress ended up being her choice, something she had worn numerous times before. Azriel came upon them in the bedroom, watching from the doorway as Esmeray fussed over her, and at least insisted of putting a couple of poor long suffering wildflowers in her hair.Â
He leant against the frame, arms crossed, wings casually held out behind him, a slight smile on his face. âReady?â he asked her.
âDo you have your coat?â Esmeray demanded from her son. âI wonât have you get out of providing a bride gift either!â
A bride gift?Â
She had no idea what Esmeray was talking about but Azriel did.Â
Azriel's smile widened into a smirk, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
"I do have my coat, mother," he replied, his voice amused. âAnd Iâll get Zahra a bride gift, donât you worry.â
She had no idea what that was about. Azriel's smirk widened further into a grin as he pushed away from the door frame, striding into the room to join them.
He wrapped an arm around Zahra's waist, tugging her gently against his side.
âItâs illyrian tradition that I gift you a coat at the wedding made from furs of an animal I hunted,â he explained softly. Well, that explained that. "You look beautiful," he murmured into her ear. Â
âThank you,â she whispered right back. Azriel's hand held onto her, his presence reassuring as Esmeray finished fussing over the dress.
She finally got to see Rosehall proper. A bustling little hamlet filled with busy work and laughing childrenâŠ
Azriel led her down the narrow cobblestone streets, his hand still holding hers loosely. The hamlet was indeed bustling, filled with the sounds of laughter and conversation, the chatter of children and the smells of cooking food. As they walked, people glanced up and waved, some giving them curious looks, but mostly smiles.Â
Azriel gave nods of greeting in return, while Esmeray greeted them by name. He kept his wing curled behind her, shadows swirling lazily about them.Â
Azalea, perched on her Zahraâs hip, was wide-eyed and curious, taking in the sights and sounds of the hamlet with unabashed fascination. She wriggled in her mother's arms, her tiny hands reaching for everything and everyone within grasp.
Azriel chuckled at the girl's enthusiasm, his hand coming up to ruffle her hair affectionately. "Someone's eager to explore," he commented with a smile, glancing down at her.Â
Azalea babbled something incoherent in response, her focus on the surrounding hamlet, her small fingers flexing as if trying to reach out and touch things.
Zahra smiled down at her, her own eyes scanning the surrounding scenery. âWho can blame her?â Zahra answered softly. âSheâll like it at home, I think.â
Azriel's gaze softened as he looked at them both. "Of course she will," he agreed, his voice affectionate.
His hand gave her own another slight squeezed, his wing shifting to wrap a little more firmly around them both as they continued down the street.Â
She wasnât quite sure what to expect of an Illyrian priestess. Was it going to be similar to the blue robes priestesses at the House of Wind?
They arrived at the temple a few minutes later, a simple structure of stone and wood that looked to be well-maintained, despite its rustic nature. There were no blue robes, but instead a young woman speaking in a language Zahra did not understand at all. Illyrian.
âYouâll need to teach me,â she told Azriel quietly as they waited for a moment. âAzalea will need to learn.â
Azriel glanced down at her with a small smile, his eyes soft. âI will,â he promised her, his hand reaching down to squeeze her own.
The young woman turned back to them then, her eyes flickering between the both of them.
âAre you ready?â she asked in a lilting tone.
Azriel gave a nod. He turned to Zahra and Azalea, his gaze meeting her own.
âAre you?â he asked quietly, his hand reaching up to brush back a strand of her hair. Zahra met his gaze, her fingers curling around his own. She swallowed back the flutter in her stomach, glancing back at Azalea, who was still busy looking about the temple with wide eyes.
âYes.â
That one word was all she could manage in that moment.
Azriel gave a small nod, his smile soft and warm. He squeezed her hand reassuringly, his gaze flickering back to the priestess.
The young woman led them towards the center of the temple, a small but sacred-looking area.The inside was simple, but there was an air of reverence, a feeling of something sacred about the space.Â
It wasnât like a human wedding at all. But then Zahra had never thought that she would get to have this at all either.
And as she looked at AzrielâŠsuddenly it was so easy.
She handed Azalea to Esmeray, while the baby looked on wide eyed and slipped her hands in Azrielâs scarred once, feeling at home at once.
She didnât care what blessings the priestess did, didnât care if they were High Fae or Illyrian, all she cared about was that they bound her to him.
Azriel's hands clasped around her own, his palms warm and calloused against hers.
The sound of the priestessâ voice was a low melody, the words spoken in Illyrian and so foreign to Zahraâs ears. But she didnât need to understand the words, not with the way Azriel was gazing at her. t was the look in his eyes, the way his hands held her own, like he would never let her go.
His gaze was soft, his eyes filled with an affection that made her feel weak at the knees.
She could lose herself in those eyes. The blessing continued, the priestessâ voice a steady cadence. Azrielâs eyes never left her own, his expression soft as they continued to hold each other's hands, their fingers laced together tightly.Â
She did finally figure out for what he needed the coat.
Because when he ceremony neared its end, he pulled it from his own shoulders and clasped it around hers, heavy and warm. As Azriel settled the heavy leather over her shoulders, she immediately felt an added layer of warmth settle over her skin.
The coat was like a solid weight, a reminder and a promise. The scent of cedar and mist immediately teased her senses and she inhaled deeply, the familiar and comforting smell settling over her. His hands lingered on her shoulders for a moment, gently adjusting the garment before coming up to her chin, gently tilting up her face to meet his gaze.
She met his eyes, noting the affection in them, the possessiveness. The look in his eyes sent a shiver down her spine. She barely heard the final words of the ceremony as she was lost in that intense gaze of his.
The sound of the priestessâ voice seemed far away, her own heartbeat a steady, quick thrum in her ears.
Azriel's hands continued to cup her face, his fingers warm against her skin. The feeling of his hands against her, the way he held her so carefully and gently as though she was something precious and fragile, sent another flutter through her chest.
His gaze roamed over her face, as if drinking in the sight of her, his expression a mixture of awe and affection. And the he kissed her. A soft warm press of his lips a faint hers.
As his lips met hers, the flutter in her chest grew stronger, a warm feeling spreading throughout her body. She could faintly hear the sound of clapping around them, but she was lost in the feel of him.
His mouth pressed against hers, his hands gentle on her face.Â
#acotar fanfiction#azriel x oc#azriel x reader#azriel fanfiction#azriel fanfic#Azriel x Archeron!Reader#Stars all aligned
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The Doctor's Wife đ | Carlisle Cullen Imagine
Set during the events of Twilight (2008)
Twilight Masterlist
Characters & Pairings: Carlisle Cullen x female!vampire!reader (romantic), Bella Swan x Edward Cullen, Edward Cullen x reader (platonic)
Content warnings: fluff, light angst, suggestive themes right at the end | female reader (she/her) | wc: 3.5k
requested đ„ yes/no
Premise: When Edward introduces Bella to his family after weeks of avoiding the inevitable, there was no telling how it was going to go down. Of course, what does one expect when they bring their girlfriend over for the first timeâŠ. except it's to a family of animal blood-sucking vampires who's lives each deserve a biography of their own. Bella felt the pressure of making a great impression, but the nerves seemed to heighten in regard to meeting the woman responsible for raising Edward throughout his undead life. The woman whose soul was bonded to none other than the Cullen patriarch.
--------------------------
Over a hundred years walking the Earth and Edward still experienced the universal feeling of cringe and embarrassment. This time, at the hands of none other than his family as he introduced him to the girl whoâd captured his undead heart and made it hard for Edward to stay away.Â
âAlright, um,â he swallowed, placing a gentle hand on Bellaâs back to nudge her in the direction of the staircase. Away from the prying eyes of his siblings and Carlisle after Alice had to say, âOh, you do smell good,â and Jesper was literally fighting for his life to keep it together. âWhereâs Y/n?â
âIn her studio,â Carlisle replied with a smile, the mention of his wife bringing a warmth to his chest. âSheâs working on a project and can definitely use a break. Sheâs been excited to meet Bella since you mentioned bringing her over.âÂ
Bella blushed, the nerves resurfacing at meeting another member of the Cullen family. The matriarch at that. Edwardâs adoptive mother and Carlisleâs wife.Â
âThanks,â Edward turned on his heel, leading Bella in the opposite direction. Mumbling a short goodbye, she followed the vampire down the corridor, past the staircase and a living space before stopping in front of a wooden door.Â
Before he knocked, Edward put a comforting hand on Bellaâs shoulder, âCalm down,â his teeth sparkled against the light, eyes teasing. âYour heartbeat is out of control.â
âSorry,â she flushed again, cursing at herself. She didnât understand why she was so nervous to meet Y/n. More so than the rest of his family. Maybe it was because Edward spoke so highly of her. Maybe it was because she saw the way Carlisle lit up at the mere mention of her name. Or how the townspeople praised Y/n, even if they only had one interaction.Â
Edward went to knock, but this time was interrupted by a voice calling out from the other side, âCome in!â Smiling, he pushed open the door, revealing a large room in what only could be described as an organized disarray.Â
Bellaâs jaw slightly dropped, taking in the scene before her. Eyes first darting to the high ceilings with a drop-down chandelier. Though it wasnât on, thanks to the natural light provided by the left side of the room with floor to ceiling windows where a wall shouldâve been. A beautiful, perfect view of the forest surrounding the home.Â
The walls were painted a rusted burnt red, the kind you see in art museums. Floors made of the finest dark wood, with one area covered by plastic reserved for protecting it by the paint cans laying on top, beside an easel holding a large canvas. A very large, vintage clock took the center of the wall connected to the window, surrounded by pieces ranging from old signs to shelves holding books and plants.Â
On the main wall parallel to the windows, a map of the world hung, flanked by art pieces. Portraits, landscape. Various mediums of pencil, oils, and acrylic. A phone straight from the 1930s mounted above a small table covered by messy stacks of paper. Bellaâs eyes drew to a woven basket that came probably to her waist, filled with pieces of rolled parchment. A few laid on the ground. A foot away from it was a cart holding art supplies.Â
Finally, Bellaâs gaze landed on the figure in the center of the room. Y/n sat on a wooden stool, her posture perfect, hand scribbling across a large piece of parchment placed on the wooden desk facing the windows. The desk was the type that propped up, a lamp attached to the corner, and side table. Something an artist or engineer invested in.Â
âI thought I heard the raging pump of a heartbeat approaching.â Bella squeezed her eyes shut in embarrassment, letting out a small groan. Opening them when she heard the skid of the stool against the floor.Â
âY/n,â Edward scolded, tone playful.Â
âApologies, I couldnât help myself,â Y/n chuckled, approaching the two with a wide smile. Bella held her breath, admiring the woman before her. Alice may have been the fashion girlie of the family, but there was no denying who she mustâve gotten it from.Â
Y/n made even the simplest of clothing look ethereal. White blouse tucked into beige trousers, brown belt with hints of gold, paired with stunning white heeled boots. The necklaces she wore were layered, the longest of which had several charms making them clink together, bracelets covering her wrists, three rings on each hand, and gold hoops. A multicolor scarf consisting of warm tones like red, orange, and yellow tied around her hair. Then of course, her eyes were melting gold.Â
She was the picture of an artist.Â
Upon closer inspection, Bella had to hold back a whistle at the ring reserved for her left ring finger. Carlisle sure had taste and made sure his lady got what she deserved. That was no ring. That was a rock.
âYou must be the famous Bella,â Y/nâs hand shot out, Bella hesitating a moment before taking it. Y/nâs handshake was soft yet firm at the same time. Bringing a chill to Bella as their skin met. âIt is truly a pleasure to meet you,â letting go of her hand, Y/n brought both of hers up to make a gesture. âI have been begging Edward to bring you around for weeks. I donât know why itâs taken him so long,â a playful glare was directed at him.Â
Edward rolled his eyes, then put an arm around Bella. âBella, this is Y/n. My mother for all intents and purposes. Artist, architect, and occasional therapist to all of us emotionally stunted immortal teenagers.â
âYou said it, not me,â Y/n smirked, hands raised again.Â
Bella laughed, comforted by Edwards touch as she regarded Y/n. âItâs really nice to meet you, Y/n. Edward talks about you all the time.â
âGood things, correct?â
âOf course,â Bella assured, nudging Edward who had scoffed. âHe mentioned you designed this house--itâs absolutely beautiful. And this--,â motioning to the space, Bella was again in awe of Y/nâs studio. Itâs like she was walking through an exhibit in the Louvre. âWow.â
âWhen I made the blueprints for this house, I wanted everyone to have a place--plus everyone was vocal about what they wanted,â she teases with a grin. âCarlisle has his study, Alice her closets, Rosalie wished for a garage, Jesper desired a library, Emmett a game room, Edward got his music room. And me,â a hand waves to the room with pride. âMy studio.â
Bella raised an intrigued brow, aimed at Edward, âyou have a music room?âÂ
Had he been human, Edward would have blushed. He brushed it off with a shrug, âYeah, itâs just where I keep a few instruments. Iâll show you as we go through the house.â
âA few,â Y/n lightly scoffed, earning a small glare from the boy.Â
âCarlisle said youâre working on a project,â he changed the subject, nudging his head toward the desk. Catching sight of the blueprints that were in the early draft stages.Â
âThe high school plans to renovate the library, so theyâve asked me to go over some plans and designs. They were pleased with my work for the gym last year.âÂ
Edward turns to Bella, âY/n has the magic touch for designing and constructing. And because weâve had the time to redo college over and over againâŠ.â They share a laugh, âsheâs got degrees in art, engineering, design, and business on top of her architecture education.â
The woman simply shrugs, âI like to keep busy. Who wouldn't want to take advantage of obtaining all the worldâs knowledge when you have eternity.â If she saw the pointed look Edward was giving her, Y/n ignored it.Â
âAnyway,â He sighed, returning his attention to Bella, âThe town comes to her for consultations. And, in most cases than often, she designs and oversees the build.â
âWow, thatâs amazing,â Bella awed, past Edwardâs shoulder she spotted the white construction worker's hat. Propped beside a coat hanger possessing a pair of overalls, scarves, and painters' boots. âDid you-,â her finger pointed to the display of artwork, âpaint all those?â
âSeveral, yes,â Y/n motioned them to follow her, moving closer to the wall. âThis one you might have guessed is the view of the forest from this room. The first one I did when we moved here. But not all are recent, some I did in the 90s--,â she pointed to a canvas framed with gold trimming near the top. Depicting an image of inside a medical tent, âThat one is from when I volunteered for the Army Nurses Corps.â
Bellaâs eyes bulged, glancing between Y/n and Edward. âYou--you served during the War?âÂ
Y/n nodded, expression now solemn, âFirst World War. We were living in Virginia at the time and therefore injured soldiers coming back from Europe docked at the bases there first. Carlisle was the trauma surgeon, and I was a nurse.â Her boots echoed against the wood as they strolled down. âWe stayed there the duration of the war before settling in ChicagoâŠ.â
âHow long before he wakes up?â
âNot long,â Carlisle kept his eyes on the unconscious boy while his wife paced behind him. Had they been able to sweat they wouldâve been drenched. âThe venom transferred from his neck. The closest I could get to his heart--it should take less than a day.â
Y/n ran a hand through her neatly styled hair in distress. Theyâd only been in Chicago a few months. Arriving when the War ended and immediately joining the effort to combat the Spanish Influenza spreading through the population. With their current predicament, there was no way they could stay. Â
Ripping the nurses cap off, she asked, âWhatâs our next move then? We canât stay here. This city is an endless potluck of people, and we donât know how strong his urges will be,â she stopped pacing, coming beside her husband with a pleading gaze. âI know you said his parents are dead, but that doesn't mean he may not have family whoâll come looking for him. What kind of people are we to rip him from the ones who love him?â Upon the look she received, Y/n dropped her head, âUnless you mean to fake his death.âÂ
Carlisle placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, âThe boy had the influenza. They saw his condition--it was deteriorating. Theyâll believe it took him in the night and his body was sent to the incinerators. Just like the others.â
Y/n sniffed, eyes welling with unshed tears. âI know, butâŠâ she trailed off, âHeâs a kid, Carlisle. We agreed that when it came time for us to save someone from death, it would not mean robbing them of their life--.â
âHe was dying, Y/n,â his tone was firm, yet gentle. âI promised his mother weâd look after him.â Eyes flicker to Edward, then back to Y/n. While Carlisle hated himself for what heâd done, there was no going back now. âHeâs our responsibility now. Weâve to teach him the ways of this life and make sure he copes with it. Not succumb to the darkness like we did.âÂ
Another sound left her, Y/n taking a moment to process before nodding. âOkay,â she whispered, keeping her voice steady. âWe take this day-by-day.â
âDay-by-day.âÂ
âThatâs when EdwardâŠ.â Bella trailed, biting her lip when she realized it wasnât the best idea to bring it up. Yet, she was surprised both the vampires nodded, understanding her implication. Instead, she said, âHe mentioned youâve been with Carlisle the longestâŠ.â
Like earlier with the doctor, Y/n visibly brightened at each time his name was said. âWill be two hundred years this fall.â
âTwo--two hundred??â The human spluttered. Edward had failed to tell her that information. Only saying the two had been together long before Carlisle saved him.Â
Chuckling at Bellaâs reaction, Y/n tucked a piece of stray hair back in its place. âThe vampire who bit me didnât stick around. Abandoning me. A few days later of endless wonder and unable to control my newfound appetite, Carlisle found me.â Her smile was so wide, bright white teeth bouncing off light. âItâs been quite a life ever since.âÂ
They spent the next few minutes learning about the history of each painting. From the oil masterpiece of the New York Skyline to the charcoal portrait of Joan of Arc. Bella took time to admire the watercolor image of Carlisle. Donned in his white coat, hair and posture perfect.Â
âAh yes,â Y/n hummed, beaming up at the canvas. âMy personal favorite. Though Iâm a little biased given the muse of this piece happens to be the muse of my soul.âÂ
âStay still.â
âI am.âÂ
âNo, youâre not,â Y/n berated, dipping the brush back into the golden color before continuing to paint Carlisleâs hair. âI know this is time consuming, darling, but itâs not like you havenât done it before.âÂ
âIn my defense,â his hand raised, quickly putting it back in his lap when she groaned, âIâve never technically sat for a portrait. The ones from Volterra were done while I wasnât aware they were being painted.â A grimace took his features, remembering his time with the Volturi. âAro preferred moments to be captured as they were happening in real time.â
Y/n threw him a look, shaking her head in the process. âYeah, he seems like the type.âÂ
âFirst and last time he got to play model,â she laughed at the memory. âThanks to the creation of the camera I could develop a photograph and wallah!â her hands made a gesture, âA still image to use as reference. And now with cell phonesâŠ.I donât even have to put in the work to develop the photo. Itâs right there!â
Initially Bella found her reaction to a camera phone a little odd. But then remembered Y/n was a 200+ year old vampire and literally witnessed the development and advancement of technology.Â
âBut I donât always create,â Y/n winked, stopping in front of a stunning work of a lily pond. âSometimes I collect.â
Stepping closer, Bella inspected the art, finger on her lip as her brows furrowed in concentration. Sheâd seen it before. The familiarity of it was driving her brain into overdrive. Then it hit her, breath hitching, âIs thatâŠA Monet?â Her confirmation nod made Bella nearly choke on her saliva. âHow--?â
âBeing alive 226 years and getting the privilege of traveling anywhere means Iâve had the pleasure of meeting interesting people,â her smirk was the type a movie villain showed that made the audience fall in love with them and brush away the fact they were a villain. A captivating sight. âOne of those people happened to be Claude Monet during our time in France. Our shared love for art and nature brought a great friendship. I was actually with him when he painted this,â she casually said, aware of Bellaâs astonished reaction despite her eyes trained on the canvas. âUnfortunately, Carlisle and I left before I got to see him finish. After he died several of his paintings went to museums or auctioned off. I made sure to acquire this one--took me about three years to find.â
After a moment of gawking, Bella gathered herself and moved onto the next piece. It really felt like they were in an art museum. Soon they came to the end of the gallery.Â
âYouâre incredibly talented,â Bella praised, unable to take her attention off the marble sculpture enclosed in a glass case by the small bookshelf.Â
âThank you. Itâs nice to finally have someone to show this all too. Instead of just me admiring it daily.â Y/n put her hands in pockets, âNow I hate to kick you out, but if youâll excuse me, I have a deadline to beat,â Y/n led them to the door, âand Iâll let you get back to your tour of the house. It was lovely to meet you, Bella, and please donât be a stranger. Our door is always open for you.âÂ
âI really appreciate it,â Bella smiled, standing beside Edward in the doorway, âIt was great meeting you too.â A wave of a goodbye and promise to visit again, Y/n watched Edward escort his girlfriend up the staircase to the second floor. Leaning against the side, Y/n touched a finger to her lips, not bothering to hide the giant grin surfacing.Â
âI know that look.â
Despite speaking after Bella and Edward disappeared, Y/n felt Carlisleâs presence the second he breached the corridor. Not to mention the tingling sensation at the base of her spine.Â
Slowly turning to face him, her smile widened, and Carlisle saw the way her golden hues sparkled when he approached. âAnd what exactly is that look?â
âThe one where youâre overcome with happiness unable to be measured with how much it consumes you.âÂ
Hands took hold of her shoulders, gently brushing down until they reached her own, Y/n leaning into his touch, voice teasing, âWhat mother would I be to not be overjoyed for her son and the wonderful girlfriend heâs brought home?âÂ
Carlisle chuckled, tilting his head down to place a kiss on her forehead. The floral aroma of her Marc Jacobs perfume amplified her already sweet scent. Oh, how addicted he was to her scent. It was like walking through a garden of the most beautiful flowers on Earth.Â
âYou didnât embarrass him, did you?â
Y/n rolled her eyes, tapping his chest to scold him, âNot much more than you lot. He was practically dragging Bella out of the kitchen.â Carlisle raised his hands in defense, making her raise a brow.
âThat was all the kids. Iâm innocent, my dear, you must believe me.âÂ
She tsked, âWell, at least you didnât scare the poor girl like Rosalie and Jasper. And as much as I love Aliceâs excitement, you might want to tell her to take it down a notch,â Y/n made a face, âI thought we all agreed last night not to bring up Bellaâs scent.â
She was met with a sigh, her sculptured-God of a husband dropping his head onto her shoulder in defeat. âWhat was I supposed to do? You left me to fend for myself.âÂ
Laughing, Y/n reached her arms around his shoulders, encasing him in an embrace to which he greatly accepted. âIâm sorry, my love. Will you forgive me? I promise to find you the finest stag in all of Washington for you to feast upon.â Instantly his head shot up, moving it so their noses brushed against each other.Â
âThatâll do.â Their lips met, igniting fireworks throughout their bodies as it always had for 200 years. Never once losing the feeling.Â
Theyâd seen everything in the course of their century's long life. Several wars. Epidemics. The fall of countries and rise of new ones. Medicine advancing, technology overtaking man. The race to space and the rebirth of the Olympic Games.Â
Met people whoâd changed the world. Witnessed humanity evolve--and sometimes wondered how the hell it could be so stupid. But overall, they were the stagnant figures in their plane of existence. Time moving, they remained still.
And yet, somehow, they were able to find a family after all.Â
When they pulled apart, their expressions of love remained. âGod,â she hummed, âThat never gets old.â
âJust like the first time?â He chafed, gold eyes glimmering.
Y/n pretending to think, lips pouting, âLess nervous,â a squeal escaped her at the feeling of his fingers tickling her ribcage. Shoving him away, the woman chided, âGet back to the hospital old man. There are patients to be seen, and I have a deadline to finish.â The gasp that left him made her grin.
âOld?! Iâll have you know that if Iâm old then that means you are---.â
âDonât you finish that sentence,â her finger pointed at his chest, âotherwise youâre sleeping on the couch.â Carlisle smirked, entering her personal space once again.Â
âI canât sleep. Neither can you.â
âDamn,â she exhaled, feigning defeat when really, she was becoming more invested with their little game. âYouâre right.â Then her eyes turned dark, sinister. Face consorting to a look that made Carlisle shudder.Â
A look heâd seen hundreds of times, and not once did not bring a chill to his already cold body. Enough to bring his heart back to life. Enough to send the frozen blood down to his spine.Â
âGuess weâll have to find another way to pass the time.âÂ
#carlisle cullen x reader#carlisle cullen x you#carlisle cullen imagine#carlisle cullen fanfiction#carlisle cullen fluff#twilight fluff#twilight imagines#twilight fanfiction#the twilight saga#edward cullen x reader#bella swan imagine#Spotify
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Orders.
genre. mafia au. bodyguard!lee know x fem!reader
desc. your father is an elite, high ranking official in a mafia family. after your first kidnapping, a bodyguard was hired to ensure your safety.
warnings. nsfw. fingering & sex. torture. kidnapping. murder. violence.
wc. 10k
âïž : this is my first writing after a 9 month hiatus. i apologize for the unannounced break and i will be answering and writing again shortly. enjoy! :)
You sit in a wooden chair, wheezing and thrashing from days of sleep deprivation and torment. Your body aches, wrists bruised and bloody from the ropes, and you almost feel like giving in and spilling Daddyâs secretsâ allowing them to kill you and the family.
But you knew better than that. You knew that you'd be saved.
The gunshots and cries for help weren't unexpected from above the dark bunker.
With an ear-piercing creak, the door swings open and the shadow of a man emerges through the doorstep, shoes squeaking with fresh blood underneath.
He doesnât let out a single word as he kneels to grab your face and examine it. Your attention follows the ring on his finger. An insignia that he is part of the family. You can depend on him.
But still, you wince, sharply inhaling as his fingers aggravate your wounds.
âDonât get their blood in my wounds, I donât know what kind of freaks they are,â You grumble, voice husky from days of screaming.
You let him turn your head, retaining eye contact with the floor as you grit your teeth.
âRelax,â he mumbles, âI donât bite.â
He leans closer to examine your wounds. âYou took a lot of hits. How many people are here?â
He draws back as you reply, âCanât tell you exactly.â
âAbout four of them grabbed me while I was leaving the houseâ stupid on their part, no wonder you were here so shortly,â You trail off before catching yourself back on topic.
âBut Iâve only seen three different men since Iâve been here. Only to beat me and interrogate me. Donât worry, I didnât say anything to put Daddy at risk.â
âI heard two other unrecognizable voices. That would make nine people in the building that I know of. Of course, there could always be more. How many did you shoot?â
âSix,â he responds before looking down at your scrapes and wounds again.
You feel him caress your cheek once more, his cold skin sending shivers down your spine.
âYouâre in bad shape.â
âIf thereâs more here, we need to get out as soon as possible. We can worry about my wounds as soon as these people arenât on our ass.â
You struggle in your bounds, the ropes burning your already bloody wrists, âCould you untie me, first?â
âDonât move.â
You obey his command, halting as he unties the ropes, uncovering the painful burn marks and blisters.
âThat fucking hurt,â you rotate your wrists, âI couldâve gotten out without your help eventually, though.â Your voice is rough, breath coming out in harsh, sharp drags.
âSure, you wouldâve.â
You stumble to your feet as he pulls you into him for safety. He reeks of gunpowder and high-dollar cologneâ presumably something that Daddy has made sure that he has the money for.
âStay close to me, when we get to the front, you go out first and then Iâll leave right after.â
You follow the unfamiliar man out of the maze, almost slipping on the floor blanketed in blood.
You adjust to the bright sunlightâ and it feels gentle against your damaged skin. It seems like time has stood still while you were captured. âDid Daddy order you a car?â
âYes,â he answers, âSome men are waiting out front to take us to the closest hospitalâ which isnât too far.â
âIâm being hospitalized?â You follow him into the backseat, finally slacking for a moment ontop of the fresh leather.
âItâs not my choice to have you taken to the hospital, itâs the orders.â
âDo I have a statement to tell the nurse?â You look at him in concern.
âAm I supposed to say, âOh, I was kidnapped by Daddyâs enemies! By the way, heâs in the mafia! Who wants to arrest Daddy?ââ
âTell them you fell down the stairs.â His flat tone contrasts your own, remaining unfazed.
âHow would that cover up my wrists' burn marks?â You hold up the bloody and bruised dents, âNobody gets these from falling down the stairs. There's way too much bloodâ and some of it isnât even mine.â
He raises an eyebrow, looking over to the burn marks on your wrist and then back to you.
âThen tell them you accidentally burnt yourself while cooking.â
âAre you even listening to me? Are you stupid?â
He doesnât respond for a moment, not seeming to care about the situation.
âItâs not hard to pay them to be silent.â
âHow about I tell them that I was heavily bullied at school and a couple of classmates did this to me? I think that could work.â
You two arrive at the front entrance of the emergency room, he follows behind you, strolling through the automatic door.
âIâm fine, really, I was just beaten by classmates,â You lie through your teeth to the front desk, âMy boyfriend took me here to get it checked out.â
He raises an eyebrow.
You comply with the nurses as they check your weight and interview you.
âI donât have any stab wounds, at least I donât think soâ I donât remember what they did to me. I was held captive for a few,â Your voice trails off as you wince at a sudden pang.
You glance down at your bleeding side and are unexpectedly whacked with all of the distress that you had been repressing at once.
Your vision starts to fade, face pale as a ghost.
The man rushes over as they carry you to a bed, and he kneels beside you to review your condition. Your body is pale and cold, breathing jagged and rapid.
You hear the whispers of the staff panicking. One nurse checks your pulse, and another elevates your legs.
âI need my blood sugar up,â the first words that come out of your mouth sound weak and painful.
You look over at the man beside you.
You need to lie. But you donât even know his name.
âBoyfriend,â you determine, âplease get me a sugary drink from the vending machine.â
A subtle smirk forms upon his lips, but it vanishes as soon as it appears.
âFine,â he rises to his feet.
You hiss as the nurses sterilize your wounds, shrieking and thrashing on the mattress at the sting. You try to stay still, but the pain is intolerable.
Footsteps echo and you find the man returning with a chocolate bar, which he holds out to you. He brings it close to your lips and holds the chocolate against your mouth for you to take a bite, âSlowly.â
âI told you to get me a drink,â You disregard his command, biting the chocolate quickly, almost aggressively.
His lips turn up, amused by your action.
The nurses finish stitching up your deep gashes and bandaging your wounds, recommending that you stay the night.
âPay for the bill with Daddyâs cash and letâs get out of here,â you state coldly, âI need to shower and get all of this blood out of my hair. I donât want to stay here.â
âAs long as you can walk by yourself, we can leave right away.â He replies. The man takes out a wad of bills quickly counts the money and pays for the bill.
You stay speechless until entering the car.
âWho are you?â
âIâm your bodyguard. Your father hired me to look out for you after the kidnapping.â
You nod in acknowledgment. âWill you be staying at the estate with me? Or is it a âonly when I leave the houseâ kind of deal?â
âMy primary duty is to protect you from anyone or anything that could harm you, whether that be outside or inside the house. I could go wherever you wish me to follow you, and I will be there.â
âYou wonât sleep in bed with me though, right?â
He stays silent for a moment.
âYou are correct, I am here to protect, nothing more. I will not sleep next to you. I am merely your bodyguard and take your orders.â
âGood boy,â you grin, âI bet Daddy will pay you very nicely. Why else would you take this job? How much does he give you? Either way, Iâm sure you have enough to buy a mansion.â
The bodyguard holds back an eye roll. âI will have more than enough money. Not only that but he also provides me with a home.â He adds with a smirk.
âGood.â You reply.
You fall silent, allowing him to drive, taking in the past few days.
You were never worried about surviving, You understood that Daddy would handle it. But you didnât expect to be as hurt as you were.
He couldâve saved you sooner.
âWhen we get home, order the chef to make me something sweet, I deserve a treat,â you state, âIâm going to shower and you are not allowed to enter my bathroom under any circumstance. Even if Iâm dying.â
âYou would die before letting me enter your bathroom? I get it.â He retorts.
Once you both arrive at the estate, you stumble out of the car. You donât linger for him.
Youâre welcomed by a handful of workers as you enter the home, but ignore them as you make a beeline up the stairs and towards the bedroom.
The door locks behind you and the room is silent. You feel the weariness creep on as your wounds sting. You lean against the door, sliding down.
After a moment of peace, you head towards the shower to comb the dried blood out of your hair.
You scrub your face carefully, avoiding the stitches above your eyebrows.
You wash your body entirely, removing the blood stains with soap, water, and a wash rag. Then you comb out the dried blood.
Once you finish, you dry yourself off and dress in a plain, silk nightdress.
Leaving your bedroom, you turn to look for your guard. He is at the doorway of your room when you walk out. His eyes roam around your body for a brief moment, examining the nightgown.
âDo you require assistance?â
âDid you place an order for something sweet, like I asked?â You peer at his suit, moving in to adjust his tie.
He follows your hand as it moves, eyeing you for a few moments before he utters, âI did, the chef will be bringing it to your room once itâs prepared.â
âGood boy.â
You look up at his face once you are pleased with the positioning. You grimace at his sharp, cold face. The blood was dried, brown, and unpleasing. The manâs hand relaxes on the gun holstered on his hip.
âI order you to come into my bedroom.â
His eyebrows crease. He understands his role as your bodyguardâ nonetheless, he doesnât get a kick out of being ordered around in this tone.
He takes a deep breath. âYour wish is my command.â
The room is massive, a silk-covered canopy bed sits in the center of it. He pays no mind to looking around, concentrating on the job at hand.
âSit down on my bed,â you demand, steering towards the bathroom and pushing open the double doors.
He obeys your orders without question, crossing his legs, and keeping his hand resting beside his gun.
The bodyguard keeps a close, attentive eye on the doors, supervising the way that you soak a washrag with warm water, squeezing out the excess.
You sit beside him, grabbing his chin and leaning into his face. He tenses.
âRelax, I donât bite,â you smirk, reiterating his first words from the moment he met you back to him, massaging the dried blood off of his face, âNo guard of mine will have a messy appearance.â
You can tell that he feels uneasy, but he canât reject you. If you wish for him to relax, he will make an effort to relax.
You canât help but notice his complexion when he isnât scowling. The apathy melts away as you wipe the dried blood, giving you a new perspective on his appearance.
âYouâre handsome,â you state bluntly, âEspecially without blood covering your face.â
You toss the rag into the laundry basket carelessly, waiting for a maid to take care of it.
âThank you.â
âWhat is your name? You never told me.â
His eyebrows arch slightly at the question.âItâs Minho.â
âI am Y/N,â You reply, holding out your hand to shake his own. His grip is firm and warm.
He keeps a stoic face as he glances at your face and back at your hand, as if he is searching for an ulterior motive behind this handshake.
The food.
The bell rings and the sound of it shatters the stillness of the room. Minhoâs head jolts towards the door, hand back on his gun.
He rises instantly, opening it to reveal the maid with a tray of sweet snacks.
He takes it from her. âI will bring it in.â
âWhat a good boy, Minho,â you praise, clapping your hands together as he sets the tray on your lap.
âI donât take you for a man who enjoys sweet food much. Do you like sweets?â
âSometimes.â
You unwrap a piece of high-dollar chocolate, âI command you to open your mouth.â
Minho canât deny you, it would be disobeying your orders.
He opens his mouth as the chocolate is positioned between his lips.
You relish in the chocolates with Minho and once finished, you set the tray on the floor for a maid to pick up at sunrise.
âI donât think I mind you being around all that much, Daddy makes good decisions.â You lay down on the mattress.
âYour father does make good decisions.â
His gaze wavered on your face until you drifted off to sleep. Only then did they slowly trail down to your body.
The way your body was built captivated him. Minho was glued to your sleeping form.
He stayed in the room, taking a seat on a chair in the corner to watch you.
He didnât know how long it had been since you had dozed off, but by the way that the room was now pitch black and noiseless aside from your figure rising and falling, he would imagine that it had been a couple of hours.
âHow long are you going to sit there?â Your sleep-filled voice questions him, causing him to snap out of his daze, hand reaching for his gun out of instinct.
âDo you sleep? Are you allowed to sleep?â
âI will only remain in the room as long as you order me to. I do sleep,â He replies, âNow is there anything else you need my assistance with? Or can I return to my duties?â
âSo youâre only staying in the room because I ordered you two hours ago?â Thereâs a tinge of dismay in your voice, but it was masked by sleep, âYou can leave if you want, I donât mind.â
Minho felt a sudden pit in his stomach. You sounded disappointed by his statement.
Your words are perplexing him, and he canât conclude what you want from him. To stay or to go?
âShould I stay for a bit longer?â
You were already asleep again once he had responded.
You and Minho both wake to a maid opening the blinds and ringing a bell. You groan, stretching your body.
âMiss, letâs get you dressed for today.â
She pulls your nightgown up above your head as Minhoâs eyes wander toward your laced underwear.
âWhatâs on my schedule for today?â
He quickly forces his gaze to look away and stares back at the maid.
âWe want you to heal from your injuries, miss,â she answers, âwe will start with a nutritious breakfast to encourage recovery, and attend to your injuries, and then you will speak with Daddy about your incident.â
The maid buttons your fitted dress, glancing in Minhoâs direction, âYour bodyguard will need to be there for your conversation with Daddy.â
âHe will?â
âHe needs to tell Daddy what he witnessed from the facility.â
You nod, following her lead down the stairs and towards the breakfast table.
Minho follows suit, remaining at your side the entire time and he watches you eat, staying observant and cautious.
âAre you hungry?â
This question catches Minho off guard.
âNo.â He adds in a dull toneâ but in actuality, he is starving. He was entrusted to watch over you. He shouldnât eat on the clock.
âMaid, go order,â You look Minho up and down, âA side of crepes. Blueberry crepes. And two cups of coffee.â
The maid hurries to the kitchen to place the order, and it is brought out a couple of minutes later.
He stares at the crepes being placed on the table, and his belly grumbles. âThank you.â
The maid carries the mugs of coffee to the table. But it doesnât take Minho long to catch sight of her cunning smile and the perplexing liquid that the maid slipped into the mugs of coffee.
He stares quietly, calculating his next action.
âDonât drink it.â
âWhy not?â
Minhoâs sight narrows as you bring the cup of coffee to your lips.
This time, his tone is warning and direct. âItâs better that you donât.â
You halt your sip at his harsh command.
The maid pulls out a handgun swiftly after realizing that she has been caught, aiming it at you.
A switch swiftly flips inside of him.
He lunges forward, grabbing the womanâs wrist and twisting the gun to the right, snapping a couple of fingers in the process.
Itâs a rapid movement, and he had little time to think before shooting her in the head, watching the life leave her body. His face is apathetic and almost casual.
The maidâs blood spilled onto the floor as the others ran to clean it up.
âHe passed the test, we can keep him. A promising guard so far,â Daddy compliments from behind you, âUrgently acting to protect. He knew that she was mindless and weak. He comprehends crises well.â
The older man slips a wad of cash into the breast pocket of Minhoâs suit. âGood on protecting her. That was a setup with a stupid maid who was just aching to betray us. You will have the same fate if you are wavered by another team.â
âI think heâs a good boy. He wonât betray me.â
âY/N, meet me at my office. Guard, follow her.â He swiftly turns away to lead the two of you as you eye Minho.
âYou can relax now. No more tests.â
He nods in understanding, heeding silently towards the office.
âTell me about what you saw at the facility.â
You nod. âFour men had taken me from our garden entrance and used Chloroform to knock me unconscious. I woke up in their van, where my hands and legs were tied. I heard them talking about what they planned to get out of me. They had intentions of murdering me if they got to a week of no answers.â
Minho listens to your explanation with hawk-like eyes, paying close attention to all the details and descriptions.
You clear your throat, running your fingers across your bruised wrist, âI was tied to a chair in their questioning room, and they used forms of torture for me to open up.â
âI was deprived of sleep and beaten if they caught me closing my eyesâ trying to get my lack of sleep to cause me to open up about your activities.â
Daddy nodded solemnly, leaning into his chair.
âWaterboarding was their favorite method, but they enjoyed beating me. I assume that was mainly for fun.â
You continued, âMinho appeared and killed a couple of them and saved me, but most are still alive.â
âStill alive? You didnât find and kill them, bodyguard, why?â Daddyâs intense eyes moved toward Minho, who appeared unbothered.
The fact that he missed a few guys is enough to drive him crazy.
âI had to get her to safety as soon as possible.â
Daddy merely nods. âI will send my men after them. Y/N, did you get any names?â
âThey wouldnât tell me anything about themselves, but I saw a couple of signs of their rival gang.â
âGuard,â he veered towards Minho, âDescribe the faces that you saw. I need as much information as possible.â
âThey look to be between the ages of 20 to 30, their faces covered in scars. One man had dark skin, and his facial scars were faded. His most notable feature was a slit across his brow. He wore a dark suit. I left him alive but with a bullet in his arm. The other man had a lighter skin tone and his scars were similar to knife wounds. He had gotten away.â
The boss nods.
âGood. I can work with that. Never let my little girl get into trouble like that again, alright?â
The second the words âmy little girlâ leave his mouth, Minho canât help but gaze at you. He observes your reactions and motions.
His heart beats by hearing his boss call you that, and his attention is now focused on every single twitch that you make.
âThe nurses will be waiting in her bedroom shortly. Be good and do as they say.â He adds, snapping Minho back to him.
âGuard, do not let her go against any of the nurses' rules. She can be convincing. Do not give into it.â
âYes Sir.â
You roll your eyes, turning away to leave the room.
âStay safe.â That is the last utterance of the boss before you drag Minho out of the room and towards the bedroom.
âSit on the bed,â a nurse commands you, and you quickly obey.
She dabs at your abdomen stitches with antiseptic soap and your eyebrows furrow.
âYou canât move around much, got it? No exercising for three weeks until we get these stitches out.â
You agree as she moves on to your wrists, rubbing cream into them, âYouâre going to visit us twice a day for six days until the healing is almost complete.â
She yanks a bandage off of your face, causing you to groan in pain. She rubs another ointment on it before substituting it with fresh dressing.
Minho supervises each step that the nurse takes, noticing how she takes care of your body as if itâs her most precious gift.
She turns to Minho, âI need you to make sure that sheâs well rested, drinking enough water, and not doing many straining activities. Take her back here once again in the evening, and then we will see her again this time tomorrow morning, got it?â
âYes, I will take care of her.â
âWhat about him, nurse?â You eye the small cuts across his face and hands.
She smiles and leans over to you. âHe is well trained. Trust me, heâll survive a few scratches.â
Your eyes narrow. âI order you to treat his wounds to the best of your abilities.â
She sighs. âYes maâam.â
She moves towards Minho and checks his wounds, patching the ones that were newly caused. She brushes his face softly with an ointment.
âI donât like it when my guards donât keep up a good appearance,â you try to explain away your worry for him, âand being injured will only slow you down when protecting me.â
The man stares straight ahead, listening carefully. âIâm fine. Iâll recover just fine. I donât need much care as you do.â
âLet her rest now,â the nurse tells Minho, âorder the maids to bring her a glass of water and have her sip on it until lunchtime.â
Once she leaves, Minho turns towards you, âIâll make sure the maids bring you water. You need to stay hydratedâ
Once water is on your table, your gaze returns to Minho
âNow, I order you to sit down on my bed with me.â
He examines you with a neutral expression and waits for you to say what you mean, not wishing to assume or take anything wrongly.
âSit down with me,â you demand again, patting the spot beside you, waiting for him to follow suit.
As soon as you ask him to, Minho does not waver. He sits down beside you, body brushing your own.
You turn to meet his cold expression with intensity. âDo you like your job so far?
Minho is taken off guard by your switch of topic. He stays where he is sitting, but turns his body as well and faces you.
âI enjoy my duties.â
âGood. Because Iâm fond of you. Youâre handsome, and you are good at your job.â
He stares at you with slight surprise. âThank you.â
Your hands grab for his, playing with the ring on his finger.
Then, you reach your hands higher, tugging his sleeve up to reveal a cluster of scars littered across his forearm.
âHow long have you been in the business?â
âSince I was fourteen. I was trained from a very young age.â
âHave you always been in Daddyâs family?â
âI was loyal to your Daddy from the moment I knew what this life was like. I havenât had a moment of doubt.â
âGood. That means you wonât leave us, right?â
âI will serve your family until my last breath. You have nothing to fear about that.â
âWhat a good boy,â you reach to ruffle his hair, landing a swift kiss on his sliced cheek. âThatâs exactly what I like to hear.â
Minho stiffens.
âI order you to take off your jacket. I want to see your body. To see if youâre strong enough to be a good guard.â
Your words are sharp as a knife and they cut deep through his defense system. His jaw clamps and his breathing accelerates.
Minho swallows his breath, nodding his head. His movements are rigid, starting to cautiously peel off his jacket. It takes him a moment to unbutton it, but once his jacket is off, he stays there, waiting.
You slide his jacket to the floor, touching the muscles of his bicep through his button-down. âYouâre fit. Thatâs good.â
Minho yearns for you to keep feeling him. To keep praising him. He swallows. Your words sound like a honey trap to him, and itâs working as intended.
âI order you to take off your tie.â
âYes.â
That is all that he says, slowly slipping his tie from underneath his collar and tossing it aside.
Unexpectedly, youâre climbing on top of his body. âTake off your button-down.â
He unbuttons his shirt as your eyes sear into his chest. He is now only wearing a black undershirt.
âSo many clothes,â you sigh out, groping his bare arms. You run your hands across his biceps, listening to him shudder underneath the touch.
âTake off your undershirt now. I want to see your chest.â
You can feel the heat radiating off him as he shivers. His body is now sensitive, and your hands are making it worse for him.
Your orders are evident, and he hastily lifts off his undershirt, waiting for what is next.
You can see his whole chest with all of its blemishes, with every muscle covered in sweat, exposed for you.
Your hands travel down his chest and abdomen, feeling each ragged scar with your bruised fingers. The delicate contact causes his breath to catch and a soft groan leaves him, fighting to not show that he relishes in your touch.
âLet me kiss you.â
He stares at you for a moment before his eyebrows slightly shiftâ his way of showing you that he approves of that request.
Minho leans in slightly and closes his eyes, gently placing a timid kiss on your lips.
You smirk against him, pushing him to lie against the bed frame and deepening the kiss. Your hands reach for his dark hair, clasping a handful in your grip.
He kisses you deeply and wraps his arms around you to pull you in closer, offering full control to you. His breath speeds up.
You pull away after a moment, lips brushing against his as you catch your breath, but only for an instant before moving towards his jaw, sucking marks onto his skin.
Minho quivers at your touch, his breathing speeding up once more as you leave red and purple blemishes on his skin. He bites his lip to stop himself from groaning.
Your mouth moves from his jaw to his neck, leaving kisses and hickeys all across him, making sure that he is covered in them.
Your hips grind against him, breathing heavily with anticipation as you make your way to his chest.
Your hands and mouth are touching all of him, and each sensation triggers a reaction that he tries to conceal.
Your lips hover back to his lips, staring at him longingly. âDo I have to command you for you to do anything to me? You donât have to ask. You have my permission. Do whatever you want.â
You can see his gaze shifting from your eyes to your mouth, to your neck, and then towards your chest.
You swiftly lift yourself off of him to let him remove your dress, leaving your body as bare as his own.
You grasp onto his neck, bringing him in for another deep kiss. Minho remains silent as he kisses you, allowing you to leave him as many marks as you desire.
âWhat are you thinking, Minho? Speak to me.â
He takes a moment, letting out an unstable breath. âIâm thinking of what you are doing to me. I,â he stammers, âI want to make you feel good.â
âThen do it. Please.â
âI donât want to harm you,â he breathes out, âyouâre injured.â
âThe nurses said to not do,â Minho presses his eyes shut as you bring your hips up to meet his, âfuck, anything straining.â
âRemember what Daddy said? I can be convincing.â You sneer as your bodyguard fails to keep his cool composure, but the aching cock pressing into you is giving his true desires away.
You eye his internal struggle between following your orders and his cravings, or the nurse and his boss.
âI donât want to hurt you. I can go relieve myself in the bathroom.â
âI like being hurt.â
You notice his lip twitch at the comment, and you decide to provoke him further, grinding into him, and set a steady rhythm with your hips.
He groans as his head drops back, tugging onto your hair and trying desperately to control his breath, âPlease, Y/N, I just want to take care of you.â
âYou can take care of me in another way.â
âI need to follow orders.â
âThen I order you to fuck me.â
His eyes pinch shut as he tries to clear his head and reason with himself.
Perhaps if he were gentle, it would be alright.
But how long could he remain gentle when you were splayed out in front of him, willing to take anything that he gave to you?
He made his decision, gripping your shoulders gently and flipping you, pinning you to the bed, and surveying your face for any discomfort.
When he finds none, he impatiently unclasps his belt, throwing it to the floor along with his dress pants, leaving him in just his boxers.
You hold yourself up by your elbows, thighs pressed together and mouth watering at the man in front of you.
His hands were delicate, although they could easily snap you in half, as he unclasped your bra, leaving your top half bare.
Minho stopped to take in the view for a moment before grabbing at one of your breasts, his mouth attaching to the other.
Your whines were like music to himâ something that he wanted to hear more of.
Your back arched in pleasure as he moved one hand down to your thigh, caressing it for a moment before slowly slipping his hand into your panties.
âTry to stay quiet, darling, I donât want any staff checking on us,â He hushed you with his lips attaching to your own once again, feeling your wetness all over his calloused hands.
His thumb brushed against your clit and you whimpered into his mouth, clenching around nothing.
Minho then plunged two fingers deep inside of you and curled them. He was becoming lost in pleasing you, overlooking his own ache between his legs.
Your thighs shook beneath him, feeling him brush against your g-spot brutally. âMinho please, please just fuck me. I want you inside of me so bad.â
At your request, he slipped his fingers out, feeling your cries against his lips from the loss of friction.
âYes maâam.â He pulled away from your lips, replacing them with his now dripping fingers, lapping it up with his tongue.
Next, your ruined panties were yanked off of you, with his boxers soon to come after.
One hand gently relaxes on your hips, cautious to avoid aggravating your injuries as he uses the other to guide himself inside of you, a deep groan followed by your whines.
He gives you a moment to handle the stretch, but you hardly need it, already begging for him to move.
Minho cautiously thrusts, taking in a deep breath and furrowing his eyebrows in concentration. âšThis is the ultimate test of patience for him. He needs to be as gentle as possible with you.
Ultimately, he sets a slow pace, hands locating themselves on either side of you, letting out uneven breaths as he tries to control himself from how good you feel around him.
âYou really do care, donât you?â Your hand reaches to cup his face, gazing into his eyes that are hazy with pleasure.
He keeps his response short, too concentrated on the waves of bliss through each thrust, âI do care.â
âIs it because youâre my bodyguard or something more?â
You study him, watching his adamâs apple move as he swallows deeply, inhaling sharply. He halts his thrusts for a brief instant.
âBoth, maybe. I canât tell.â
That was enough for you to continue, grabbing another handful of his hair and bringing him in for another hungry, deep kiss.
With each deep thrust, Minhoâs mind got hazier and hazier, losing himself to pleasure bit by bit. You could feel it by the way his rhythm became rough and desperate, and his pace picked up.
One of his hands left your side, creeping towards your throbbing clit, causing you to let out sobs, all of which he ate up with his mouth against your own.
âAre you gonna cum for me?â He coos, knowing that youâre too lost in bliss to respond.
He takes your whines as a âyesâ, his thumb rubbing circles faster, coaxing your orgasm out of you.
Your walls fluttered around him, squeezing your eyes closed and letting out a lengthy, drawn-out moan as his pace picked up even further.
âJust like that. Youâre so good for me, so, so good, fuck,â he talked you through your orgasm between his thrusts, chasing his own high.
His brows crease, hips stuttering at how good it felt to have you gripping so tightly onto his cock. Finally, he let go, his load spilling inside of you and seeping out.
Both of you took an instant to catch your breath, coming down from your highs.
His hands slowly traced your curves in contentment, paying attention to the way your chest rose and fell.
Finally, he has a justification to gape at your body up close.
From your jawline to your hickey-covered chest, down to your bruised sides and stitches near your abdomen, andâ Oh fuck.
Your wounds.
Minho slowly pulls away, feeling a sense of post-nut clarity and fright.
His hand slides away from your body, staring at you with concern.
âWhatâs wrong?â You ask, your own anxiety suddenly displayed on your face, âDo you regret it?â
âNo! No,â He panics, âAre you okay? Did I hurt you?â
Back in reality now, your wounds ache and your head pounds with exhaustion and overexertion.
His mind calculates the solutions to the situationâ ways to explain to the nurses, to fix you, to help you feel better.
It was his shortcoming, after all. He let his urges get to him.
âLetâs run you a bath.â He pulls himself up, tugging on his boxers and heading towards the bathroom.
You hear the tap turn on, lying in bed trying to catch your breath. Your breath is harsh from both adrenaline and pain, but you canât help but feel as though the latter is more of the cause.
You had slept with a small handful of men, primarily Daddyâs men, but none of them were quite like Minho.
He was tough but breakable. He was still kindhearted at his coreâ something that wasnât all that common in the business.
You could tell from the way that he ran the bath, bare muscles glistening from sweat, running his hand through the water to make sure that it was the ideal temperature. How concerned he was about your protection, even through his pleasure.
Not many other men that youâve met throughout your life have been the same way.
Youâre quite fond of the man that you have just met.
You hear the water shut off and footsteps coming towards the room. He holds a faint smile as his steps come towards the bed. Your gaze slowly wanders to his physique.
âItâs ready for you.â He says in a slight whisper.
âI order you to pick me up and bring me to the bath.â
He nods at your order, hooking his arms underneath your thighs and back, his strong grip securing you.
You inhale the powerful stench of gunpowder stuck to his skin, finding comfort in your bodyguardâs presence.
âWill you wash my hair?â
Studying his expression, itâs hard to read, but you let him carry you and place you into the water.
âI do care,â you recall his words.
âIs it because youâre my bodyguard or something more?â âBoth, maybe. I canât tell.â
Perhaps you had feelings for the man, especially while he massaged shampoo into your scalp with tough hands, making sure to rub your temples.
âHave you ever been a bodyguard before?â
When Minho hears your question, he hums while he proceeds to wash you, working on scrubbing the areas where he touched you earlier. âNo, youâre the first one Iâve been a bodyguard for.â
âI did things for your father before this. Not as a bodyguard, a more, I guess, dangerous role,â he dismisses the question.
âIs that so?â You fall to silence as he continues to wash you, taking his time and guaranteeing that he gets every part. He hesitates when he washes around your injuriesâ every stroke and movement of his hands is smooth and temperate.
âLet me relax for a minute alone,â you murmur, âYou should put your clothes back on, the maids should be here any moment to take my order for lunch. They wonât find it suspicious that Iâm bathing, but they will question why youâre with me.â
Minho nods and pulls away from your body.
He stands up and his feet splash on the wet floor. He takes a double take at your closed eyes.
The way your body floats in the bath is something that catches his attention. You look very pleasing in such a vulnerable position.
He leaves the room, cracking the door to make sure that you are safe.
Minho buttons up his wrinkled shirt, pulling the jacket over it and smoothing it out to ensure that nobody suspects anything.
Minhoâs eyes turn to the maid who enters the room with the ring of a bell.
His demeanor is unfazed, a hand on the gun in his pocket once more. He holds eye contact, his stare intense.
He would make sure that there wasnât another incident.
âWhere is Miss Y/N?â
âShe is bathing at the moment.â
She nods, walking towards the bathroom and knocking on the door.
You hum, allowing her to enter.
âWhat would you like for lunch, maâam?â
âI donât know, surprise me.â
A few seconds go by as you immerse yourself entirely in the water before rising back to the surface.
âMinho,â you call out, âWhat would you like?â
You hear the faint sigh that Minho gives as a response back to your question.
âIâll just have a sandwich or something, whatever you have is fine.â He replies to both you and the maid as she exits the bathroom, fulfilling her duty of reporting your lunch choice.
The bedroom door shuts behind her.
âMinho!â You call out once again, âI order you to take me out of the bath.â
A few seconds pass before you hear Minhoâs footsteps come near the bathroom once again. He grabs a towel as you stand, body bare and dripping with water.
His eyes have an intense focus as he reaches out his hand.
Minho pulls you up from the bath wraps the towel around you, making sure to cover all of you, and begins to dry off your hair.
âMinho,â you begin, âDaddy canât know about what happened. Heâd shoot you dead on the spot.â
Minho pauses for a moment, his eyes darting across the floor.
He is silent for a moment. âI wonât reveal anything to him.â
âGood boy,â you cling to the towel covering your body, âGo fetch a maid to dress me. While she does so, I want you to change out of that suit and shower before lunch.â
âThen Iâll go shower now. Iâll be back.â
You hum in agreement, stepping towards your bedroom as a maid rings the bell.
You drop your towel, letting her sift through your drawers to find decent clothing.
She eyes a hickey on your breast, along with the other injuries across your body from the kidnapping.
âYour injuries look agitated, Miss Y/N, are you sure that a bath was the best idea for you?â
âDonât question me,â you grumble, âI took a bath because I wanted to.â
âYes, miss.â She pulls the dress above your head smoothes it out, and clasps a necklace behind your neck.
âYouâre all set for lunch.â
The moment that you come out of your room, you can feel his presence. He is leaning against the front door of the room with an unreadable expression.
He has another suit on, a fresh one. Minhoâs previously muskier, dark scent has been replaced by a new, sweeter fragrance.
âFirst shower at the estate?â You question, âOur soaps are quite lovely and mild on the skin. You smell wonderful.â
Minhoâs lips curl at the compliment, looking you up and down, âSeems that we both are putting our best foot forward.â
You look around to see if anyone is watching before leaning to ruffle his damp hair and leave a kiss on his cheek, taking the man by complete surprise. He makes an effort to regain his composure, but you can see that his cheeks are blushed from the touch.
As soon as you lean in to lock arms, you feel him lean over to you to whisper something.
âI would love to do that with you again.â
You froze in your spot, heat rushing to your thighs.
You must regain your composure, caught off guard by his blunt words, something unlike the ordinary nature of Minho.
He takes a seat across from you, watching every move that the maid makes to be sure that she doesnât try anythingâ he has learned his lesson.
âPressed Italian Picnic Sandwiches and tea,â The maid states, setting the plates on the table.
You scrunch my nose up. âWhatâs in it?â
âArtisanal prosciutto, aged provolone, and sun-dried tomatoes inside of a crusty ciabatta,â She doesnât hesitate to list the ingredients, âand a fragrant blend of rare loose-leaf teas with fresh cream and sugar cubes.â
She sets the teapot and cups out, along with a carton of cream and a bowl of sugar cubes.
Minhoâs hand rests on his gun, waiting for her to leave before taking a sip of tea.
You follow his action, dumping a couple of cubes into your tea and bringing it to your lips.
I finish my lunch with Minho.
âLetâs go back to my room now. I'm exhausted.â
Minho nods his head and you both finish up the meals quickly.
You both leave the dining area and stroll back to your bedroom.
As soon as you get back into the room, you feel Minho close the door behind you.
You donât hesitate to climb into bed and lie down.
The guard looks over at you, observing the way that your chest rises and falls as you breathe. He notices every movement that your body is making.
âI command you to lay down with me.â You lean back against the bed, your body still and eyes focused on his unmoving body.
He slips off his shoes silently, slipping into the canopy bed.
You grin, curling at his side, pressing against his body.
His breathing is deep and steady as he struggles to get into a more comfortable position.
Your mind began racing with questions about the mysterious man that you were slowly falling for, burying yourself further into the sheets.
âMinho,â you start slowly, âHow did you become tangled with our family?â
Minho stays silent for a few moments and you feel his body shift a little against yours.
âI didnât have a lot of money or family growing up,â he kept his answer short and simply, âthe moment that this job came my way, I took it. The people connected to this business have always stayed on the down low, so this is an easy job to keep."
âDaddy seems to like you,â you grit your teeth.
Minho turns to you on the bed and sits up a little. He looks at you from top to bottom, reading the worry on your face with ease.
âYou donât have to worry about me.â
âHe will kill you on the spot if he finds out. Heâs done that to almost every man who has flirted or slept with me.â
You pause for a moment. âGod forbid the one he hired as my bodyguard.â
âI am not so easily killed.â The words leave his mouth with a tinge of arrogance.
âI trust you.â
âGood.â
There is stillness between you both for a time, but he breaks it by grabbing your chin and leaning in to kiss you. You soothe into his touch, smiling against his lips briefly before he pulls away.
âI order you to stay here. Like this.â
Itâs not difficult for you to drift off to sleep beside him, and as always, Minho pursues your request, keeping a close eye on you. You relax, your breathing slow, and he notes all of the occasional twitches and movements that you make in your sleep.
A couple of hours later, the door is knocked on by a maid.
âDinner order?â
Minho jolts awake from the knock on the door, a hand swiftly placed on your shoulder to protect you from any threats before turning his head towards the noise.
His voice is full of sleep. âRepeat that?â
As she opens the door, there is a look of inquiry on her face, one that she wonât ask to ensure her job and health.
âIs she asleep?â She questions instead, glancing over at your peaceful figure.
He turns his head towards you to double-check, observing your napping body.
âYes.â
âAlright. Iâll advise the chef to prepare her dinner later tonight.â
She gives a sharp nod to the guard and scurries out of the room, quietly shutting the door to not disturb the girl.
Minhoâs eyes rest on the door for a moment, fully alert now with a hand resting on his gun.
Eventually, he turns over to you. He has his eyes on you for a few seconds before leaning down to kiss you on the forehead, letting out a small sigh.
You stir at the warm touch, scrunching your face up and stretching your body.
âWhat time is it?â You ask groggily before burying your head into his neck.
âDinner is in about half an hour. You hungry?â
âNot really,â you pull yourself up and rub your sleep-filled eyes.
He notices your body shiver as you pull yourself up. Minho lets out a short exhale.
âDid you sleep?â
âA bit.â He doesnât look away or turn his head as he admires the way you stand and stretch your body, smoothing your dress of its wrinkles.
You walk towards your vanity mirror, plopping down in the chair to readjust your necklace to the center. A few marks on your collarbone catch your eye.
âThe nurses will be in shortly.â You grit your teeth. âI hope they donât notice.â
âThey wonât notice.â
His figure can be seen from behind you in the reflection of the mirror. His lips are turned upwards as he watches you fix your appearance.
You pull out a couple of foundations and concealers, working on concealing the marks left from earlier.
âThe maids wouldnât, but the nurses will tell the difference between a hickey and a bruise. Especially since these are fresh.â
Even though you are busy with your makeup and covering up the bruises, Minhoâs eyes are never off of you. It is a feeling that you will have to get used toâ always having a watchful eye on you.
Once you were satisfied with the coverage, you rose from your seat quickly.
âGet up, weâre going to dinner.â
âSo bossy.â He retorts. âWhat will you have?â
âI want to go out, letâs go somewhere fancy. Daddy will pay.â
He raises an eyebrow. âYou want to go out when you have had a beating just two days ago?â
He asks it like he thinks itâs an absurd idea, almost condescendingly, yet his tone of voice is soft and full of concern for you, causing your stomach to flip inside out.
âIâm tired of staying inside already. This estate is suffocating,â you pull on your slip-on shoes.
âThatâs how I got myself into this mess in the first place. I left the house and got kidnapped. That wonât happen with you here.â
âI guess youâre right. Weâll go somewhere nice.â
âGood. Iâll go tell Daddy.â You leave the door open for Minho to come after but donât wait for him, yet you can tell that he follows behind silently, attending to the way your body moves in the dress as you make your way down the halls.
The door is slightly ajar, so when you knock, it pushes open with a creak, revealing your father inside.
Minho stands behind you like a shadow, his lips pressed into a straight line, gaze locked on your father, keeping his distance from the both of you.
âCome inside,â the older man invites both of them with a welcoming grin, âsit.â
You can sense that your father has something on his mind, which is never a good sign.
âI was going to call you to my office shortly, anyway.â Instantly you assume the worst.
You sit down, taking a seat in front of him. Minho is still standing in the back, his priority on you and your father.
The man looks over at Minho. Their eyes lock for a moment. âGuard, go lock the door. There is a conversation that needs to be had.â
Minho nods and he turns his head, locking the door behind him.
He turns his attention back to you, who is frozen in your seat, breath hitching.
The elite man fiddles with a pen at his desk, clicking it to drown out the tense silence.
The silence in the room seems so heavy that you wonder how neither you nor Minho is feeling sick. Judging by the thick atmosphere between the three of you, it is easy to tell that he isnât pleased right now.
He fidgets with the pen and you wait for him to finally speak.
âDo you find my daughter to be precious, Guard?â He addresses Minho with a stern voice, finally setting the pen down at his wooden desk with a smack.
âYes sir,â Minho replies flatly.
âAre you willing to protect her at all costs, even at your life?â
After moments of silence, he answers back confidently. âYes sir. I am.â
A hand comes to rest at his side, toying loudly with a handgun, which he eventually pulls out of his pocket.
Tears begin to well up in your eyes, yet Minho stays concentrated. There isnât a single sign of fear on his face. He is unshaken, calm, and collected as if he had been foreseeing this exact scenario.
âDo you know why you were assigned to guard my daughter, Minho?â
âI know the reasons.â
âThere was a leak to the rivals from a previous staff member that I had a precious daughter in my life,â He turns towards you, âthe one that I had climbed to the top of my career to protect and assure her safety and security.â
He cleared his throat before darting back to Minho, âIt took less than a day for her to be taken from my hands and placed in the hands of one of my greatest enemies.â
Minho pays attention to every word that he speaks and clears his throat, waiting for your father to continue.
âI care for my daughter more than anything in the world. Which is why I had appointed the most valuable, honest, and competent man in the family to ensure her protection.â
Minho nods.
âPlease donât kill him, Daddy.â
The boss meets you with cold eyes, disregarding your words to proceed with his lecture. âYou are my most prized possession. I would hurt anyone or anything to make sure that not a single person touches you. The men who kidnapped you are all taken care of, wiped out by my command.â
He continues. âI know everything that goes on in your life. Every meal, every kiss, every injury, the staff must report every minor thing that occurs in your day. I have eyes on you at all times, and youâre more than aware of that.â
Your shoulders stiffen. He knew.
âMinho,â his stare is burning into the other man, âIâll get to the point. Did you sleep with my daughter?â
He doesnât blink. His body tenses up and his voice remains neutral.
âYes.â
The boss turns the safety off of his firearm and you dig your head into your hands, unable to observe the scene that is about to unfold.
The gunshot is fired, but the man deliberately aims to the left of Minho, grazing his cheek with the bullet before standing up instantly from his seat. The guard doesnât react with more than a blink as the blood pools at the cut.
âI trust you, Minho. You are a good man. If there is a single person who I would choose to give my daughter to, it would be you.â
Finally, Minho takes this as a sign to let his guard down for a moment as his shoulders drop, lip quivering slightly. It was evident that there was more emotion that the guard was holding back, especially when he took a moment to look away.
âYou have my approval.â
Your eyes widen.
âTake care of my daughter. If you break her heart, Iâll feed your own heart to her for supper.â
âUnderstood.â
âTake her to dinner,â a wad of cash is pulled out from one of the drawers, âbuy her flowers and anything else that she asks for.â
âYes sir.â He responds, âIâll make sure that she gets the treatment that she deserves.â
You run to embrace your father, to which he places an arm around you, rubbing your back before pulling away.
âGet yourself dressed more sufficiently, I will have a car ready for you soon.â
Minho follows you out of his office, letting out a breath that he had been holding in once the door was closed.
âDid you hear that?â Do you know what this means?â You beam at the man before grabbing at his cheeks and pulling him in for a kiss.
He lets out a surprised noise, hesitantly wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing back.
When you break the kiss, he stares back at you with the first big smile that youâve seen from him displayed on his face.
âLetâs get you ready.â
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Run Away To Me (I)
AU MASTERLIST || PART II
PAIRING: Blacksmith!Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Runaway Bride!Reader
WORDCOUNT: 4.8k
WARNINGS: Blood, wounds, being hunted/chased, medieval period-esc standards, arranged marriage insinuations, toxic family insinuations, angst, protective Johnny?, etc.
A/N: This series is so Lord Huron coded
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
You rush through the low-hanging branches of the reaching pines, their green arms tearing at the once perfect and virginal white dress clothing your body; waves of delicate fabric like birdâs wings. Shredded and torn, you sob in large gasps while the shouting gets louder behind youâthe pound of vile hooves along cobblestone.Â
âAfter her!â Blood was rushing down a long slice in your palm, dripping to the verdant grass as you traversed the off-trial paths, the roads of animals and banditsâmonsters in the night.Â
Flashes of torchlight had gone out long ago, the rain slamming the ground with ancient purpose as the storm got angrier. Tree trunks slam into your shoulders, the wedding dress ripping away in strips as pine needles pierce the bare skin of your feet. Your shoes had slipped off as soon as you had started this mad dash.Â
âShe went this way! Quickly!â You run faster, shuffling down a long hill as mud gets packed into your flesh; infecting wounds with its slimy make-up.Â
âPlease,â your voice begs lowly, hiccuping out vowels as you drop to your knees at the bottom of a ravine before you sob and grit your teeth. Wading through the stream of chilled water, you dig into the ground and shove yourself up on shaking legs as rain pelts your head. âPlease, I canât go back.â
Even your thin clothes are heavy on youâbody weighed down by terror and a desperate plea. Because what you said was true. You canât go back. Canât go back to the search party, canât go back to the ceremonyâŠand you canât go back to the man you were supposed to marry. No, youâd rather face the woods.Â
Scaling up the other edge of the ravine, you slam a bloody hand down to the rocks atop, pebbles flying past your face as a flash of lightning momentarily illuminates your field of view. Noises reminiscent of an animal carve their way out of your esophagus, teeth gritted as feet slip and strain.Â
You heave yourself over and fight the weakness in your arms. Coughing, you pray the storm will wash away any trace of your charge to freedomâthe blood and the tracks. With any luck, the hounds wonât be able to pick up your scent even with the strips of your dress left behind in the branches.Â
Pushing away the water from your forehead, you stumble onwards on unsteady feet that pound with pain. Grasping at your gushing palm, you cry out as the burning pain echoes up your forearm.
âWhatever God is out there,â You speak in gasps, slurring the words as your dry throat grates. Itâs all but lost to the wind in its great bouts of staggering attacks through the trucks of the trees. âPlease, offer me sanctuary.âÂ
Lightning is the worldâs answer, more streaks of light that make your soaked body flinch and shake even more. Yet, in that tiny second of light, there had been something in the far distanceâa shadow.Â
Your eyes peer harder, the calls from the riders suck in the back of your mind as they taper off as the search is re-routed.Â
What was�
Wooden sides, three separate rectangular shapes that stand firm in the rampaging elements. Your feet slide over the ground as you limp in the direction youâd seen them, the flesh of your body so cold that you had gone numb in the sheets of rainfall.Â
A heart fills with senseless hope.
A homestead! With no other option, you take a deep, ragged, breath and continue on as quickly as youâre able; dress hanging off one shoulder. When you reach the front door some ear-ringing minutes later youâre barely standing uprightâlegs teetering and thighs shaking with dying vigor.Â
Panting, your first banging to the wood is weak at best, barely a sound above the thunder and the slap of rain. You strangle a sob and wrench your shoulder back, landing three hard hits that act more like punches. Pain blossoms in your hand, but you continue striking the wood.Â
Thereâs a loud ruckus from behind the blackened barrier, a yell, and before your knuckles can make themselves bleed from fear-filled adrenaline, the door is whipped open. A dim firelight spills out from a low hearth and you find yourself staring into the narrowed eyes of a man and his exasperated expression.Â
Thereâs the beginning of a growl, heavy with an accented voice, âNow who in the hell isâ!â
A strong jaw goes slack, brunette stubble stilling. Blue eyes like cobalt instantly peel back to show the whites, words strangled away in a sharp inhale.Â
The man is in his late twenties, stocky, and clothed in a loose sleep shirt made of thin linen with black pants. His shoulders were near large enough to knock on the frame of the door as he stood in it, built with the strength of a boar and then some. His large, lightly-tanned hand on the door slackens as his eyes speedily dart down your disoriented form. Biceps the size of your skull.
Heart hammering, you stare for a moment longer, rain pelting your back and looking like a wet dog. Itâs as if youâve forgotten to speak beyond gasps for air, but your eyes implore enough for you. The stranger recovers from his surprise at seeing such a beautiful lone woman at his door with a clearing of his throat.
â...Christ, Dearie, youâre soakinâ wet out here.â He shoulders the door open wider without another question. âInside, now, quickly.âÂ
You wrap your arms around your waist and speed into the shelter of the home, water dripping down to the wood as you shiver and your teeth clatter. Not for a second did you think if this might be safe or not, too scared of the riders and their hounds than anything. You wouldnât allow them to drag you back to your husband-to-be. Not in a million years.Â
Your voice is hiccuping as you speak.
âIâŠI donât mean to i-intrude, Iâm very sorry, Sir.â The man looks around his home before he spots a large bear fur by the messy bed in the cornerâhe rushes over and grabs it. âI ask forgiveness for w-waking you at such an hour.â
âJesus, is that what youâre worried about?â Blue eyes crease at you as the heavy fur over your shoulders; your hands snap to catch it, the entire thing swallowing you as gaze up in confusion. The man frowns, staring back as water drips from your nose. âLetâs just focus on gettinâ you dry, yeah? Youâll catch your death like this, Little Lady.âÂ
A wide hand presses to the expanse of your spine, prodding you forward as you squeak at the sudden contact. Youâre guided to a small chair in front of the hearth, plopped down and the sides of the fur are hiked up to your neck quickly.
The stranger kneels down in front of you, focused, and his tired eyes alight with worry. He makes sure the fur isnât going to fall as he blinks over the state of your hands. He pauses, his large grip stalling at the sight of spreading blood.Â
Your woundâyouâd almost forgotten.Â
âNow whatâs this, then?â The brunette's words are quiet, very in-tune with your state as you try to catch your breath and shiver. It was like coaxing a wild animal.Â
Blinking, you shift your hand farther under the bear's fur, bringing it to your chest.Â
âI wonât be here long, Sir. I promise,â you try to change the topic, but quickly jerk your nose into the crook of your arm as you sneeze, bending over slightly as mud and blood stain your skin.Â
Lips tighten along a square face.
âItâs Johnny, Miss.â The world outside rages on, blocked out by the four walls of this nicely sized home of wooden logs and boards. It was well-made with pine and cider, the large hearth in the back wall with inlets near the shuddered windows and various crudely carved pieces of art.Â
Weapon displays lined the walls, various makes and models hung on pegs. Axes and swords, spears with red-leather shafts set next to halberds of black steel. You blink at them in slight concern, not used to being around weapons.Â
Johnny, as he calls himself, sees this and quickly explains as he rubs at the back of his head, eyes crinkling.Â
âAh, Johnny MacTavish, the blacksmith, that is,â a small, rough chuckle echos out.Â
You ease at that.Â
âMr. MacTavish,â you give your name and offer a kind, yet still anxious, smile. âI give my thanks for allowing me shelter. A-and the fur.âÂ
His gaze slips down to your hidden hand once more, face swirling with an unidentified emotion before studying your torn wedding gown.
âWell, Iâm not one to leave a person out on my doorstep in weather like this. Certainly not a Lady.â His brow raises, head tilting. âYou going to let me clean that wound aâyours or am I going to have to fish it out myself?âÂ
Your body tenses slowly, bare feet shuffling over the floor. Staring at Johnny, you gaze at the strangely cut hair atop his head and the messy strands that speak to a night of shifting on his bed. His face is honest and open to you, blinking in soft question as his head angles to the side with an easy twitch of his lips.Â
âItâs really not necessary,â you try to chuckle but it falls flat, eyes red and heart still speeding.Â
Johnny sighs and glances at the fire, blinking before he shifts to grab another log and toss it in with no concern for the heat of the flame that lap at his fingers. You watch his muscles bunch under his shirt and quickly look at your lap.Â
âIâm not the greatest doctor out there, Dearie, but I can do good with washinâ out a cut anâ wrapping it.â You study him and nervously tighten your lips. Johnnyâs face seems to soften, hands going up and wrists tilting as his knee stays connected to the floor; firelight on his face. A small smile blooms. âCâmon, Iâm not that scary of a bastard, am I?â
You spare a tiny chuckle, shoulders jumping as rainwater slips down your chin. Your shivering was still going on, and would until you got a change of clothes, but the warmth from the fire was helping tremendously. Already feeling was returning to your limbs.Â
âAh,â the blacksmith huffs a laugh, âthereâs a smile. Now, let's have a little look-see shall we?âÂ
Under the fur, your hand lightly shifts, coming back into view, slit palm and all. Johnnyâs eyes darken, face going serious behind his stubble. Brown brows turn in.Â
âNow where in the hell did you get aââ Just as his gigantic hands were about to circle around yours, there was a violent knock at the door.Â
You shoot up in an instant, jerking away from the blacksmith as he snaps his head to the front, eyes lighting. He stands up slowly as you back up a few paces, eyes frantically darting back and forth. The knocking starts up again and thunder peels from outside.Â
Your form flinches.
âYou canât let them take me back,â you say quickly, breathing catching up in speed again. Fear burns your lungs and suddenly youâre ten times colder than before. âMr. MacTavish, please, I canât go back.â
Another round of knocking shakes the barrier. Blues eyes stare at you blankly, half-turned face pulled in visible confusion as Johnnyâs jaw clenches.Â
A voice echoes from under the door as the blacksmith once more lets his eyes linger down your battered frame; taking in cuts and the limp you carry. Muddy feet and water stained red. His hands twitch at his sides.Â
âThese are the guards of Lord Wilkin, would anyone in this home come to make him or herself known? It is of the utmost urgency!â You grow more fearful, head darting to find any other exit in this home but you land on nothing besides the windows. Your fingers shake with panic.
No, no, no.
Confusion gives way to deep concern.
A hand grasps your upper arm and youâre being hurried to the corner wall by the front door with fast feet and a firm, iron, grip. An accented voice mumbles quietly by your ear, âKeep quiet for me, Dearie. Itâs alright, you let me take care of it.â
He stands you there and takes one last look at you, blinking, before grabbing the bear fur and pulling it above your head in a swift motion. Thereâs a quiet chuckle as you tense and slam a hand up to the brown material instinctually before Johnny darts around the corner and opens the door. You hold your breath and listen.
âWell, steaminâ Jesus, you bastards have any idea what time it is?! And in this damning weather, you show up at my door reaminâ on the wood like youâre the one who has to keep it anchored to the frame.â Thereâs a fast conversation of apologies and explanations that you can't catch above the yell of the rain.
âDoes it look like I give a shite about a lost bride? Not my fuckinâ place to keep âerâŠIâve seen nothing besides youâŠanyone out in this storm is as good as lostâŠâ You listen and stay completely still, holding your breath as if itâs a prisoner in your lungs.Â
You can hardly believe it. Why was this manâŠlying for you? A wounded stranger that had shown up at his doorstep in nothing but a tattered gown and babbling through tears. Anyone else would have turned you overâespecially to your betrothed, Lord Wilkin. He owned these lands and held fiefs by all who lived here. Not a man to mess with, if your slit palm was anything to go by.
âGo on!â Johnny calls loudly, and the door closes a second later, the latch locking. Thereâs a moment of nothing, before the clearing of a throat and a soft call. âWell, they wonât be back, least.âÂ
He pops around the corner and smiles comfortingly.Â
âSorry about the yellin'.â You part your lips in innocent awe and you take a deep breath before speaking slowly.
âWhy would you do that?â His expression tightens, crossing his arms over his chest. Under him, his large hips shift.
âYa asked, didnât you?â Your blank expression only serves to make him chuckle heartily, head shaking. Johnny hums, âI wonât press you about it all tonight, though I well should. Youâre in no shape for it.â Cobalt eyes glance at the food before looking back up. âBut Iâm guessinâ you have a good enough reason to sneak off as I hear you did.âÂ
The very blood in your body heats with warmth.
Youâre waved back over to the chair by the hearth. âLetâs get that injury looked at and Iâll get you a change of clothes. You can take my place for the night,â eyes twinkle, âthereâs no bed bugs in it, Dearie, knightâs honor.â
âWhat about iron shavings?â You call back softly, lips jerking up momentarily. The manâs actions had given you a large amount of trust in him. Johnny blinks in surprise at your joke, but a large grin grows moments later as you walk over delicately.
âCanât say for certain, but I promise thereâll be no weapons under the covers. If anyone breaks in theyâll find my fists to be the first iron they get a touch of.âÂ
Your laugh bounces off the walls, hand coming up to cover your mouth in the picture of a cultured upbringing. Johnny chuckles in turn, looking smug. He liked your laugh, it seems.
âThat was detestable, Mr. MacTavish.â You sit down, and Johnny kneels where he had been beforeâhis hand outstretched where you carefully place your wounded limb.Â
Immediately you feel the scrape of old burns and calluses, hands hardened by long hours of labor and intensive demands. Youâre certain these are the hardest hands that have ever touched your skin, but it astounds you by how gently youâre being caressed and turned. People with far fairer flesh have never handled you like this. As if you would break apart with the barest of pressures.
Your breath stills as the blacksmith, with all the care of a butterfly, tilts your cut into the light and studies it, thumb absentmindedly brushing up and down your wrist. You hold back a shiver.Â
âAh,â he grumbles, still smiling yet more focused on your injury now. âIt wasnât that bad.â
You hum under your breath and try not to flinch when he wipes away a stain of mud near your wound. The blacksmith grunts to himself, gentle pressure at your flesh like the scuff of tree bark. But it wasnât unpleasant. No, you thought, not at all.Â
The two of you fall into a hole of soft silence, Johnny leaving for a moment to grab a bucket of water and bandages, saying in a mutter that he had plenty of the former to go around.
âHave a habit of burninâ myself on my bad days, yâsee,â he shimmies past, pausing before pulling back up the bear fur from where it had slightly slipped down your neck. âComes with the job.â
Your face burns as he grabs what he needs, eyes stuck on your lap. You were astounded by the manâs ability to put away his obvious confusion for your care, how he was content to wait for answers until you were rested. It was honorable of him.Â
Thinking back to Lord Wilkinâs guards at the door, your thighs shift over the chair. Theyâd be looking for you until they found youâbe that days or months, it didnât matter. The Lord wasnât someone to let what he wanted get away from him. Like senseless beasts, your family would undoubtedly help. Your chest is stiff with worry. How would you get away with this?
The scene youâd made at the wedding wasnât exactly subtle.Â
Johnny comes back carrying a small bucket of fresh water, ladled from the wash basin, and a bundle of clean white cloth.Â
âAlright,â he huffs, âletâs get this sorted, eh, Dearie?â The wound was very obviously a slice from a knife, anyone could see it.Â
Johnny takes your hand once more and holds it in his palm, glancing up at you before dipping one of the cloths into the water and beginning to clean the cut.Â
âIs itâŠbad, Mr. MacTavish?â You ask, worried about the likelihood of scarring. That would be the last thing you would want. The blacksmith looks up from where he pats the edges, the fabric already going red.
âJust Johnny, if it pleases you,â he smiles, hulking form seemingly all a facade to hide a cheeky and loyal Scot. âAndâŠno, not bad. If youâre worried about a mark, donât beâitâs deep but only at the beginning. A slight discoloration, no more.â His brows pull back, teasing, âYouâll not end up like me, at any rate.â Your shoulders ease back, and you let him work with a thankful comment and a giggle.
You watch and take in the way his jaw clenches and loosens as he works, completely focused as if he was fashioning an axe and not helping a complete stranger.Â
âThereâs no harm in scars,â you settle on saying, thinking over his last comment. Blues lock with your eyes, head tilting like a hound. Your face gains a slight heat to it and you stutter, âItâs just this one Iâd rather not carry, Johnny.â Smiling warmly, you see the manâs lips part, his motions stalling for a moment as he looks up at you and blinks. âBut yours suit you ifâŠIâm allowed to say.â
Itâs then that you realize that a slight flush has come to his cheeks, starting from under his stubble and leaking out to his cheeks like a red blazeâhis gaze burrows deep with hidden fire that rivals the dancing shadows from the hearth.
Noticing, your own face burns all the hotter as the blacksmith quickly clears his throat, snapping his eyes away. Fingers once more cleaning your cut, he grunts out, neck now shifting to a blush of crimson, â...Thank you, Miss.âÂ
You stay in silence for the rest of the delicate process; the air heated and rolling with something. Electricity sparks when Johnnyâs hands rub across yours, large enough to break you in an instant but acting like moss over a stone. You find yourself falling into a sort of comforted state you hadnât felt in a long timeâthe fur over your shoulders and the tingle of skin-on-skin contact that expects nothing but offers all.Â
âThere,â Johnny says at last, and a part of you wants to cry when he pulls back, standing slowly. A firm but malleable wrapping is over your palm, a tiny knot tied in the middle to keep it from falling off.Â
You bring it to your abdomen and blink, the other hand going to run over the material.Â
âThank you, Johnny. Truly. If I hadnât found your homestead, I would have been lost.â The man rubs at the back of his neck, tunic bunched up by his elbows.Â
âGah,â after a second of bruising off the comment, he waves a hand while his wide chest puffs with pride. âItâs no trouble, really. Keeps me on my toes.â
Outside the storm continues to beat the walls, and the blacksmith canât help but feel his eyes drawn to your dwarfed form under the large fur, the dripping water, and the weight of your gown. Based on the information from the guard, he had a decent story already forming in his head.Â
A runaway bride and an angry Lord. By his own role as the fiefdomâs accomplished blacksmith, he should be turning you over. But your eyes had been flooded with tears when youâd pounded on his door; soaked in rain and mudâblood. No shoes. Freezing.Â
You had looked so afraid, his heart had hurt for you, a strong need to shelter you stuck like a knife into his ribs. Johnny had seen much in his life, war, and death, but your desperation had stuck a cord in him.Â
Heâd keep you here with no charge, offer food and shelter, and do what he can to understand your situation. If not for simply hospitality sake, then because he had heard your laugh and had found it to be like a birdâs call in the wake of a dew-coated morning. Your soft skin like the wisps of fire from his forges. Your voice like a rippling spring. There was no way to describe the way he wanted to help besides to admit to himself that he was a good man.Â
And, while cocky, the blacksmith had never once been self-absorbed.
He watches you rub at your damp cheek and starts out of whatever trance he had been sucked into.Â
âIâllâŠâ Johnny rubs at his neck again, âIâll get you that change of clothes, Bonnie. You just wait right here.âÂ
You stare at his back as he strides over, the fatigue washing back over you now that the adrenaline leaves in its stupendous sweep of heavy heartbeats. Anyone else would have given you up. Your face softens, seeing the quick dig of hands into the stack of clothes in the dresser.Â
âFuckinâ hell,â the man huffs, looking over his shoulder and shaking his head. âIâm sorry, Dearie, all Iâve got are my tunics and pants.â Black and pale cream linen is held up on display.Â
âOh,â you mutter, âI donât mind,â your chuckle makes his lips twitch with care. âI would just prefer to be out of thisâŠthing.â Your eyes glare down at the tattered gown, breathing softly. âAnything is perfect.â
âWell, then I hope you donât mind the smell of fire,â Johnny hums. âHere you are.â As much as his insides twist to understand the story, making sure you donât run a cold was more important.Â
Your legs push you up and you walk over softly, gliding over the wooden floor to take up the articles and dig your fingers into the warm and easy texture, thin stitching, and cuffed wrists. There was a cut down the neck with a tied cord looped through, making up an âxâ pattern.Â
âI would say thank you again,â you begin, âbut I think youâll be getting annoyed with how many times Iâve already said it.â
Johnny laughs, crossing his arms over his chest and setting his feet.Â
âAh, perhaps only a little.â Silence laps into a minute, and you study him with slow puzzlement, tilting your head. For a moment, the man wonders what heâs done. The blacksmithâs dark brows furrow, lips moving back. He looks down at the clothes again and starts with a wild blinking of his lids.Â
âOh! Hellâs bells, right,â Johnny walks to the other side of the room and swiftly turns his back to you with respect and a burning neck. He cringes. âChrist.âÂ
You laugh brightly, letting the fur fall to the floor as you undress and shimmy into the borrowed clothes. Your nose takes in the scents of metal and fireâfatty linseed oil used to protect a blade against corrosion. With the crackling fire, you slip the large tunic above your head and find that it falls heavily over you; far thicker than it seemed and very comfortable, ending at your lower thigh.Â
But those scents make your head spin, rolling up the cuffs as you bring your nose to the collar and once more take it in with a slow breath. You hum and move, throwing the bear fur back atop your shoulders and grabbing your ruined garments from the floor before calling out to the rod-straight figure.Â
âJohnny?â His arms lightly jerk, as if heâd been unfocused, but he doesnât turn around. âWhere would you like me to throw these?âÂ
The blacksmith delicately tilts his head to the side and utters with his eyes stuck to the side wall. âBin by the door is just fine.â You look to the container holding scraps and other garbage to be taken out and drop the gown in before rubbing your cheek.Â
Wide cobalt eyes stare at the clothes you wear heavily, jaw loose before he re-set it and averts his gaze. Johnny chuckles to ease himself and loops his thumbs into his waistband, embarrassed.
âDo you need anything else, then?â Your eyes blink with fatigue.
âNo, IâŠI donât think so.â Gazing at the home, your lips thin. Your family would have a heart attack if you even mentioned that you were staying the night at a complete strangerâs homestead. No protection, no way to beat off a blacksmith beyond a well-placed punch, and running from your betrothed. To say that youâd cause anything less than a heart attack would be generous. But Johnny felt different. Firmer in his emotions and intentions. Far more than the Lord.Â
That was really all that matted.Â
âAre you really sure this is okay,â you still ask hesitantly, gargantuan clothes atop your frame. Johnny is already nodding firmly.
âItâs my pleasure. I wonât be turninâ you back out to the woods in a storm like this.â For whatever reason, the next words fall from his lips like an oath. âThereâll be no harm cominâ to ya as long as you stay under my roof.âÂ
Your hand burns with the memory of his gentle grip and your heart skips beats. You feel as if a great weight is lifted, even if only for a night.Â
âAlright,â your words barely make it to air, and you grip the bear fur harder to stop yourself from kissing this manâs cheek, wanting to take him into a tight hug.Â
Johnny takes a blanket from the bottom of his bed and shuffles over to the inlet below the shuddered window, sitting down while you slowly walk forward.Â
âBut, Little Lady,â you rest on the edge of the bed and look up to find him watching you intently, leaning back with a hand behind his head and the other on his stomach. The fire still crackles, the storm still dances outside, and the room is still tight with something you canât put a name to. Like youâre caught in a trap of soft pillows and the scent of metal, you listen to the blacksmith with bated breath. âIâll be needinâ answersâŠyou hear?âÂ
Licking your lips, you nod tersely. âTomorrow,â you agree.Â
Johnny gazes off into your eyes, the runaway bride that had shown up on his doorstep and captured his attention like a bird made of a white wedding gown and panicked breath. He sneaks a peek down at your wrapped hand as you settle on his bed, burrowing into his furs and his coversâwearing his clothes.Â
For some unknown reason, the smallest of blood stains makes his chest roll with bright anger.Â
âTomorrow,â he grunts through a tight jaw before he fights to turn his head away from you. Itâs a long while before he sees any type of sleep, listening to the sound of your soft breath and the crackle of the fire.
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