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brynn-lear · 3 months ago

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Sugar Pills (Yandere!Capitano/Reader)

Questionable Overview: You're getting real tired of Dottore's theatrics. Which is a great shame, considering how it's only now that Capitano learns the value of surface acting and masking. (from my series: #Capitano's So-Called Liability)

CW/Tags: there is no "real" age gaps since this is a Howl's Moving Castle scenario, slowburn/soft yandere themes, afab!reader, mild violence. While this fic isn't "too dark", the reader isn't mentally stable. Please prioritize your mental health first, you matter.

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When coming up with a proposal, you've learned that it's best to approach a harbinger when they're in the middle of an arms race. It's been ages since you've applied this knowledge, but luckily, dusting off memories of yesteryears isn't challenging.

"Can't even spare me a proper welcome?" You yawned, dropping a beaten and dead fatuus just inches away from an unforgettable metal-laced shoe. The sound of their empty vision clunked on the hard floor. "I might not be as much in the spotlight these days, dear, but isn't it good manners to greet your elders properly when they visit?"

The aforementioned shoe brushed the body away. "Hah. You make a terrible habit of flaunting that cosmetic age of yours."

And yet, there you stood, glaring with a smug head up high. No ordinaire can don the demeanor you flaunt in front of the second-ranked harbinger. You'll always keep the cloak-and-dagger act. Dramatics are second nature to those who earn their keep through blood money. You only saw it right to greet him with a more appropriate entrance. Bold and unfaltering in resolve.

"And you have a great habit of looking younger with each passing day," you feigned a chirpy tone. "Isn't that right, Doctor?"

Behind a crow's mask, crimson eyes bore holes into your very being.

Since you received that "birthday present" from him, he had sent out men to secretly nag you behind the Captain's back. They ask you why you haven't taken the medicine at best and attempt to drug you at worst. This rendezvous had been going on for weeks. Enough times that could manifest anger and murderous intent out of you until it did.

After reaching the limit of your patience, you murdered the last person to spike your perfectly fine water, took his vision and portable waypoint, and teleported to his master harbinger's base. Too much work just to get someone to stop pestering you.

The feeling is mutual. Il Dottore— the last of his perspective— also found your presence troublesome.

The second-ranked harbinger spent his "free" time in a painfully bright, pale room. He likes to dub this phase a "recovery state." Typically, there would be plenty of "him" to go around— but striking a deal for a gnosis always beckons a great deal of self-sacrifice. Or self-sacrifice-s.

Hence why you pushed to visit him this instance. Despite his placid demeanor, you're confident he's eager to prove that there's a method to his madness. Oneself is always the greatest competitor.

A proper arms race.

"You know very well that I do not take youth as a compliment," he retorted, though his tone was considerably friendly. He made repeated tapping motions on his armchair, almost impatiently. "What trivial matter have you dared to interrupt my brainstorming session with? Speak now— I'll let you know I'm engaged with matters of greater significance."

"I've done my due diligence of personally replying to your last letter." You glared down at your last victim. "Consider this my thanks."

Without tearing your gaze away, you fished the medicine from your coat and threw it at his chest with all your might. The bottle shattered on the floor.

Greatly "offended" by your rude antics, Dottore defeatedly abandoned his scrawls and turned to properly look at you.

"You decided to skip the pills. How delightfully reckless of you, Granny (Y/n)." He sardonically smiled.

At least he has the decency to name you correctly.

You rolled your eyes as you approached. Once you were just a foot away, you stabbed the corpse's head once more with your cane's pointed base— the force harsh enough to splatter the livor mortis flesh and brain matter on the floor of his beloved laboratory.

What an unnecessarily extreme scene, befitting of your old title.

"I grow tired of your games, Zandik." You spat back. "Must you constantly send your men to make futile attempts to lace my food with your de-aging concoction? I don't appreciate discarding their bodies— much less some perfectly fine meals."

If Capitano were here, he would've made a vague comment about how your value on human life is concerning.

But he doesn't have to know about this interaction.

"You complain about my work, yet I vaguely recall an era in your life in which you'd routinely wake up screaming like a rooster in the morning." Dottore shrugged and pointed to himself. "And who provided you with a cure-all for those night terrors? Go on. I would be enthused to know."

You crossed your arms. The jaded look in your eyes heightened his interest. Hence, Dottore stood up, his footsteps crunching the shattered glass strewn about.

"Let me wager a proper hypothesis for this ...irrational behavior. A possible psychological or existential leaning toward death may be at the root of the patient's ongoing resistance to the recommended treatment." He craned his head like a bird inspecting its prey. "In simpler terms for meager minds like yours to understand: you're not accepting my charity since you wish to die. Is that right?"

Dottore is a reasonable man. Disarmingly charming, even.

This particular segment just hates you.

You smiled back, returning the same malice.

"Who knows?" You tapped the beak of his mask. "Doesn't matter. I didn't come here to get psycho-analyzed. I came here because I want to strike a deal."

Dottore paused.

"I had a prediction that you would ensnare me with a gambit. No small wonder that Omega has found you a captivating individual, (Y/n)."

Many miss the fact that the good Doctor has a "seductive" air about him. He has a charisma that people will either dismiss in fear or fall victim to. You're part of the secret third group— the coworkers immune to his antics.

"Yes, well, I do pride myself on hosting the best picnics by the meadows of Ardravi Valley." You spoke, voice oozing with the same playful banter you once reserved for his deceased copy. "I've got no abundance in lifespan like you. I'd dare say I'm selling myself at a very limited-time offer."

However, this Dottore was not the one you befriended. This was his murderer.

"Playing the card of wisdom with that appearance may fool the world, but you can't dissuade me." Dottore clicked his tongue. "Are you mimicking Sohreh?"

What a surprisingly plain question.

You shrugged. "Am I?"

Feigning impassivity while he could, the Doctor placed a hand on your shoulder.

"Talk."

"I've only one wish, which is for you to stop being such a nuisance." You scoffed. "What can I do to get you to stop trying to make me your side experiment, Doctor?"

Intuition rarely fails you. You knew that this was a matter that could be reasoned with. The problem is that you needed to figure out what your bargaining chip would be. But by the look on his face, he had already sorted that out minutes, maybe even months, before you arrived.

His hand that once hovered on your shoulder slowly snaked towards your neck.

"I have a proposal," Dottore spoke softly.

You hardened your expression. "Spill."

"I can assist you in experiencing that honorable death you craved so much— at the right time and place." Using his thumb, he applied mild pressure against your throat. "However, I'll need you to befriend the upcoming tourists in Natlan."

You blinked.

… What a strange request.

"Befriend… The tourists?" You grabbed his intrusive hand, yanking it away. "What are you on about?"

"Under favorable circumstances, I would have had a copy extract these, but the old conventional tools are unavailable."

"But why?" You raised an eyebrow. "Dear, I just can't quite wrap my head around why this is the gamble you're betting your chips on—"

"And that is precisely why The Tsaritsa dubbed you La Ruffiana and not a respectable title," Dottore smirked, chuckling lowly. "Hence, I'll gladly elucidate you with brief guide questions in a language you're sure to comprehend."

"I'd rather we both save time by revealing the answer, pronto."

Since you had forgotten to let go of his wrist, he used your grip to pull you closer to him.

"Tell me, (Y/n), during the Sumeru fiasco…" With faces just inches away from each other, he tilted and teased your ear with his breath. "Who, indeed, served as the paramount subject in my quest to engineer a being that transcends even the might of the archons?"

… Who?

You placed a hand on his chin to create a respectable distance. "Child, I really hate to say this, but the world doesn't just spin around you and your little experiments. I wouldn't know a thing about that poor, nameless puppet you're on about. But if I had to take a wild guess, you're talking about that man you went and turned into a sorry excuse for an All-Knowing God, aren't you?"

Dottore grinned, baring his sharp teeth.

"I perceive that our memories from that period have been tampered with. Nevertheless, your hypothesis remains merely superficial. There exists an individual whom I regard as the genuine subject of this experiment. Would you toss one last conjecture?"

…

You let out a strangled air, unable to properly articulate your disbelief.

It's the traveler. Of course, it's her.

Dottore aspires to transform humans into gods, yet his attempts have thus far been in vain. Save for one young woman who sought refuge in both Mondstadt and Sumeru, all subjects have perished during testing. In your days as a harbinger, you've watched others toil over the vulneraries and prosthetics the Doctor would jam into them. Your visit to certain hospitals by the desert is your testimony to his apathy. He is driven by relentless curiosity, never pausing for the ethical implications of his research, but would spend hours on the feasibility of his experiments.

You were relieved when you heard he used an inorganic lifeform in his last experiment. But if that was a mere dud, then…

"Don't tell me— all this time, your real goal revolved around how the traveler could ascend into Godhood?" You gawked. "So whatever that puppet was, is nothing more than a self-fulfilling prophecy in failure? Your experiments in blasphemy will always find new ways to make me utterly sick."

You flinched as Dottore caressed your cheek. It wasn't the contact that shocked you.

It was the respect in his eyes.

"Hmm... About a year ago, you'd make conscious efforts to bite your tongue. I must remark that I am fascinated with the concerning spike of confidence your senile age brings."

"Things change." You mocked him. "You should try growing older. About a year ago, I wouldn't have this deal with you, too."

With that, the verbal contract was set into motion.

"We'll keep in touch."

He pulled away.

You scoffed. "If I believed in Celestia, I would've prayed you'd become a decent person."

"How unfortunate that you'll need a stronger God to achieve that ambition," Dottore laughed. "And materializing a stronger God is precisely part of my current objectives."

This heretic.

"I see now why you and Capitano are far too different to be colleagues."

You glared.

"Have your glory. You may receive everything— the ego in victory— the spoils of war. Celestia may even watch you steal the blessings of ascension. But you have no honor. You live with no happiness."

You grumbled while you walked away. The erratic sound of your cane reflected the rhythm of your anger and disgust. Before you left, you gave him one high note to end on.

"You dance with no music."

As soon as you were out of the vicinity, Dottore quickly returned to his near-incoherent scrawling.

"I'd rather be a fool who performs for no one," he grinned, his stomach tucking in from stifled laughter. "Than a blabbering grandmother scared of sugar pills."

"(Y/N)!!!"

Upon your supposedly quiet return to the inn, you were greeted by a pair of large hands squeezing your cheeks with trembling worry.

"I told you to call me Granny—"

"Where have you been?!" He tilted your head, inspecting for wounds like an incompetent father. His strength would usually cause grief, but you've grown used to this. It's a sensation that's hard to hate.

His hands are rough but not unkind.

"When I awoke, I realized you were not in your room." He spoke, evident that he was reeling himself from rambling. Been a long while since you saw his long and gorgeous hair this messy. "Had I not instructed you not to wander alone without one of our men at your side."

The inn's staff whispered among themselves while his men stiffly avoided gazing at you two. You cringe at everyone's bloodshot eyes. There's more room to pity the Natlan locals— they didn't ask to be involved. Capitano ordered a search party this late on your behalf when there was zero need for it. The attention was getting embarrassing.

You should've known that he'd notice your absence.

Damn it. You were barely gone for half an hour.

"Steel yourself, child. I don't need your men to coddle me." Months have passed, and he has yet to accept that you do not have a respectable position as a personal assistant. "I can wander around Natlan as safe as I please, kid. Are you seriously doubting my strength?"

That dirty tactic sobered him up.

"You know that isn't so." Capitano sighed, letting you go. "I know you're plenty capable, however..."

"Need I remind you that before the incident, I was originally the Harbinger tasked with retrieving the pyro gnosis?" You shook your head, feigning disappointment. "You should know by now that I've studied this place's typography and wildlife. No encounter could shock and harm me— even with these old bones."

"It's precisely why I worry over you," Capitano glared slightly. "With your curse, you could've been marked by foes out there."

"I didn't go anywhere far. I was just sightseeing."

"That explanation doesn't wash. I saw the glow of a portable waypoint when you came back."

… How observant. That's the first ranked harbinger for ya, you supposed.

"Okay, maybe I went home for a bit, so what?" You pouted. "It's a bit too warm in here for my liking."

The inn's staff immediately froze up.

"N-Not that it's bad, of course!" You laughed nervously. Ah, shit, let's not involve them. "It's my fault 'cause I didn't raise that concern with them. Old ladies such as myself are so stubborn. Hmm, hmm!"

Gradually, Capitano relaxed.

"I understand. At least, I'll choose to understand your fib for now."

"Not quite out of the cage yet, am I?" You joked.

"Not at all." Capitano exhaled softly, a hand barely covering his gentle smile. His voice made it painfully apparent that you're off the hook.

He's such a terrible liar.

Before you could comment on this, Capitano reached out his hand.

"Come with me." He wagged his fingers towards him, beckoning you to come closer. "Let's continue our conversation somewhere private."

Out of the 11 harbingers and those who had come and gone, you know Capitano the most.

"I didn't realize Natlan nights can be cold." You spoke thoughtlessly.

He stared at you blankly. "Cold enough to prevent you from running back home, clearly."

"Ah."

And likewise, he knows you best as well.

You digressed in an instant. "Why did you bring me here, Little Captain?"

You stood by a cliff, staring at the quiet night in the humble town. There's a noticeable increase of guards on patrol since the Fatui arrived in Natlan, but with Capitano as the lead, you saw no reason for their alarm. Obviously, Capitano didn't bring you here to make that observation. Judging from how his stare is on the ground and not the beautiful sight, public perception is pushed at the back of his mind.

"Your cane…" He whispered.

"What about it?"

"You forgot to wash the blood away."

Inspecting the cane without lifting it, you realize what he meant.

"Oh."

"Who was it?" His voice sounded a bit more stern.

Your eyebrows furrowed. "Who was what?"

There was a shift in the air.

"Who attacked you?"

…

You laughed uncontrollably.

"W-What?! Pfft— puh-lease! No one attacked me." You poked his helmet. He stared you down, unamused. "No-bo-dy."

Capitano has yet to let his anger go. He spoke steadily, but he wasn't fooling you. "I'll ask once more: who attacked you?"

"Don't tell me your memory is worse than this old lady's," you clicked your tongue. "I just told you, it's nobody."

Capitano shifted his foot down slightly. "Elena reported that you were assaulting a fatuus with your cane in an isolated dining area."

Curses. You thought you were alone. To be caught by Elena, of all people? Your senses must be dulling.

"Well, one of your men— I suppose— was disrespecting their elders."

"I ordered a headcount. None of my men have gone missing." Capitano crossed his arms. "Besides, they know better than aggravating my most prized assistant."

Should've known that lie won't fly.

"Okay, maybe it wasn't one of your men." Obviously it was Dottore's, but you bit your tongue. "But you should know I'm a polarizing figure in the Fatui. I heard someone say that getting rid of me is a noble act cause they'd be removing your right from employing an absolute loser."

"(Y/n), where did you get those ideas?"

Honestly? Straight out of your 'lovely' imagination. If not inspired by Pantalone's past remarks as well— just cruder.

It’s almost commendable how easy it is to assume everyone is out to get you. The work environment certainly helps. A strange grin or remark is sufficient to validate any doubts. Probably illogical for you to live life this way. You're aware enough that not every whisper is about you and that not every grin hides some hidden agenda, yet the uncertainties still seep in so effortlessly that it almost seems like breathing.

You've yet to find someone who will prove your inherent distrust wrong. That body you hurled at Dottore earlier was no exception.

"Whoever attacked me doesn't matter; I got rid of them."

"I know you did. I don't reserve any doubt whatsoever. That is not the issue at hand." Capitano shook his head, his last words hiding a slight growl. "What I am perturbed by is how you had hidden this from me."

Your eyes widened.

"I-I'm sorry, forgive me, Capitano." You fumbled. "It was genuinely not as big as you think it is. A traitor was in the mist, and I took care of it."

"You were targeted, (Y/n)," Capitano said, nearly whispering as he gently took your hands. No matter how callous he was or how much his skin resembled etched maps, they held yours with great care.

His eyelids drooped slightly, hiding unspoken grief. "You were attacked when I made an oath that I would protect you while you are under my care..."

Capitano's tone softened further, almost withdrawn from hurt.

"I should have been there..."

You've never been one to immediately process emotions in a snap. When you and Capitano share ideas, theories intersect like constellations on Teyvat nights. But that look in his eye? You can't read what he's thinking.

"Why do you fret over it, dearie? Death is but a doorbell away for me." You hummed with a wide smile. "I'll be claimed soon enough. Maybe tonight might even be the night. Oh, honey, it's no skin off the Tsaritsa's back if an old gal like me bites the dust."

…

You have a feeling you said the worst thing imaginable at that moment.

…

Capitano said nothing.

In fact, you'd wager that was on purpose.

There's a glint in his eye. A look that you couldn't place— a dangerous thought you can't hear. It ringed endlessly in his ears, and the slight tremor in his fingertips proved it. His blue eyes stared straight into your soul.

A revelation. An epiphany. A newfound raison d'etre that he refused to let anyone know— you specifically.

Something about him drastically changed.

But that look vanished in an instant.

Capitano's mouth curled upward.

The smile did not reach his eyes.

"I prefer if it's kind sleep who takes you tonight," Capitano muttered. "Death is far too early for a woman like you."

"A woman like me?" You chuckled. "You meant grandmother, right? And what do you mean by that?"

"A woman like you deserves all the time in the world, not to be taken prematurely. Your spirit is far too bright to be dimmed so soon." He took off his cloak. "Because a woman like you is a woman loved by many."

Capitano wrapped his cloak around you before you realized it. As you looked down, you noticed how much larger his frame was than yours. The cloak reached the floor when you donned it. Though it was night, the cologne he put on reminded you of sun-drenched clothes and steel— but it's possible that this was just Capitano's natural scent.

"I should add cloaks as an interest for your late birthday present." You could practically hear the smile on his face as he said, "It suits you."

Something about the way he sounded was way off now.

The weariness from your conversations with Dottore seemingly washed away. You grabbed a fistful of the cloak and raised it. "I think every tailor in Teyvat would beg to differ."

Capitano chuckled. "Respectfully, they wouldn't know any better."

"And you do?" You raised an eyebrow, but that grin on your face is too difficult to wipe off. "I don't think you know me well, little Captain."

You continued.

"Anyone can learn to like me, but to love me…"

Is devastating.

You trailed off, eyes back on the quiet streets. You've always admired those who teased on the edge of retirement and eternal sleep, their bravery surpassing the young's. They act on reckless abandon, unburdened by the opinions of others. Alice saw this in you, and she knew— deep in her heart— that she'd be more than willing to help you embrace that freedom in whatever form that may take.

Since you became a "grandmother", seemingly everything and nothing has changed. You've pushed away those who pretended to care, only to find that no soul can stand to be with you. Maybe it was a glorious boon or just as the witch said— a desperate cry for help, nothing more. The experience so far taught you things you already knew you hated about yourself that you wondered if this were all for the sake of mastery. Have you destroyed yourself for nothing? Who knows. But you'll continue to take solace that maybe, just maybe, death may end the loneliness you've endured for so long.

But if you so badly chase for death…

"████████."

You looked at him.

"Can I ask for a favor?"

You're going to do it right.

Taglist: @macaronilovingracoon, @lucienbarkbark, @meimeimeirin, @notthefib987, @meowmeowakutagawa

#Capitano's So-Called Liability #yandere capitano x reader #capitano x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin imagines #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin x you #yandere capitano #fatui harbingers #dottore #columbina #capitano #genshin #genshin impact #yanderecore #yandere imagines #soft yandere

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tarjapearce · 11 months ago

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Heathens (Pt. 1)

Priest! Miguel O'Hara x Nun!Reader

art by @maxro_art on IG (Her Deliverance AU is ❤️❤️🤌🏻)

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. If you're sensitive regarding religion, please don't read this. Masturbation in holy places, explicit language, wet dreams, Female anatomy, oral ( F receiving) Gentle Dom Miguel, Corruption kink, overused tropes cause yeah, a tinge of yandere undertones if you squint, mutual lust, Not Proofread ~

Summary: Father O'Hara had a little lamb ~

A/N: Another for the Miguelverse ~ Reblogs and comments are much appreciated c:

Main Masterlist

From all the places you could've find solace from war, The house of God was the least of lieus in your list. Not that you had a choice.

Family long gone after unsuspected explosions decimated your town, followed by constant tragedies such as losing friends along the way either by enemy and merciless hands or sickness. In the end, it was only you. You had outlived them all despite your short age. And now, they lived crammed up in your memories.

Happy, smiling and very much alive. Sometimes you'd see familiar faces on stranger's bodies. Grief had slowly nested within your soul and when all hope seemed lost, the chapel had saved you from what surely would end up in your premature death.

The blackest of black matched the crispest white you had ever seen, they were all donned in their beatific robes, prayer beads dangling at every gentle step they did. And there it was, epiphany unfolding itself before your experienced in horror eyes. It was your call.

All the answers to your laments and aching heart were sent as them. Nuns of the Mistbourne Parish. A church located in the outskirts of a now rundown by conflict Nueva York. The church that now played a major role in taking in as much people within their sacred walls, before they could be dispatched to a more adequate place.

Without hesitation, you had joined. And now, six years later you still remained with them. Early twenties had settled right for you as a nun. Ever devoted, compassionate, and diligent.

As time went on, the main city was reconstructed, burying it's dark tragedy under freshly built towers, hiding the pain under the rugged carpet full of concrete and wire homes, like nothing ever happened. Like if war had never stepped upon it and gave it a much needed renewal at people's lives expenses.

But no matter how many changes time brought, life in Mistbourne's Parish remained the same. Untouched by the technological advances from the outer world. There was always something to do, as simple as it was. And so far, you've been satisfied with it.

The only alterations worth of mention was your holy family expanding.

A new couple additions to the staff. More sisters, an eighty percent of them were beyond fifty. You were the youngest, their child. After all some ended up raising you within the house.

And him. The new priest.

The tallest and bulkiest man you've ever seen. As much as staring was considered rude and borderline a sin, it was unavoidable to do so, when his rusty brown eyes fell upon you. Their color unique, like he was. Never in your life had you seen someone like him, or another man besides the butcher and the guard. He had definitely been a regular man before coming here.

The soft weary expression lines in his sharp countenance revealed his own fair of lived experiences.

He towered over you, crisp white dot on his black rimmed neck line, parading his status with modest pride, and golden praying beads dangling on his narrow hips, you held yours while asking forgiveness for keep staring.

"Father."

Father O'Hara. In his mid thirties, broken family also torn by war, wearing his vows in the shape of a ring on his right hand.

"Sister"

His voice deep yet gentle, like a lullaby. His steps took him away to his own residence. The rectory outside the church.

It made sense as to how some workers were renovating it in the past few weeks. The parish last priest had been sent off in sacred duties, only to realize later that he had killed a man. Cops and detectives surely made a show out of it.

Dark times, according to Sister Lianne, one of your mother figures. But now, Father O'Hara had taken his place, erasing all traces of the previous man with concise and pithy actions.

He took his role seriously. Said masses on sundays, visited the sick, baptized people; but his most popular feat was to hear the confessions. The most intimate secrets revealed to him by either your fellow sisters or people from the town that came to expiate their sins in hope to be forgiven.

You'd sometimes run into each other, bumping casually in the narrow wooden floored halls, you'd often apologize, only to reciprocate a polite smile on both ends. He'd sometimes help you out by carrying things a bit too heavy, or you'd help him out lighting up the altar for his speech.

Yet, his hands in one occasion took an accidental taste of your body dimensions underneath your beatific robes, while preventing you from falling down the stairs. He'd scold you for being careless and carrying things that obscured your sight.

After many sorries on your behalf, you returned to the cells and went straight to your own dorm, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

His hands felt burning upon remembering the dents of your form, the curve of your waist and certainly the warmth that irradiated from you, so so close from his.

Unexpectedly it had brought memories from his past. His old life where he'd have his lovely and temporary companion for the night impaled deliciously with himself before war and hell broke loose. Before he was forced by the subversives that raided his town to create a new fake identity in the spot as they heard him speak spanish or fight a war he hadn't started, much less would end. And so, his life as Father O'Hara begun.

Odd enough, the sudden and thoughtless choice had granted him peace after witnessing so many terrors his fellow human could be capable of. His need of help has always been stronger than anything and when he finished licencing some sacrifices were required.

Poverty vows weren't an issue since his previous life had been modest yet good enough to go by. Little difference between his current lifestyle.

The obedience vow took him a little longer to fully yield. But he accomplished it to a T, just to avoid more trouble. He faked it until he made it.

His chastity vow had been a quite the challenge to perfect, but no matter how much the temptations paraded before him in the many parishes he was assigned to, he didn't give in. His libido had been sapped out of his body, like a campfire after completing it's useful cycle.

Not because of his brand new sanctity invested by holier-than-thou elders, but rather a broken mind full of grievance and other negatives that always haunted him. The gunshots and bombings too fresh in his mind.

It had been years since he touched someone in a way that wasn't holy. Since he had provoked things in someone else that clearly would make him go under the laicization from the clergy without second guessings.

Until he held you the other day.

Both of your eyes too enraptured in eachother that had sent an igniting spark to his spine. Reviving all those inactive nerves he thought his existencial toll severed long ago. His eyes had gave a brief rake over your face.

Wide and round eyes staring back, both in awe and surprise straight into his soul. Nose flaring softly just like your mouth, whose bottom lip trembled at the little erratic breaths your lungs exhaled upon being in physical contact with a man for the first time in ever, while cheeks bloomed with a not so discreet flush. And your body heat.

Jesus all mighty.

It was dangerously tempting. For a brief moment his past self had taken over, but quickly vanished upon hearing steps. Earning you to fix your crucifix and cowl nervously and him to fist his hands to refrain himself to take another taste and fix his collar and cassock.

To his conclusion, the robes you wore did not match what was underneath. He noted much, but having you wear that loose habit only fuelled his now active and sinful imagination. An opposite from your habits' purpose.

Priest life was hard, and the Celibacy vows were his biggest damnation. Mind often plagued with 'I shouldn't have done this.' 'This is ridiculous' 'Fucking idiot' 'Why did I even lie about this?' But even so, priesthood was better than ending up dead or mutilated by mines somewhere in the battlefield, in the middle of a war he didn't started, much less would end.

Government later was forcibly recruiting all those men, be them widowed or married. It didn't matter. War wasn't for him. Neither Priesthood.

But he'd bear it. He'd bear it until he was put in another parish church full of older and witty ladies he'd definitely wouldn't lust after.

----

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."

The sweet voice behind the confessional punctured walls, perked up his ears. He had memorized a lot of things, your voice included.

"I... I haven't confessed in weeks. But it grows me concerned that... my mind is somewhere else."

Silence. You were met with silence as expected, it also encouraged you to keep talking.

"A man has flooded my thoughts and no matter how much I try to occupy myself, he's there. Leading me to temptation and sin."

A man?

His brow quirked as he slanted over the little wooden division between you, to hear better and take a peek on your face. The only men he could think of was the guard, the butcher and himself. The only men inhabiting the same area as you.

"How does this man tempts you?"

"He... He visits. In my dreams I mean and..."

A low 'forgive me, God' echoed in your stall. His throat dried and his hands rested on each side of his knees, gripping at the fabric of his pants.

"He does things I know I shouldn't partake in... But, it feels too real."

"You sound scared. Does it frightens you?"

"Very much so. But it is a strange sort of fear, Father."

"What kind of fear then?"

It took you a long pause to muster

"A fear of him stopping his visits in my mind."

He gulped.

Your hands took the crucifix and held it tighter, "For him to stop doing such sinful things to me, even in my dreams."

"Have you sinned in the carnal affairs?"

"N-No. I would never. I've never engaged in them, Father."

His groin twitched, as a hand raked over his scalp. A shaky breath that was forced to come out in silence. Only when he thought you couldn't be more innocent, there you were proving him wrong.

"Ever?"

"I promise to you with my life, I've never."

"I must know" He wetted his lips with his tongue, "What kind of things does this man does to you?"

"W-What?"

Your spine straightened up instantly, eyes wild, staring another hole into the already punctured division. Cinnamon color in his skin, the only brief glimpse you managed to see. But even so, his gentle yet cornering voice brought you down from your initial jump.

"I need to know, so I can dictate a penance."

The flush on your cheeks returned, burning bright upon remembering the all too lucid dream you've been having about your secret man. That, even though visited frequently, you still didn't know his face, just his body as it smothered yours wholy in a constant merciless and scorching rut.

All what you remembered was him feasting between your legs like a starved man. His hands maneuvering your soft mounds to then give a gentle squeeze.

"His hands are the ones that bring the sin, Father."

"Explain yourself"

His voice was sultry, buttery rich and smooth on the other side of the stall. A subtle order. To your dismay, that same demon had a similar voice tone. Alluring, speaking to you in a foreign language it had you mewling and asking for forgiveness every time you remembered, cause you had begged the faceless man for more.

"He touches and... t-tastes places I shouldn't allow no man to delve in." With a thick gulp you continued, "His tongue is... marvelous."

His eyes widened for a second as his hand hovered over his crotch

"Marvelous?"

"I feel the biggest sinner by admitting this. Please, do forgive me."

"Accountability is part of the process."

He tried to sound as professional as he could, but little did you know his mind was torturing his already crumbling resolve with such vivid details. Celibacy wasn't a problem, until now. Hearing such sinful words coming from such a unsuspecting thing like yourself, a virgin that is, made his old self to re-emerge.

Disguising himself as a sheep, while he fought through his holy learning years to tame his wolfish appetite.

There were plenty of ewes in the flock , but so far the only one that made his mouth water was you. A perfect little lamb. And now, this. We're you set to making him break his vows?

No. You weren't. He was reaching his limits to break celibacy and you were just having wet dreams about someone that definitely made him wonder about your past life. A past lover? No. Not even that. A possession? A demon? No. Definitely not.

He had heard things whenever on lunch duty. Mindless talk that revealed more to him from others and you than they intended to. You, a nun. Picked up from a ravaged village nearby and raised within the nuns, meaning, you had zero idea of what pleasure meant.

He believed, but wasn't a complete blinded idiot to faith. Your body was asking for physical and forbidden relief. Just like his.

But again, the golden band around his right hand not only forbid but also was the perpetual reminder of what was a stake.

"I know, Father. But... this man has such power over me that has pushed me to sin. He... he has pushed me to take such vulgar matters in my own hands."

Maker's mercy

His cock twitched harder and he was unable hold back and gave a firm squeeze while biting his lip to quiet himself at the long forgotten and heady pleasure that was drowning his body in an alarming rate.

As if done of being fed lies and a quick and sloppy handjob for ages. It was disgusting how easy was to sin, how well his body ached and reacted to such stimulus. How effortlessly his old habits had caught up to him.

He was the one that needed a penance now, cause he couldn't shake the image of you spread with your legs wide open, naked, sliding your fingers in between your weeping folds. You'd certainly have your mouth shut or lips bitten to avoid having anyone hear you.

He had closed his eyes while his jaw clenched, occasionally sweeping his tongue over his lips to keep them moist.

"Say it. Say your sin."

He commanded in a voice that had your cheeks flustered and your pearly nub a throb. His hand half squeezed half stroked over his clothed groin. Swollen and needy cock begging to be set free and properly taken care of.

"I..." A dry gulp and your hands went to your crotch, begging your nature to behave. Cheeks impossibly red.

"I've enjoyed touching myself after dreaming a man... f-fucks me, Father."

The word 'fuck' coming out your delicious looking yet pure lips, had his teeth gnawing at the insides of his cheek, self control harder to keep under the leash. It barked, howled even demanded for more explicit details.

Instead, he sighed quietly and cleared his throat. The sudden noise had you gripping the skirt of your habit in shame.

Miguel didn't say much besides the prayer of absolution and a couple of more prayers as your penance. The same right hand that was squeezing his cock was now being kissed by you, to confirm your forgiveness. Plump, warm and soft lips caressed his ring finger.

And once you were gone, his hand took control on its own, slid under his soutane to stroke himself. If you felt like a sinner, he was the devil himself.

The vice like grip in his own cock made him shudder, sensation foreign yet so welcoming after years without it. A little whine escaped past his gaping mouth, exhaling pecaminous breaths as he stroked like teenage boy that just discovered masturbation for the time ever. Sloppy, desperate and wet motions echoed in the now sullied stall.

He fisted his hand tighter, thick fingers coaxing a much needed release, hips rutting into his choking hand. Quiet whimpers and an array of curses flew out his mouth.

His flushed tip swayed and shook under his own rough ministrations while his jaw clenched, he clawed at the chair when hot and thick spurts of his cum dribbled down his hand and wrist before time; pooling in the hollow of his palm while earning a gutural growl that dissolved into a shaky whimper, as he curled against the wooden and punctured wall for a brief lapse of seconds to regain his composure.

"Fuck..." He had to lay against his chair to keep the light-headedness at bay, drowning in his own made pleasure, panting like he had run a marathon for hours.

He shouldn't have lied back ago. And definitely shouldn't have become a priest. He was soiling their already tainted reputation. His old self was back to stay.

He cleaned up his hand under his robes to then leave to change. He was given a glimpse as you were picking up some harvest in the orchard while he was making his way back home.

---

Window's glasses echoed with the soft rain. The parish has been quiet during weekdays, but busy for you. As winter approaches the harvest must be picked, the grains sorted and the meats stored.

You saw Father O'Hara less and less, and when you did, they were mere glimpses. He was as busy in meetings with other priests, or preparing for the mass that was now given twice a week.

If you weren't in the garden or the laundry, you were in the choir.

Lingering yet brief gazes chased each other. He had heard some nuns speaking about him, some had wonderful things to say, saying that he had been one of the most efficient priests the church has had.

Others mentioned between hushed and bashful whispers about his physical condition and how they caught him go for runs at crack of dawn a couple of times.

And you, just wanted to go to confession again and ask for forgiveness. Not to spill the advantures you had in your dreams with a man that oddly resembled like Father O'Hara, but to unleash your heart's desires to wonder what was beyond the parish.

It was your life, all you've ever known so far. But one of those trips to the city during a beneful visit to another location, had left you amazed. How could a world so different like yours could be considered bad and straying?

But again, vows. Your vows bound you, and once broken, there was no turning back. But right now all that mattered was to get to the dorms. The rest was out in another visit to the city, you were to stay to finish your tasks in the kitchen.

Weather changed so abruptly that one moment you were taking the last basket of vegetables inside, to then run for the dorms to seek refuge. But they were far and the only thing in sight was Father's O'Hara rectory.

It was either getting a terrible fever from the cold and unforgiving rain or ask him to lend you an umbrella to mitigate the glacial numbness spreading through your body. Another reason you barely went out during these days, rains in the countryside were merciless.

Miguel was tending his own garden when the rain begun drenching. Even more when the thunders broke the peaceful white noise. He removed his soutane and shirt off leaving his inner vestments free, but the desperate knock on his door made his undressing ritual to stop.

While quirking an eyebrow, he approached the door and opened it. Eyes widened in surprise upon seeing you, soaked through your bones. lips blue and shivering from the cold.

"P-Please-"

"Jesus. Come in."

He ushered you in, then rushed to get a towel. A frown in his face deepened upon hearing your teeth clatter, clothes stuck to you like a second skin.

"C-Can I... borrow your... u-umbrella?"

Without much though he smoothened the towel against your face, drying it.

"An umbrella? Really?!"

A vehement shake of your head, while trying to get him off you.

"You're freezing cold, the dorms are too far for you to leave. Don't be stubborn."

"I... I don't h-have clothes."

You mumbled through rattling teeth while your eyes darted hazily over his naked torso. He sighed.

"Unbelievable. You're freezing to death and you're worried about clothes. Get them off, I'll put them to dry."

He grumbled while taking more logs into the fire to what would be his living room. If it wasn't for the glacial and biting freeze that refused to leave your body and the foggy thinking in your brain, your cheeks would be beyond red. Crimson even from such simple act.

A weak nod you gave. Your hands stopped bracing your shivering body to focus on removing the cowl and headdress. Releasing through shaky motions your soaked hair that wasted no time to stick on your face and neck.

The next was your crucifix, and praying beads, the tempo you removed them could make a slug to easily win the race, this alarmed him greatly. He had seen what hypothermia did, way before turning himself into this holy persona.

Without much thought, he peeled off your habit that weighed you down.

"Qué mierda más pesada" (Such a heavy shit)

He held you by one arm as he removed the outer layer off. Your eyes drooped and he gave you a little shake.

"Hey, hey, look at me."

Eyes concerned raking over and it dawned on you. Those eyes, the same beautiful and unique eyes were the same that visited in your dreams.

A difficult gulp rolled down your throat as Miguel kept undressing you while grunting. Wet clothes were a pain in his beatific ass. Shivering dicreased, but your lips remained blue, a new shade of purple drawing over them.

"I-It's so cold" You mumbled through laborious breaths.

"Course it's cold. You're soaked! What were you even doing?"

The way he scolded you felt like someone you've known for years was giving you a lecture. So casual, homey, normal. It was Miguel O'Hara speaking, not Father Miguel. The ever gentle and patient man you've been helping.

"Jesús bendito, con cuánta cosa te vistes." (Holy Jesus, so many layers.)

He murmured while pushing you to his chest as he removed the dress that covered your underwear. It felt like a heatless body had been thrown over him, but the warmth irradiating from him felt heavenly. Your form instinctively nuzzled your head on his chest. He had to stop to gulp at the sensations

Even though his mind slapped itself, His couldn't help but wander over your shivering and weak body.

"W-Wait"

A small dark patch hovered above the joint of your legs. Taut peaks followed by lovely areoles ever standing and shivering under the flimsy white fabric of a short nightgown that proved even harder to remove since it clung to you like a second skin, refusing to abandon your body.

He peeled you off of everything despite your protests, but was sufficiently prude to not look over your naked form. A minute too slow and it would be late. Like the young boy in his arms, that had died out of cold once the subversive groups arrived in the forsaken town, they had forced him and the rest to go through a frozen river. He made it, but the boy didn't.

His mind wasn't in the tip of his cock.

That will come later.

But his brain had only one single purpose right now. To keep you alive but for that he needed keep you warm.

Despite the recklessness of his actions, he pulled a freshly folded duvet around while pulling you ontop of his chest and sat together near the fire. Hands moving to dry your hair as much as he could. Your skin was full of goosebumps, frosty to touch, that relished into any source of heat available. His torso, the duvet and the raging bonfire made your head spin.

It felt like his hands, rubbing some life back into your arms while he shielded your body, embracing your form with his torso and limbs. Like a paramedic on duty. Your cheek smooshed against his solid chest, it made him shudder with your own coldness but eventually the body heat treatment would be effective.

"Sorry" it was all you managed before your teeth shuddered again, and his fingers caressed your neck, placing a new wave of delicious heat on your skin.

"You'll be fine."

Your body was slowly but surely returning to it's temperature. Miguel remained there, basking you within his body, fingers gingerly caressing as much cold skin as he could under the duvet. Even his breath provided a little heat. Your erratic breaths collided against his skin, earning a discreet shudder from him.

You had drifted off to limbo, trying to sleep a bit, but unable to completely do so. Not when a man, the Parish Father nonetheless, was holding and nursing you back to an acceptable temperature with his own.

"Father O'Hara..."

Miguel's ears perked up upon you mentioning his name.

"It's Miguel."

He mumbled while drawing lazy circles on your lower back. The fire and the duvet had kept you toasty to curl even more towards him. Teeth no longer clattering.

"Thank you, Father."

"Stop."

His eyes rolled in annoyance, as his hands stopped caressing your skin to then rub his face.

"Stop calling me that."

"But that's your-"

"I don't like it."

He grumbled while looking down at you.

"Call me Miguel."

"I can't do that. Feels too disrespectful."

"I'm not Father O'Hara here, understood?"

You nodded

"Are you cold?"

"I am. Not as before but yes. Has it stopped raining?"

His own smell was making your mind a puddle, some of that fragrant incense remained etched on him.

"No. Just got worse."

You sighed while resting your head on his chest. Heartbeats a mellow lullaby.

"I'm sorry for all of this."

"You were cold and soaked." He pointed dully and bored.

The duvet was brought closer to your chest while staring at the flames. Fingers tracing a lazy and mindless pattern in his abdomen.

"I was picking up the last batch of harvest when rain poured on me."

Your toes curled in as a soft breeze flickered the fire and he tilted his head to watch you closer.

"Now I'll have to explain why there isn't enough corn."

"We'll go by. It's ok."

"Are my clothes ready yet?"

A snort that would be translated into an 'Are you kidding me?', your brow furrowed.

"You'd be lucky if they get dry during the night."

Another defeated sigh. But a sudden thought however made your cheeks burn faintly.

"D-Did you see me naked?"

"No."

Oh.

There was a silent pause before you spoke again. Curiosity tempting.

"Have you seen other women naked?"

He huffed playfully while pushing your hair away from your lovely and sweet face.

"Yes. I was a regular man before all of this."

His fingers curled up in his hand, morphing into a lazy fist

"Do you miss it?"

"Would be a liar to say if I don't."

"You... You've had sex before?"

He chuckled while with an open palm, took a taste of your skin, deliberately roaming your lower back. You shuddered.

"I did. Plenty of times."

Your audible gasp made his eyes droop hazily in a smirking grimace.

"I was told it felt marvelous."

You looked up at him and he pulled your chin upwards, he really had to keep his restrain under a leash to not take you here and there, instead, he cupped your face and hovered his lips over yours

"Do you want me to teach you, Sister?"

He was the demon. The very same one that visited in your dreams and left you a soaked mess. A little too late you'd noticed that he wasn't wearing his vow ring. It was placed somewhere else you truly couldn't care less at the moment.

You only nodded.

"Use your words, dear"

"Please", you gulped, "Teach me."

It was in that moment that he sealed your lips with his. Your first kiss ever. Chaste and sweet at the beginning that slowly turned into this obscene display of his mouth assaulting yours with his tongue in between gentle licks and bites of his lips.

A shaky whine then a whimper escaped your throat upon feeling his hands skimming down your spine. He only let you go when you tapped out for air.

"How often am I on your mind, pequeña?"

Finally the demon in your dreams had turned into a reality. Eyes were closed, unable to look at yourself melting under his touch. Nipples perked against his chest.

Plump and hot lips caressed yours but they stopped. Hands pulled you upwards, Miguel turned you around so your back was now colliding with his chest.

"You're still cold."

Cheeks grew impossibly red while he slowly peeled off the duvet out of your body, leaving you bare before him. You gulped as he moved your hair to a side and slowly kissed up and down your neck.

His hands were unable to resist any more and cupped your mounds, like in your dream. Calloused palms, rough against soft breast.

"Qué maravilla. Is this how your dream goes?

Legs smothered together, a little strip of hair etched to your pubic mount. He hummed in appreciation to then part your legs above his. Cunt pulsing at the coolness of air brushing past it.

Both of your legs dangled ontop of his as you remained nested above. Your heart beat at the playful moves his middle and index finger pulled on your nipple as his free hand darted over the joint of your inner thighs. You could feel him trembling underneath, the restrain made his breath hitch.

Your own turned erratic once more as he slid three fingers in between your folds. A shy Ah escaped your lips while he used two of them to part the outer labia

"Look at that, little one. Is that what you touch when thinking of me?"

Drunk eyes darted between your legs and his skillful hand, the engorged and pearly clit peeked out as one of his fingers flickered slowly. Focusing the right amount of pressure in it that had your moans shaky. He paused to adjust his fingers as they caressed and rubbed as much flesh as they could.

Mouth etched to your ear. Deep and needy breaths fanned behind you

"So so pretty. Look at that"

He made a show of his fingers coating themselves in your slick. One of his digits hovered over your entrance, slowly it disappeared inside. A muffled groan echoed in the void space

A wet and shlicking sound came from his ministrations, head unable to move, too enraptured into watching him sliding in and out. Skin bloomed with a new wave of goosebumps as his tongue licked your neck and earlobe, rewarding you for taking one finger deliciously, that he licked up clean before going back to rub at your clit.

"Want to add another?"

A breathless and hissing yes.

You didn't know who was with you right now since Father O'Hara couldn't. Your brain still refused to believe they were the same man. One preached and talked mass every Sunday, the other had your head spinning while his fingers explored your insides with such gentleness it only increased your whimpers and need for something more and bigger within you.

"Does that feel good, Hm?"

A dumb nod while more escaped your mouth repeatedly

"More?"

"Please!"

How could he deny to such petition? Even most when you were gripping him so deliciously and pulsating with every stroke he delivered in, grazing at your sweetest spot.

"Like this?"

He increased the tempo and your breath hitched, hips moving to meet his fingers aiding them to reach deeper and deeper.

Breaths turned into short and shallow pants, blood rushed to your cheeks. One of his digits pushed past between your lips meeting your moist muscle that wasted no time into kissing it. All you could hear was yourself and your weeping pussy that demanded for more.

But they weren't enough. Brain was sent into an override when the climax washed over you. All the pent up need and lust drowned you. Strong pulsations dictated the contractions that trapped and milked Miguel's fingers. Mind split in two in a shattering and core shaking spasm.

Mouth gaped, eyes heady and drunk with blind hot pleasure, body convulsed while an array of mumbles and clumsy curses flew out of your mouth to finally end with a delicious quivering cry.

"It's okay, shh, it's okay, pequeña." He cooed you through it while kissing your neck. Heart pounding in your ears.

It took you a moment to breath properly. How could you have missed this? How could you remain so ignorant to this? Alienated from something you were often told it was dirty and condemning.

He had only touched in the right places and you were melting. But why stopping there? You knew he also wanted you, his hard on pressing over your lower back, begging to set free.

"M-More"

He shook his head with a proud smile

"Can't do that, preciosa"

A capricious whine came through your throat, "Why not?"

"Cause, as much as I'd love to take you until you recite the bible backwards to me, you know what could happen."

"You don't want me, then? Why stopping now?"

"Far from that. And we must be discreet. Wouldn't want you to be whipped by Sister Lianne."

He took your hand and kissed your wrist. While his other limb pulled you closer to him.

"I am the only one that shall leave marks on you, my dear. Is that clear?"

"Yes, but-" He took your chin in a gentle but firm grip.

"Is that clear?"

You nodded with a pout.

"Lay on the bed."

"What? "

"Lay on the bed, so I can taste you."

Miguel could fulfil that fantasy. With Bambi-like steps you pushed yourself up and walked over his bed. Plush surface welcomed your body under a creak.

"Spread them."

Toes curled up for a second before spreading them open. Clit already tingling with a foreign yet needy sensation.

He kneeled before you, like he did every day he worshipped the Lord. But this time it wasn't God, but you. Nose nuzzled over your inner thighs while taking a whiff of your scent. Tantalizing and so alluring for his own senses.

Slow and deliberate kisses were placed above your flesh, the strip of hair that decored your pussy, to finally sink in between soaked folds.

The mewl you gave only made him feast upon you. Hands grope the sheets by instinct as he spreaded you further.

His tongue lapped and curled at your hole, slurping it without refrain and inhibitions. Devouring it like it would be his last meal.

Your dream had felt too vivid, yes, but this was completely different. This was in a whole new different level. His corruption had tainted your soul and it was gladly welcomed into your arms.

Legs twitched and shook while your head was thrown back, chest heaved with shallow breaths, unable to breath properly as his tongue was set into fucking your drooling hole.

The way his tongue fucked, dribbled and guzzled your cunt had you mewling and moaning the filthiest things you didn't think possible you could get out.

Good was an understatement, heavenly was a measly word to compare what you felt like. It was maddening and he gave you no rest.

Have you ascended? No. He just wrapped your supple thighs around his head, preventing you from squirming too much, holding your hips in place as his sloshing and assailant mouth gave you no rest.

You hadn't recovered completely from the other orgasm when a new one had approached. Lurking around your senses.

His name was moaned, over and over and when your hands were done of clinging onto the sheets, you held onto his hair. Silky and smooth chocolate locks slid under your fingers.

Eyes peeked over you, and he had to pause for a moment to squeeze his cock. Aching and weeping for him to let him free and make you his. But that would come later.

That would come much later when he had more leisure time and when he'd get protection. As much as he wanted to wreck your snug cunt, he didn't want you to be whipped and shamed like another nun was when the higher ups found out she was pregnant by an outsider.

"Miguel"

His name on your lips rich and tasty, like him.

Your voice snapped him out of his trance to immediately go for your clit. Plump lips pursed and captured the engorged nub. While his hands pushed your legs up and folded them, giving a complete access to your pulsating pussy.

He slurped and souped while his tongue teased. Wet laps sent jolts through your spine each time he tasted you.

Too much. Too good and too soon, yet he didn't stop. He shook his head like a mad dog subduing it's prey and that move alone had you gushing over his mouth. He quickly gobbled it all down.

You whined, cried and blabbled, even tried to pull his head away but he delivered you a last stroke with his tongue to then lick his lips clean.

"Please"

You mumbled through blown breaths as he watched you with a lust blown glare.

What had he done out of you?

"Greed is a sin, my dear."

What had he created?

"But if you're good enough, the wait will be worth it."

His little lamb was so willing for him, aching to be tainted, corrupted even more. And his task was to banish such whims.

He'd given you a taste of what laid ahead. A promise of a much unholy reward if you followed this path with him. But your resolve had been made the first time you came.

He'd be your first and last. There wasn't any need for another to teach you what he was compliant to demonstrate.

You'd be his to fuck. His to tame and corrupt.

You'd be his.

---

Taglist:

@plumplumpurin

#miguel o'hara #t writes✨#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #miguel o hara #miguel ohara smut #priest miguel #Miguelverse #spiderman 2099 masterlist #spiderman 2099 smut #priest au #afab reader #Miguel O'Hara x AFAB Reader

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kurogane2512 · 8 months ago

Note

HI KURO I LOVE YOUR WORKS SM CAN YOU PLEASE WRITE CHIORI AND G!P READER WHERE READER FUCKS THE HELL OUT OF CHIORI AFTER BEING PENT UP FOR SO LONG 😓😓

In celebration of Chiori's release, here you go!

18+ CONTENT

Game: Genshin Impact

Characters: Chiori x g!p reader

Type: Smut (blowjob, table sex, creampie)

It was a pleasant evening when you went to Chiori's boutique to ask for a new set of formal clothes as you were to attend a gathering at your workplace in a week. You didn't expect the shop to be so filled to the brim even at this hour, but you knew it couldn't be helped.

"Welcome to Chioriya Boutique. How may I help you?" Chiori's assistant greeted you at the entrance, you glanced around and saw Chiori attending to a customer hence decided to wait for her. Chiori also saw you walk in but paid no heed and focused on her work at hand, that's just how she was and you had problems. You sat in the waiting area and watched her diligently work with the customers around her, admiring her style and ethics.

You didn't expect her to tend to you first just because you were her partner; and frankly, you preferred to be tended later when there were less people around. Hours passed as you sat and waited, occassionally helping yourself to some tea and snacks and reading some magazines. You realized you were the last in line since nobody else came in after you and Chiori was still quite busy with others.

At last, Chiori was finally free to tend to you but to her surprise, you had fallen asleep on the couch while waiting for her. Her expression remained steeled but she felt slightly guilty inside for making you wait so long, it was perhaps due to the fact that she knew you won't force yourself in the middle that she rested easy and decided to come to you last.

She sent her assistants home for the day and closed the blinders of the shop then walked up to you and extended her hands towards your face to cup it but quickly retracted it and cleared her throat.

"Y/n, wake up. It's your turn now."

Her sharp voice rang through your ears and you jolted awake to see her standing in front of you with her arms crossed over chest. You hurriedly stood up but looked around to see the shop was empty and she had pulled out the blinders in the front, finally realizing it was quite late.

"A-Ah, I'm sorry. It seems you are closing up now, I'll come tomorrow morning."

Chiori stared at you with her usual straightforward expression then held your wrist and pulled you towards her work table before grabbing her tools.

"Don't waste time. What clothes do you want?"

"Um... I wanted a formal suit for a workplace gathering, something elegant and simple but enough as a party wear, if that makes sense."

Chiori nodded and took out a few fabric pieces to make you choose, you hesitantly went over the choices then finally picked one of them and she grabbed her measuring tape then came in front of you.

"W-Wait, don't you already have my measurements....?"

"Hmph, and what if you have changed in some areas? The measurements are almost 4 months old now, and with your eating habits I'm certain you have lost a few inches here and there."

"H-Hey, don't put it so bluntly. I try to eat well now..." you spoke in an embarrassed tone and looked away. Chiori smiled to herself for a moment then donned her usual expression and began taking your measurements.

"Hmm... I knew it, your shoulders are thinner by 3 cm.... and your waist by 8 cm... Seriously, what are you even eating?"

Chiori mumbled as she went all around your upper body then kneeled down in front to take measurements for your pants. You blushed all of a sudden looking at her in such a tempting position and felt your cock twitch in your pants, hoping she would be done soon and doesn't notice. Chiori then placed the tape on your pants' button and aligned it till your crotch point, noticing a small bulge as soon as she pressed the tape on it.

Chiori grinned and pressed the tape once again, earning a startled gasp from you. "Hmm, seems one part of you has grown at the very least. Looks like all that you are eating is going here~"

Chiori teased while palming your crotch, vibrations going up your body. She then zipped down your flyer and fished out your semi-erect cock, pumping it slowly and languidly.

"Ngh~ C-Chiori...."

"....I'll make it up to you for the wait." Chiori whispered then kissed your tip, your face becoming flushed at her actions.

"But first, take off your clothes. I don't want any fabrics getting dirty."

You couldn't do anything but comply, you swiftly pulled off your shirt and pants then stood in front of her and watched her pull down her kimono followed by her tights, keeping her underwear on. She dropped to her knees again and began pumping your cock like before, the length fully erect now. She placed her lips around the head and swiped her tongue over the slit, sucking and licking your cock.

Your groaned and gently held her head to stabilise yourself, she began bobbing her head up and down your length now. You thrusted your hips into her with a rhythmic motion, your tip brushing the back of her throat every time. Her hands massaged your balls and pumped your base as she continued bobbing her head, you sighed at the feeling of her warm and wet tongue slurping along that one vein and the way her cheeks hollowed as she sucked.

"Gah—! Chiori! T-Too fast—!~"

"I have to... close the shop soon.... hurry up and cum." Chiori moaned around your length, sending shivers down your body and you gripped her hair tighter.

Chiori eagerly bobbed her head and sucked your cock as if she was starved, perhaps she really felt bad for making you wait this long, or perhaps she simply wanted this so much. Your cock twitched as you formed a perfect rhythm with your thrusts, lightly gripping her hair and pulling her closer to plunge deeper.

"I'm close....nggh~" you moaned and Chiori hummed then swallowed your cock entirely, your eyes rolling to your skull as you instantly released inside her. Your hips jerked forward and you pulled her mouth flush against your abdomen, sending small thrusts inside her as you spurted your load. Chiori barely managed to swallow all your load, some drops dripping down her chin onto her breasts that she scooped up and licked.

"How messy. Good thing we removed our clothes." Chiori teased with a grin as she stood up and you suddenly pushed her to the table before turning her around and bending her body on it. Chiori gasped in surprise then moaned feeling your throbbing cockhead rub against her own drenched folds.

"Hmm.... you are slow, Y/n. Put it in already."

"I'm slow? Did you forget you are the one who made me wait for hours?~" you husked in her ear and licked the shell, your body resting on her back as you continued grinding your cock between her thighs.

"H-Hmph! Don't consider yourself special just cause you are my girlfriend—!"

"Oh, but I do. After all, you wouldn't accept this payment method from anyone else, right?~"

"Heh, do you want to be thrown out of my shop?~"

"Oh, try me~"

You immediately sheathed inside her in a swift motion, a loud gasp leaving her mouth as her body arched off the table. Your groaned at her tightness, her walls clenching you so well. You rutted into her in slow and shallow thrusts at first, making her more restless as she chased her release.

"I told you to get on with it! It's already so late—Mhm!~"

You suddenly slammed deep inside, prodding her sensitive spot. You then continued hammering against that same spot with a fast pace, your thighs slapping against her ass eliciting erotic noises in the shop. It was a good thing she put the blinders on the window, otherwise the Thundering Seamstress' dignity would be in trouble. You pounded at an animalistic pace, her body arching into you with each thrust and a moan filling your ears.

"Gonna cum again... damn, you are so tight for me, Chiori~"

"Mhmmm.... s-stop talking.... just fuck me....!~"

"My, such crude language is unbecoming of you, Ms Chiori~"

You smiked and pushed her further down by her lower back, making a beautiful arch of her body. You gripped her hips and drilled forward, your thick cock splitting her open. Her mind was hazy fron the stimulations, and soon after she felt a surge of hot and gooey liquid filling her up. She moaned as her walls clenched your cock and she released too, a ring of cum forming at the base of your cock.

You pulled out and watched some of the cum drip down her folds while she laid panting atop the table. You turned her around and held her up in your arms, her hands wrapping around your neck and legs around your waist. You kissed her deeply and passionately, then carried her to the couch and plunged your cock inside her again.

"H-Hey! Let's go home and— aaah!~"

"No, we do it right here. You made me wait for so long, you have to compensate me right~"

#genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin impact #genshin women #genshin x reader #chiori #chiori x reader #g!p reader

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mothdruid · 1 year ago

Text

Losers Prize

pairing. Brian O'Conner x afab!reader

word count. 1k

warnings. this is a 18+ work, minor's buzz off. smut, fluff, oral sex, penetrative sex, unprotected sex.

author's note. I told all of you it was coming. i just needed to get this out of my system. so like, here's my Brian O'Conner smut fic. and i guess for reference, this is like during the second movie when Brian is in Miami. k bye.

This wasn't how the night was supposed to go. Not one bit.

You were supposed to race, win, then go home with your cash.

What wasn't supposed to happen was the fourth not showing up. What wasn't supposed to happen was Tej calling Brian O'Conner. What wasn't supposed to happen was Brian winning the damn race. And what definitely wasn't supposed to happen was you going home with Brian.

But here you were, head thrown back as Brian was eating you out. Blonde locks threaded in between your fingers, tugged on periodically. Moans were pouring from your lips, Brian not letting up no matter how hard you pulled.

"Fuck, Bri," you whimpered.

He was staring up at you, bright blue eyes locking with yours. A flick from his tongue had you breaking eye contact, rolling your head back. The barely comfortable sheets were tight in your free hand. Brian's arms were under your legs, hands on your hips to hold you in place. The thick Floridian air was making sweat permeate on the both of you.

"Tell me what you want," Brian said before lapping at your cunt again.

"What I want is for you to fuck me," you replied with a bit of bite.

Brian rolled his eyes while he sucked on your clit, hard. Your hand tightened almost painfully in his hair. You propped yourself up with one elbow to watch Brian. The tightness in your abdomen was becoming unbearable. This slinky racer had you on the edge of pleasure, giving you just enough to keep you there and not push you over.

"Come on, Brian," you whined.

Brian smirked against your cunt and decided to give you what you wanted. His tongue worked over your clit feverishly. The feeling made you drop your head back, knowing this was it.

The tightness in your abdomen snapped, pleasure washing over you. Brian's hands held your hips in place, stopping them from pressing against him too hard. Moans were falling from you, head rolling back and forth on the bed. Brian tongue didn't seem to stop, making your legs start to quiver.

"Brian, please!" You yelped, the sensations becoming too much.

The plea did its job. Brian removed himself from your lower half. He climbed up your body, diligent placed kisses on your skin the whole way up. You smashed your lips to his, tasting yourself on his lips. A moan left you while your tongue roamed his. His hair was tight between your fingers.

"That enough for you?" Brian smiled against your lips.

A hand came up to cup your jaw. You opened your eyes after he broke the kiss. Your hands had moved to his shorts, unbuckling them as quick as you could. Brian let out a soft chuckle, resting his forehead against yours.

"And here I thought you didn't want to see me tonight," Brian kissed you again.

"I didn't," you started pushing his shorts and boxers down, "plan on losing either."

Brian groaned when you took him in your hand. Each stroke had him placing a kiss to your skin. Your neck, cheek, shoulder, chest, it didn't matter what body part. Brian just needed you, craved you.

Neither of you could wait anymore. You hooked your legs around his waist and pulled him closer to you. Brian groaned when his cock rubbed your cunt. The spit and cum from him eating you out made the perfect lubricant for him. The head of his cock would periodically catch against your entrance as he rutted his hips.

"Brian, if you don-" The head of his cock slipped into you, stopping your words mid sentence.

"If I don't what?" Brian asked with a smirk.

All you could respond with was a moan as he pushed deeper into you. Finally his hips were completely flush with your own, cock completely shoved inside of your cunt. You clenched around him, eliciting a groan from him. Eventually his hips started moving, thrusting in and out of you.

The rhythm was sensual yet quick. He was hitting the perfect spot inside of you, the one that had your whole body clenching. Your arms were wrapped around his shoulders, keeping him close while he rammed into you. His hands were kneading your ass and sides. You couldn't keep your mind straight, thinking about all the different sensations.

Brian was nuzzled into your neck, placing soft wet kisses where ever he could. The occasional nip had you moaning loudly. He pulled back for a moment, looking down at you. One hand came up to your face, cupping your cheek as he went in for a bruising kiss. During the kiss his thrusts became more powerful, pushing you over the edge.

He kept thrusting in and out of you, keeping your orgasm going for as long as he could. Once it subsided, he thrusted only a few more times only to pull out and come on your stomach. The groans that he produced while coming were gorgeous. He held you carefully, trying to keep the cum from getting on himself.

Eventually, he got up and searched down a hand towel to clean you up with. He wet it before giving it to you, letting you clean yourself up. He knew that's what you preferred to do anyways, no matter how many times he tried to be gentlemanly about it. Brian found an old pair of basketball shorts on the floor, putting them on before searching a clean t-shirt for you. You happily accepted the t-shirt, slipping it on then finding your underwear to put on.

"I take it you're staying then?" Brian asked as he got on the bed next to you.

"You did take my money tonight, the least you can do is let me stay," you placed a kiss to his cheek.

Brian smiled at you.

"Hey, a race is a race," Brian playfully argued.

"I never disagreed with that," you said while cuddling into him.

"Isn't this enough of a prize?" Brian joked while gesturing to himself.

"Are you calling yourself the loser's prize?" You questioned, quirking an eyebrow up.

"Only if you're the loser."

#brian o'conner #brian o'conner smut #brian o'conner x reader #brian o'conner imagine #brian o'conner fanfiction #fast and furious fanfiction #i'm so sorry but yet not sorry at all #okay bye forever

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spider-stark · 1 year ago

Text

a cruel fate

Aegon II Targaryen x Reader

Summary - Having been in love with Aegon your entire life, you always assumed that he never felt the same. Now set to wed his brother, Aemond, your frustration finally peaks and leads to you confessing your feelings.

Warnings - suggestive language/actions, light use of y/n (sorry), sad aegon lol, minors dni please

// send me your thoughts // friendly reminder that reblogs and comments are always appreciated //

Winter had fallen over King’s Landing, offering the air an undeniable chill. It nipped relentlessly at your skin, tinting your cheeks a deep shade of maroon.

You weren’t dressed appropriately for the weather, still wearing the same black gown that you’d donned at supper. It was a sleek and simplistic thing, one of your favorites, though it left much of your neck and forearms exposed to the frigid elements.

Gooseflesh began to form along the bare bits of skin, your body’s way of urging you to go back inside the castle and seek out some semblance of warmth.

Despite knowing that it was the logical thing to do, you didn’t listen. Instead, you brought your knees up to your chest, pressing your forehead against them and further curling into yourself, trying to lock in as much of your body heat as possible.

Eventually you would have to go back inside the Red Keep, even if only to prevent hypothermia from setting in. But returning inside meant returning to reality; one that you knew you weren’t quite ready to face again.

So, for now at least, you were content to sit here beneath the weirwood tree and risk freezing to death.

A strange part of you considered whether death was a more desirable fate than the one you would soon face—though the thought alone was enough to spawn a feeling of guilt deep within your stomach, creeping its way up your throat and making you feel nauseous.

Prince Aemond Targaryen was a decent man.

Or, at the very least, he was far more decent than some of the men that wanted your hand.

There were countless women who would gladly kill for an opportunity to take your place, and you knew that of all the things you should be feeling right now, grateful should be farther up on the list. After all, King Viserys’s youngest son was highly sought after for countless reasons.

Aemond was undoubtedly intelligent. He had been studying intricate works of philosophy for nearly two decades, and you knew him to be capable of reciting the great histories of Westeros from memory alone.

He practiced diligently with members of the Kings Guard, having gripped steel in his palms since he was old enough to stand. This meant his talent with a blade was nearly unmatched, leaving him highly revered for his dedication and talent, desired for his capability to protect those around him.

And, as much as you wished to deny it, Aemond was an incredibly handsome man; even with the leather patch covering his missing eye.

You were lucky to have ended up betrothed to him, someone that you had known for most of your life and knew would treat you fairly. You were lucky to be granted such a position, one that so many wanted.

But try as you might, whenever you find yourself thinking of your betrothed, you can’t make yourself feel lucky, knowing that it was a fate you did not want.

You just felt sick.

So, instead of celebrating your impending union within the comfort of the Red Keep, hand-in-hand with your future husband, you sat in the dirt beneath the weirwood.

Hiding—from both the future that awaited you and what would soon be left in your past.

Unfortunately, the latter was much harder to hide from, given that your past had a nasty habit of always knowing exactly where to find you.

“Seven hells, y/n! It’s fucking freezing out here!”

The sound of Aegon’s voice was unexpected, nearly making you jump from your own skin. You lifted your head to look in his direction so fast that you smacked it against the tree behind you. A pained gasp slipped your lips, followed by a hushed series of expletives as a throbbing spread throughout the base of your skull.

If anyone else were around, they likely would have scolded you for your vulgar use of language, marking it unladylike and improper. But Aegon only laughed at it.

“Careful now,” he warned playfully, taking another few lazy steps in your direction, “can’t say my brother would be too pleased to hear that his betrothed bashed her own skull in just days before their wedding.”

You couldn’t understand how you hadn’t heard him approaching, knowing that stealth wasn’t exactly a quality the eldest prince possessed.

Aegon was always careless and heavy footed, always quick to make his presence known; the opposite of his brother. But tonight, it seemed as if he’d borrowed upon Aemond’s skills–or, more likely, you had been too consumed in your own misery to pay any attention.

“I’ve been looking for you, you know.” A boyish grin tugged at his pale lips, stopping at the base of your feet and looking down at you.

For many it was an unusual sight to see Aegon smile, with most having grown used to the permanent scowl that seemed to grace his features. For you, though, it was a standard expression.

Rubbing at the sore spot on the back of your head, you kept your chin low, refusing to look up as you spoke roughly, “My apologies, your grace. I wasn’t aware my presence was needed anywhere.”

Aegon’s brow instantly cocked, forehead creasing as he took in both the bitterness and the formality of your statement.

It was rare that you addressed him with proper terms and hearing them now made him feel uneasy. Your willingness to ignore the politics that threatened to consume his life was one of the many things Aegon adored about you, knowing that with you, he wasn’t the prince or even the King’s true heir—he was just Aegon.

“Your presence is always needed.” He spoke without thinking, sharing the first thing that came to mind. When you stayed silent, he felt his face grow warm.

Clearing his throat and trying to redirect, he impishly bumped his foot against yours to try and draw your attention. It didn’t work, your stare fixed to your lap. “Why are you hiding out here anyways?”

“I’m not hiding.” You swiftly corrected him, finally lowering your hand as the pain in your head dissipated to a dull ache. “I just wanted some fresh air.”

“You should have told me,” he said, once again failing to hold his tongue, “I would’ve joined you.”

Restraint had never been a strong suit of his, yet it seemed to fail him further whenever you were around.

Aegon had never quite gotten used to having someone who actually wanted him around. Growing up surrounded by those who only ever searched for ways to avoid him, he had grown familiar with loneliness.

But then you came along one day, a scared little girl whose father had just secured a place in King Viserys’s council. Aegon remembered thinking that you seemed just as out-of-place as he did, trying to make a home of this unfamiliar land.

Imagining that you were even half as lonely as he felt, he took pity on you, approaching you on a whim and cracking some awful joke to ease your mind. And, to his surprise, it worked. Laughter reverberated through your little body, spilling from your lips and urging him to laugh too.

With one petty and uncharacteristic act of kindness, Aegon became your first friend in the Red Keep, and you became the first person to not just tolerate his presence, but to actually enjoy it.

It became an addicting feeling for him, seeking out your company and using it to stave away decades loneliness. With you, he felt that he was always pining, always craving—always the opposite of himself.

You smiled in response to his statement, though he was quick to realize that it wasn’t a kind one. It resembled more of a snarl, lips pressed tightly together, voice taut as you said, “I wasn’t in the mood for company.”

Aegon’s body immediately went stiff, a pang of rejection coursing through him and making his face screw up. It was intentional, of course, as you knew him well enough to know he would take your comment personally. You hoped it would piss him off enough to make him leave entirely.

Of course, though, things were never that easy with Aegon.

“Alright, what did I do?” He asked gruffly, sounding an awful lot like a child waiting to be scolded.

“What do you mean?”

“To piss you off!” He all but whined, voice growing louder as his short temper began to rise. “What did I do to make you act like this?”

You were stumped, left to purse your lips as you struggled to conjure an answer that didn’t involve you telling him the truth.

Aegon had been on his best behavior as of late. It had been ages since you last heard of him visiting the Street of Silk and he hadn’t been allowing himself to fall too deeply into his cups.

In many ways, it seemed that since your betrothal to his brother was announced, Aegon had been far more composed, happier, even—a fact that likely should have made you happy as well.

But it didn’t.

If anything, it made you miserable.

With a deep sigh, agitated by your own complicated feelings and him, you answered with a half-truth, “You haven’t done anything, my prince.”

The sound of that word, that fucking title, falling from your lips was enough to snap something within him, his quick temper getting the better of him.

An annoyed growl ripped through his throat, stomping his foot against the dirt. Even without looking at him you could feel his lilac eyes burning into you, glaring down at you.

“Stop that.”

You played coy, repeating the phrase that had gotten a rise out of him. “Stop what, my prince?”

In a selfish way, you wanted him to be angry, to feel even half as unhappy as you were right now.

“Stop talking to me like my mother’s around!” He grumbled.

Bold and fueled by your own misery, you pushed him further, “Is that a command, my pri-”

Aegon cut you off before you had a chance to antagonize him further, shouting far louder than intended, “No! It’s not a fucking command!”

You were instantly stunned, finally breaking as your gaze flicked up from your lap, staring at him with wide-eyes.

This wasn’t the first time you had heard Aegon yell.

After all, you’d grown up with him, having practically become the elder boy’s shadow. You had heard him yell at knights, at servants, and even his siblings—but this was the first time he had ever yelled at you.

You expected to be scared, having found yourself the target of his short temper. But, in a strange way, you found that you liked it. For a moment, however brief, you were the target of his passion. Even if it wasn’t in the way you wanted, it was still something.

Aegon clearly didn’t share those feelings though, regret swiftly washing over him. He took a deep breath, his head lowering as he attempted to calm himself.

“You know that I would never command you to do anything.” He told you, much softer than before. A hand rose to his head, his fingers roughly tugging at his silvery locks. “I was only asking you to stop. As your friend.”

You knew that his statement was meant as a kindness. A testament, even, that he would never use his position of power against you, viewing you as far more than one of his father's subjects. Knowing that, however, did not stop it from landing against your chest like a harsh blow, your lip curling in disgust at the sound.

For years you had thought yourself happy to have Aegon as a friend. But, as much as you didn’t wish to admit it, you knew that you would be far happier to have him as more than that.

As the two of you grew older, you found yourself tired of sitting on the sidelines, watching as Aegon lusted over every woman that crossed his path. You watched as he chased after servants and whores, throwing his attention and his cock at anyone who would pay him any attention.

Except for you.

Often it felt as if you were the only woman in the world that he didn’t want, even as you grew desperate for him. While Aegon seemingly craved your friendship, you craved him.

Having become further vexed by your own thoughts, you let out a particularly loud huff, falling back against the weirwood tree and ignoring the way Aegon’s brows raised at your dramatic display. “Not for much longer.” You proclaimed, watching blankly as your breath turned to a cloudy mist amongst the cool air. “So you should get used to the formalities.”

“Well what the fuck do you mean by that?” Aegon asked, sounding thoroughly exasperated.

He found females to be entirely too difficult to communicate with. They were fickle creatures, prone to speaking in riddles and leaving him with a kind of headache that couldn’t be easily remedied. It was the reason he did his best to avoid them altogether, save for whenever one was crawling into his bed.

You were an exception, however. The only woman he cared enough about to actually try and decode your cryptic speech.

“I’ll be married soon,” you told him simply, shoulders lifting in a careless shrug, “it’ll change things.”

“Ah, yes!” Aegon commented caustically, laughing dryly, “My apologies! I forgot that as soon as you’re wed my brother plans to throw you in the Maidenvault, never to be seen again!”

You cut your eyes at him, letting your head drop back against your knees. “So glad that you’re taking this seriously, Aeg.”

The muffled remark made his laughter grow quiet, realizing that you clearly weren’t in the mood for his antics. For whatever reason, even if he didn’t understand it, you were serious about thinking that your marriage to Aemond would affect your friendship.

Silence settled over the two of you, a suffocating and heavy sort of thing. The ground crunched beneath his boots, and you wondered if he had finally had enough of your temperamental behavior.

It was a thought that should’ve brought you some relief, given that you had been purposely trying to piss him off enough that he’d leave you to wallow alone in your misery, but it didn’t. Instead, you only grew more agitated at the thought of Aegon running off to seek out the company of someone far more amenable than you.

You went to lift your head, already considering pleading with him to stay, before you suddenly felt the warmth of his body pressing against your side as he sat on the ground with you.

The close proximity quelled your building nerves, your muscles instinctively relaxing in his presence.

“So you’re not angry at me,” he ventured, seemingly unaware of the fact that your heart was now in your throat, your mind too fixated on the way his forearm was pressed against yours, “you’re upset about your betrothal?”

His tone took you by surprise, now lacking the humor it once held and sounding far more pensive. The newfound solemnity wasn’t enough to stop him from playfully jutting an elbow into your side though, silently urging you to lift your head.

You obliged with his request, though you didn’t let yourself face him as you muttered out an answer. “I guess so.”

“But why? This was what we wanted, was it not?”

We—a simple phrase, inherently meaningless and yet still powerful enough to cause your chest to tighten.

“We always agreed that when it came time for you to marry that it would be best for it to be someone here, right? That way you wouldn’t have to leave King’s Landing!”

So you wouldn’t have to leave him.

“Well, yes,” you huffed, cheeks beginning to heat as you struggled to find an easy explanation for your feelings, “but it’s just–I don’t know, this isn’t how I imagined things would go!”

It was true enough.

Perhaps Aegon’s only hope had been that you would be betrothed to someone nearby, unwilling to lose his best friend. But your hope had only ever been that you would be betrothed to him.

“Is it Aemond?” He guessed, trying to think of any reason for your animosity. Without waiting for confirmation, he hastily started to form a defense for it. “I know he’s a bit of a twat, but it’s not like you’ll be expected to spend all your time with him! Dozens of women only ever see their husbands on special occasions, do they not? Like tourneys or fucking-”

You threw your head back and grimaced, a repulsed sound coming from your lips at the reminder of the duty that would soon be placed upon you. Cursed as a woman, you would be expected to give Aemond an heir; a thought you’d been trying to avoid.

“Seven hells, Aeg! It’s not about that!” You cried out, nose wrinkling.

“Oh.”

He sank back against the weirwood, his shoulders slumping forward as he did. Then, after a moment, he asked, “Does that mean you actually want to fuck my brother?” He cocked a brow at you, starting to motion to the left side of his face. “Even with the whole, ya know-”

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying not to laugh at the disgusted expression he wore. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m just wondering!” Aegon defended himself, lifting his hands to his chest, palms facing outwards.

“Well not everything is about fucking, Aegon.” You said sternly.

“Sooo,” he popped his lips, giving you a sheepish grin that let you know he wasn’t planning to drop the question, “you don’t want to fuck him then?”

Scowling, you reached over to swat roughly at his forearm, unable to hold back your amusement as you watched him try to scramble back from the strike, chuckling at your weak attempt to hit him.

“No, Aeg. I don’t want to fuck your brother.” You clarified, rolling your eyes at his juvenile behavior. “Not that it’s any of your business in the first place.”

The answer seemed to satisfy the eldest prince, moving back to settle against the tree with a smug smirk. “Then aside from fucking Aemond,” he jeered, “what’s the problem? We should be celebrating!”

He leaned closer, delicately grabbing hold of your wrist and lightly shaking you. Your smile abruptly fell, posture straightening. Aegon didn’t notice the changes in your body language, only continuing his spiel.

“This marriage will solve everything! Your father is pleased that you’re marrying a prince, and being with Aemond means that you won’t even have to leave the Keep! It all works out perfectly.”

“You’re right,” you heaved out a breath, snatching your wrist from his hand and rising to your feet, “it clearly solves everything!”

“Yet you’re still not happy.” Aegon acknowledged, mild amusement twinkling in his lilac eyes as he watched you begin to frantically pace back and forth beside him.

“How could I be?” You scoffed, throwing your hands up as you spun roughly on your heel. “Here I am, being forced to marry Aemond-”

“Yes, being forced to marry a prince, how dreadful.” Aegon droned.

“I am signing away my life, Aegon!” You glared at him, keeping your voice low as you jutted a finger against your chest. “I am aware that the cards I’ve been dealt are much kinder than some others, but that does not make them desirable!”

It felt as if your frustration had reached its peak, your words beginning to spill out without a second thought.

“As soon as I’m wed to your brother I will be locked away in that fucking castle, good for absolutely nothing but supplying him with heirs! And should I fail at that, then I’ll be as good as useless!”

It pained you to speak your thoughts aloud, unable to fight back against the guilt suddenly gnawing at you. Growing up Aemond had never been anything less than respectful towards you; but even so, you knew his respect would only extend so far.

Patient as he may be, there was little in this world that mattered more to him than duty, and you knew he would be expecting you to fulfill yours, regardless of your own wants.

Ceasing your incessant assault against the ground you froze by Aegon’s feet, now rubbing at your temples. “So yes, this marriage most certainly solves everything.” You spat, voice full of bitter sadness. “I'll be subjected to a cruel fate, where my worth will become equated to that of a broodmare and I’ll be forced to live my life knowing that I will never wed the man I actually want!”

The subtle admission nearly went over Aegon’s head, your words spilling out so fast that he could just barely register them—but he did.

The half-way-confession caught him off-guard, the color draining from his face as he processed it. Of all the issues he expected you to have with your betrothal to Aemond, he hadn’t once expected it to be because someone else had already claimed your heart.

Thinking of it now, knowing it to be a possibility, only succeeded in causing his short temper to flare once again. Aegon’s fists clenched at his sides, nails digging deep into the heel of his palm.

“Who?”

His voice came out unusually low, his eyes darkening as they landed on you. You instantly felt trapped under his gaze, lips parting only to fall closed once again, trying to think of a way out of the corner you’d backed yourself into.

When you stayed silent, Aegon pushed himself to his feet in a single swift motion, easily towering over your frame and leaving you to shrink further beneath him.

“If not Aemond,” he practically snarled, his lip curling as his brother’s name rolled from his tongue like a curse, “then who do you wish to wed?”

You wanted to disappear.

You wished that the ground would open up under your feet and swallow you whole.

But you knew that there was no true escape from him, stumbling a half step back and tilting your head to the ground, doing everything in your power to evade his piercing stare until you could work up a lie that made sense.

It nearly worked too, until a hand came to rest under your chin, firmly grasping it and shoving it upwards, forcing you to meet his stare.

Aegon’s jaw was unbelievably tense, clenched tight as a barely contained rage swirled to life in his eyes, impatiently awaiting an answer.

Now, unable to look away from him, you noticed how much he couldn’t stand this—the idea of you being the one to pine and crave for someone, for you feel anything for another. For some reason, one that no doubt left you perplexed, it was apparent now that Aegon had only accepted your betrothal with ease because he knew it to be out of duty—not love.

“It doesn’t matter.” You whispered, biting your tongue to hold back the desperate admission building in your throat.

You tried to hold onto the last few scrapes of your sanity, reminding yourself that confessing now would gain you nothing.

If Aegon cared for you—if he loved you—then he’d had over a decade to admit it, or to even just show it in a way you could understand.

“Of course it does.” He rebutted firmly, unwavering in his demand for an answer.

His touch began to drift, fingers softly sliding along your jawline before the warmth of his palm came to cradle your cheek. It was an unusual feeling, having him so close, but you let yourself savor it, greedily lapping up every bit of intimacy he’d offer you.

“Please,” he urged you, the scent of wine on his breath piercing your senses, “tell me who.”

You weren’t sure you’d ever heard him sound like this before, his tone a near whine. It was the closest Aegon had ever come to begging you for something, and as you squeezed your eyes shut tighter, you found yourself losing all sense of reason, unable to hold back any longer.

“You.”

A breathless admission, one that held no expectations as to what he might say or do in response. A cynical part of you sought to brace yourself, half-expecting him to take it as a joke and laugh in your face at the thought of being with you.

But Aegon didn’t laugh, even as his hand fell from your face, allowing the cold to kiss your cheek once again.

Your eyes shot open at the loss of contact, stunned as you saw Aegon stumbling back from you, nearly tripping over his own feet. There was no look of amusement like you’d expected, nor one of disdain. Instead, to your surprise, he appeared to be hurt by the confession.

Staring at him, too dumbfounded to speak, you watched the way his bottom lip trembled, lilac eyes turning glossy with unshed tears. Then he shook his head, strands of silver hair falling in his face.

“No.” He all but choked on the word, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re lying.”

Your brows snapped together, offended as you just barely stuttered out an answer. “What? Why would I–what would I gain from lying about this?”

“I don’t know!” Aegon cried out, a few tears beginning to slide freely down his cheeks. He was quick to wipe them away with the backs of his hands, embarrassed by his own emotions. “But I refuse to accept that it’s the truth!”

“Refusing to accept it will not make it any less true, Aeg!” You countered, stepping towards him and tried to close the distance he had created. “Perhaps it’s selfish of me to say it, especially now, but I swear to you that I mean what I say!”

It felt foolish to do this, to stand before your best friend and declare him as the man you wished to wed, just days before you were to be given to his brother. You felt ignorant to place yourself in this position, to have set yourself up for rejection after all these years.

But none of that mattered now, you supposed. You could not take back what you said, having already handed him your still-beating heart. All that was left to do was wait—praying he would be kind enough to not crush it in his hands.

And so, knowing that you couldn’t back out of this, you swallowed what remained of your pride and said the words that had been living in your head for a decade now.

“I love you, Aegon. I denied it for so many years and spent several more trying to bury it, but I love you.”

Aegon remained motionless, his glistening eyes searching yours for any sign of deceit. He found none, only seeing that despite any logic or reason, it was the truth.

As flawed as he may be and as much as he didn’t want to believe it, you were in love with him.

Wetness gathered on your cheeks, making you realize that you were crying now too. Aegon stayed silent, each passing second causing your heart to grow heavier, an emptiness cleaving its way through your chest.

He’s had over a decade to admit any feelings he might have–you reminded yourself, squeezing your eyes shut and letting more tears fall free. You had expected this—assumed that Aegon would never see you as anything more than his friend—but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

“I told you that things would change-” you tried to speak, wanting to get this over with. It was best for him to break your heart quickly, you thought, so that you could at least escape this moment.

But Aegon didn’t let you finish your sentence, hands suddenly grabbing at your waist, pulling you into his chest. You gasped at the movement, eyes opening as both of your palms moved to press flat against his tunic, trying to steady yourself.

Disoriented, you blinked at him, waiting for some sort of explanation. He didn’t offer one, at least not immediately. You couldn’t read his expression, quietly watching as his tear-stained face began to soften.

Then, gently, he spoke—”Say it again.”

A flush crept up your neck. “I love you.”

“You shouldn’t.” He said, his thumb pressing into your abdomen as he gripped you tighter.

“But I do,” you assured him, breathless as you repeated it again, “I have loved you my entire life, Aegon–even if you don’t feel the same.”

Lilac eyes narrowed at your insecure claim. “Have I ever said that I don’t?” He tilted his head, hands sliding down to your hips and shoving you back against the smooth bark of the weirwood. “I have been madly in love with you from the very first moment I saw you.”

A mixture of doubt and relief flooded your mind, grappling with the authenticity of his promise. “But you never said anything-”

“Because I’m not worthy of someone like you.” Aegon winced at the sound of his own words. “You’ve seen it yourself throughout the years. Heard it from the mouths of my own family. I am a coward and an imbecile, but you-” his nails dug through the fabric of your gown, his body pressing against yours and further caging you against the tree, “are the only good in my life. The only one who gives me a reason to be good.”

Pain etched across his features as he talked of the way others thought of him, of the way his own family thought of him. The sight nearly made you crumble against him.

You brought a hand to his cheek, softly caressing his skin. “You should’ve told me.”

“No,” he asserted, nuzzling into your touch, “I knew that if I told you how I felt and you didn’t return my feelings that it would change things between us. I wasn’t willing to risk losing you.” Aegon paused, his gaze flickering to your lips, “I don’t think I can live without you in my life.”

Disbelief clouded your mind. This wasn’t real, you wanted to tell yourself, feeling delirious, this can’t be real.

But you could feel him; his fingers pressing into your flesh, the steady rise-and-fall of his chest against yours. You could smell him; sweet notes of red wine lacing his breath, engulfing your senses. And you could see him; watching as his lilac stare got hung up on your mouth, your throat, your collarbones, swirling with a dangerous blend of lust and adoration.

You didn’t want to think of tomorrow or the next day. You didn’t want to think of your betrothal to Aemond and what would become of your life.

Because tonight, right now, this is your new reality.

Wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders, you began to weave your fingers into the hair covering the base of his neck. “You could never lose me.” You swore, melting as a soft whine fell from his lips at the declaration.

Then, before you even had time to think, his lips were pressed against yours.

There was nothing gentle about Aegon’s kiss.

It was a fervent act, hard and desperate, filled with a passion so intense that it made your legs tremble. Aegon’s grip turned near-bruising, steadying you as he pushed further into you.

Heat rushed through your body, pooling within your stomach as a strangled moan parted your lips, giving way for Aegon to slip his tongue into your mouth, filling it with the bitter taste of wine. One of his hands drifted to your back, traveling up your spine before burying itself in your hair and trying to pull you even closer.

Breaking the kiss, he chuckled as he heard you groan in protest, swollen lips ghosting over your cheek before hovering against your ear. “I have loved you for so long,” he purred, the warmth of his breath causing your back to arch, “I have wanted you for so long-”

The hand that remained on your hip trailed down to your thigh, hurriedly hiking up the fabric of your skirts until he was touching bare skin. His fingers prodded into your flesh, pulling your leg upwards to his waist and wedging himself further between your hips.

“Then take me,” you gasped, your fingers still laced in his hair, making him groan as you tugged at the silver locks, “I’m already yours.”

A guttural sound wracked through his body, a hardness pressing against your core as his hips moved against yours. His mouth quickly moved to find yours again, and as his teeth snared on your bottom lip, nibbling at it, you prayed that this would last forever.

But the Gods tend to be cruel, however.

“Apologies, my prince-” a squeal erupted from your throat, both of you snapping away from each other to see a red-faced Ser Erryk standing a few feet away. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but the Queen requires your presence.”

Panic began to flood your veins, your heart beating wildly in your chest. Aegon, however, seemed entirely unphased by being caught like this, his hand still gripping your thigh. “Tell her I’m busy.”

You felt as if you couldn’t breathe, your mind racing. If Erryk told the Queen of the position he had found the two of you in…

“I’m afraid she won’t accept that, my prince.” He spoke awkwardly, doing his best to keep his stare from drifting to your exposed skin. “It seemed quite urgent. She requested that I deliver you to her at once.”

“Fine.” Aegon grumbled, rolling his eyes at the guard.

He took a half-step back from you, allowing you to lower your leg from his waist before helping you to smooth the fabric of your gown, looking entirely unbothered by the situation.

You, on the other hand, looked as if you were about to pass out.

Aegon only chuckled at your blanched expression, leaving you to glare at him as you questioned whether he understood this situation's true gravity.

“Aegon,” you whispered harshly, gaze flicking towards Erryk, “if he tells your mother about this-”

“Let him.” He said, a certain arrogance filling his voice. “If he doesn’t, then I’ll do it myself.”

Your brows furrowed. “But Aemond-”

“Fuck Aemond.” Aegon told you harshly, unwilling to listen to your protests. “You are mine to claim, not his.”

You bit down on your lower lip, his declaration only worsening your wish that Erryk hadn’t interrupted the two of you. “Your mother won’t like that.”

“She doesn’t have to.” He started, “My mother wishes for me to sit the Iron Throne, and I wish for you,” he gave you a devious smirk, reaching for your hand and giving it a gentle squeeze, “I imagine the two of us can come to an agreement that will relieve you of your commitment to my brother.”

In spite of your nerves, only building at the thought of Aegon being forced to sit upon the throne, you couldn't help but allow yourself to smile, finally imagining a future that you wouldn't need to hide from.

Perhaps your fate wouldn’t be so cruel after all.

I wrote the majority of this well past midnight while feeling as if I were dying from an insane migraine. So, basically, I have no clue what this is but it kept me occupied and I'm gonna go ahead and post it anyways lmao.

Planning on writing some angsty!Aegon and some smut soon cause apparently I'm stuck on him rn. If anyone wants to be added to a HOTD taglist lmk, also feel free to message me any ideas you might wanna see or just to talk about how insanely attractive aegon and aemond are lol

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nothingbutsweetwords · 2 months ago

Text

ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ꜱᴏɴ, ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ

ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ!ɴɪᴇᴄᴇ

"…ꜱʜᴏᴡ ᴍᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇꜱ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀꜱ ɢᴀᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴄᴀʀꜱ."

Word count: 5,000.

Fandom: House of the Dragon.

Pairing: Aemond x Reader!Velaryon!Niece.

Warnings: Angst, mention of SA!

RELEASE — 14. Him.

“Is all well, my son?” His mother’s voice pierced through the stillness that had ensnared him. He looked up abruptly, struggling to conceal the emotions threatening to break free.

His concentration had vanished like wisps of smoke caught in a draft. He found himself trapped in a labyrinth of anxieties and questions, all revolving around her and the recent unsettling events. The past night had been an interminable whirlwind of unease.

The day had begun with a purpose as clear as the open sky: to persuade her to heed his words. Yet despite his ceaseless efforts, his quest had borne no fruit. She had vanished like a ghost. He had rapped upon her door in vain and then scoured the castle. Each shadowed corner yielded only the hollow echo of his own distress.

“What?”

“You have been rather distracted these past days” she observed softly, yet her frown was imbued with concern and seriousness. He inhaled deeply, trying to clear the fog that clouded his mind, striving to offer her the attentiveness she so rightfully deserved.

“Ser Criston Cole has remarked upon your absence from the training sessions” she continued, her tone carrying a subtle undertone of reproach. “We cannot afford to neglect our obligations.”

It was true that since her arrival, he had forsaken the training yard, abandoning the regimen he had diligently maintained. In the past, he had attended every session, morning and afternoon, as though his existence depended on it. He understood his mother’s concern, yet his recent absences seemed to him a minor transgression in the face of his current preoccupations.

“My apologies” he finally said, resuming his breakfast.

“Shall you return to your training once we have concluded here?” she inquired, a slight tension hanging over the table.

His heart ached to continue searching until he found his way back to her, prepared to spend the entire day in earnest supplication if necessary but the expectation in his mother’s face kept him grounded.

Resigned, he nodded, unwilling to add further burden to her shoulders.

“Yes, mother” he affirmed with a note of acquiescence.

At last, disheartened, feeling as though he had exhausted all avenues, he chose to don his training attire—a gesture both of surrender and a final attempt to refocus on something tangible, seeking to reconcile with his duties.

Hours later, the throne room was a display of opulence, its lavish décor setting the stage for the evening’s festivities. As she entered, her demeanor was one of practiced detachment. Her gaze barely flickered in his direction, as if he were but an extra upon the grand stage. He could not blame her for it, given the delicate state they were in.

They took their places, each occupying their designated end. He was seated at one extremity, while she was positioned at the opposite, separated by the length of the table.

Servants moved with efficiency, finalizing the details of the meal. They ensured that each jug brimmed with wine, every plate was aligned with precision, and trays heaped with an array of sumptuous dishes were delivered.

The side of the table where he sat remained steeped in almost sepulchral silence, broken only by the faint clinking of glasses. In contrast, her side buzzed with vibrant laughter and animated conversation, though she didn’t join in. Her displeasure was palpable, even from a distance.

Remorse devoured him; he knew she had longed for this grand celebration, and he had marred it with his own missteps.

Amidst the chatter, a voice rose with levity. “I believe,” he began, drawing all eyes toward him, “that this presents an excellent opportunity for our young ones to seek out their future spouses.” The king smiled benevolently, he casted a fleeting glance at him and Daeron before refocusing on the other side of the table.

The proclamation struck him like a frigid wave. It was not the notion of marriage itself that unsettled him; he had long accepted that it was expected of him, given his station and age. And he had already resolved it. if it could not be with her, then he would remain unwed.

What tormented him was the vision of her, lost in the pursuit of another’s heart. It was an inescapable truth: she was a princess, the cherished offspring of the heir to the throne, and the most enchanting woman across the seven kingdoms.

His recent declaration had created an insurmountable chasm between them—a cruel expanse that not only severed their bond but also pushed her directly towards the waiting arms of the legion of eager admirers. These suitors, swarming like moths to a flame, would drape her in a garland of hollow praise and feigned affections with their glib tongues.

And he could not bear the thought of her near someone who could only offer nothing but mediocrity, knowing that their fleeting admiration paled in comparison to the boundless true reverence he felt for her.

Across the table, Jacaerys’ broke through his spiraling despair. “They will be around her like vultures” he muttered, the disdain in his tone unmistakable.

He caught sight of a faint, enigmatic smile gracing her lips. This time, rather than offering solace, it seemed to seal the truth of his monumental failure—his efforts to win her back had been spectacularly thwarted.

“Perchance that is exactly what we need” Baela interjected, raising her volume above the others.

He wondered whether Baela had already collected the necessary knowledge to and plotted the course to ensure a husband was found for his beloved princess, considering her animosity toward him. Their eyes briefly met, a short encounter filled with such hostility that he could almost feel her desire to strike him down on the spot.

Regrettably, the grand doors swung open, admitting families and courts from every corner. An anticipatory murmur surged through the assembly, filling the space. She, detached, regarded the spectacle with a resignation he found painfully familiar.

His mind meticulously cataloged the array of stares that had already fixed on her, even before crossing the threshold. It was no small number, indeed, it was far easier to count those who had not yet turned their attention her way. Men, women, elders, and youths alike all seemed to regard themselves as entitled to feast their gazes upon her.

The grim realization settled over him like a shroud: the coming week would be an unrelenting vigil, a ceaseless parade of watchful eyes. Aegon, with a look of pity, patted him on the shoulder.

Once the room was filled to capacity, the king set aside his staff, commanding the attention of all present. “Welcome,” he announced, “it is an honor for me to see so many of you here, united in this celebration. On this very day, thirty years past, I took on the great responsibility of ruling the realm. And, together, we have faced challenges, reaped victories, and preserved the peace we hold so dear.”

“Now, as we embark upon these seven days of festivity, I invite you to enjoy the tournaments, the dances, the hunts, and this modest feast” he added with an ironic tone that elicited mirthful laughter. The extravagance of the feast was anything but modest; excess was the order of the day. “May this time together be an opportunity to strengthen our bonds, remember our history, and look to the future with hope” he concluded, raising his goblet and triggering a wave of applause and jubilant cheers. Music soon began marking the official start.

He barely touched the food, unable to take his focus off the incessant attempts of the men around who kept trying to catch her eye.

Families of high renown approached their table, offering gifts and seeking to exchange words with the king. As each new party arrived, he watched her, trying to gauge her responses. Thankfully, she maintained a polite but aloof demeanor. She offered brief pleasantries that were merely acts of protocol before returning to her conversations with Jacaerys or Baela at her sides.

Yet one individual commanded a singular focus, drawing both her interest and that of the king. His arrival was marked by a northern accent so thick and pronounced that it evoked an involuntary roll of the eye from him. The man introduced himself, as though his identity was not already clear.

Beside him, his brother was eagerly recounting the most recent events with an enthusiasm he couldn’t muster. Daeron seemed to be trying to distract him, but his efforts were in vain; he was too caught up in his thoughts, his mind drifting like a vessel lost on a stormy sea.

The younger narrated the defeats and victories of the participants who had marked the preliminary contests the previous day—contests from which he had deliberately absented himself.

Instead of mingling with the throngs, he had paid a visit to the jeweler, retrieving what he had requested, before turning to the deserted training yard for a grueling session. However, the respite he had sought was elusive; the sword strikes proved no match for the frustration.

In truth, the solace he craved lay solely with her.

She, who perpetually eluded his reach, her avoidance growing more resolute with each passing hour. Despite the desperate pleas of his mind, body, and soul, he had restrained himself from seeking her out, dreading that such actions might only drive her further away.

From the elevated dais, the king’s encouraged the remaining competitors.

That afternoon, the very air seemed to hum with tension. From his vantage on the main balcony, he watched the jousting tourney approaching its climax. Since the first light of dawn, the field had been abuzz with frenetic activity—a ceaseless ballet of combatants and horses that had methodically whittled down the competitors. Now, four of the eight finalists would be selected.

His mother had insisted he attend, suggesting that, if only for a single day, he set aside his reservations about such spectacles. Despite the fact that the idea of facing the neighing of horses, the incessant clamor of the crowd, and the scorching heat of the sun did not appeal to him at all, let alone endure the sight of numerous men vying for the princess’s attention, he had promised to be present.

After a breakfast he could barely taste, he found himself there, weighed down by a favor that laid on her lap, its presence a bitter jest that seemed to mock him.

The first finalist to emerge was his uncle, Gwayne, carrying Helaena’s favor. As the representative of House Hightower, he faced a lord of House Tarly. The lengthy battle was one he scarcely managed to follow to its conclusion.

Following this, the white cloak faced a man of House Massey, and yet another victory was claimed by Cole.

Then came a lord of House Corbray, preparing for his bout against the champion of House Redford. Before taking his position, Corwyn Corbray approached, and to his relief, it was Baela who he called. His hands, which had been tightly clenched around the arms of his chair, could finally relax—though the calm was but momentary.

When the northern made his entrance, a tightening knot settled in his stomach.

He rode forward with an unsettling air of assurance, each step of his steed echoing his unwarranted confidence. As he drew near, his imperious demeanor commanded the arena’s attention, and the balcony fell into a breathless, expectant hush.

“I was hoping, if it pleases you, to be honored with your favor, princess” Lord Stark intoned, his voice dripping with presumption that set his teeth on edge. The sheer audacity of his request struck a chord so deep that he felt a primal urge to unleash Vhagar’s wrath upon the starving wolf, reducing him to ash and rid the world of his unwelcome presence.

The idea was intoxicating, yet, he remained tethered by the frail strands of his dwindling restraint.

He stood rooted, paralyzed by helplessness, as she gracefully got up from her seat and glided to the edge of the balcony. The sight of her giving that token to another man was a visceral blow, a dagger aimed directly at his heart with cruel precision.

The sting of defeat was further compounded by the sound of her light, cheerful laughter. “I wish you success, Lord Stark” she said in a melody of condemnation.

Though he had no right to complain, the agony of witnessing her favoring another while he languished in obscurity was a torment beyond bearing that made him yearn to sink into the shadows or vanish from existence entirely.

She turned back with a smile and settled once more into her seat, now perched at the edge as if seeking a better view, while clasping Jacaerys’s hand.

And, as if the day could not grow more excruciating, Lord Stark proceeded to engage in a match against a representative of House Bolton. Despite his fervent hopes and to his deepest dismay, Stark emerged triumphant in the first round, thereby securing his place in the final stage of the tournament.

In the shroud of nocturnal gloom, after a bath that had done little to soothe his frayed nerves, he sat there, the faint moonlight barely piercing through the darkness.

Despite the patience he believed he possessed, the inactivity became intolerable. The vision of her radiant smile directed at another—one he had helped to foster—replayed ceaselessly in his mind. It was as though he were trapped in a waking nightmare.

With a deep sigh, he closed the small wooden case he had been clutching.

He ventured out into the hallway once it was deserted, each step measured and deliberate, barely audible on the floor. He paused before her chamber, his heart pounding with the ferocity of a drum. He rapped softly upon the door, three times, each knock a quiet plea.

The world seemed to hold its breath in that suspended moment of silence. Then, he heard the distant sound of footsteps approaching, the noise quickening his pulse with a heady blend of hope and dread.

The door creaked open abruptly, and the small smile that had graced her lips vanished upon finding him. Her form, once inviting, was hardened with irritation. “Why is it that you are here?”

“Because If I had knocked on the back door, you would have ignored me” he replied, awkwardly attempting to infuse a note of levity into the tense atmosphere.

“Perhaps that is because I would rather not see you at all” she retorted, sharply.

“But I must speak with you” he said, urgency reflected in his eyes. She made a determined attempt to close the door, but he swiftly interjected, placing his foot against it. The look of fury she gave him was intense, yet he continued to plead. “Please, do not shut me out. It is important.”

She looked at him for a minute that felt like an eternity, in conflict. Then, with a resigned sigh, she allowed him entry.

Once inside, she closed the door behind him and turned, crossing her arms defensively over her chest. The relief he had felt at managing to get in swiftly dissipated, replaced by a mounting anxiety with each passing second.

He found himself immobilized by indecision, the right words eluding him.

“I have brought something for you” he murmured, as if the object might serve as a key to unlocking a more amicable dialogue.

“Do you truly believe a gift can make me forget?” She scoffed, glancing briefly at the case before turning her attention to the other side of the room, as if he was a trespasser in her sanctuary.

“Is he courting you?” The question burst forth, raw, more urgently than he had intended, driven by a need to know that bordered on desperation. Her response was a look of exasperation that deepened his sense of inadequacy.

Before he could gather his thoughts to frame a coherent response, she interrupted him with an impatient edge. “Speak quickly” she commanded, her tone brisk as she moved to the table to pour herself a drink. “It is ill-befitting a man to be found in a lady’s chamber at this late hour.” The coldness she exuded was as piercing and unyielding as the frost of the harshest winter.

The woman who had been the epitome of warmth now showed him an opposing face, a testament of how effectively pain could alter someone.

“I am at a loss for how to begin.” Each blink was a battle against the surge of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.

She tilted her head slightly, her face inscrutable, but a spark of resolve soon crossed her features. “Perhaps,” she said softly, with a hint of purpose, “I may assist you. I shall ask you some questions.”

Before he could voice his hesitation, she had already begun. Her interrogations, delivered with a steely determination, sliced through the stillness of the room, leaving no space for evasion, deceit or half-truths. Her chambers now felt like a field in a war he hadn't prepared for.

“Is she here now, in the castle?” she inquired. He silently pleaded for mercy, but she didn’t relent. “Answer me” she ordered, her tone growing more imperative.

He struggled for a moment, the ache in his chest swelling as grim recollections emerged from the depths of his memory, rendering him smaller than he had felt in a long time.

“No” he uttered, and he observed a fleeting flicker of both relief and disappointment, as though a part of her had hoped for a different answer.

“Was it only once?”

“Yes.”

“Was it… casual?” she asked, her vulnerability laid bare. “Or do your affections for her run deeper?”

“Of course not.” The assurance fell woefully short even to him. “I cannot even recall her name.”

“What?” Her voice rose with indignation, her brows arching in disbelief and he looked at her, powerless, his shoulders drooping. “How is it possible for you to have forgotten her name?”

“I was not in my right mind that night.” Each word he spoke seemed to dig him further into a pit of dishonor, his penance growing ever more profound.

“But you recall her, do you not?” she demanded. He inclined his head in the slightest of nods. “You remember her face, you remember her body” she pressed further, an unyielding assault on his fragile composure. If he could, he would willingly subject himself to the searing flames of dragonfire to erase those haunting memories. “Is she more beautiful than I?”

He met her gaze, his self-loathing deepened as he beheld the seeds of doubt he had sown in her. “No one could ever be” he asserted with conviction, hoping that his earnest words might mend the cracks in her heart.

Yet, his truthful response didn’t help. Her expression remained unmoved, dismissing his effort to soothe her.

“Did you enjoy it?” Her eyes were bored into him, a search for any telltale sign. “Was it worth it, at least?”

“No” he breathed out.

“Have I ever seen her?” she asked, almost shaking with curiosity and desperation, needing to know every detail. “Is she a lady, a servant?”

A flush of mortification crept up his neck, scorching his cheeks as he grappled with the words. With a heavy sigh, fully aware that it would fortify the wall between them, he began. “No… she is…” he faltered, a relentless hammer pounding at his conscience. “She is a… whore.”

The silence that followed was deafening, and he averted his stare, unable to meet her judgment, as humiliation swallowed him whole.

A veneer of profound skepticism clouded her semblant, as though his assurances were mere fragments of an absurd fable rather than the truth. Her brows knitted together, and a sneer of disdain twisted her lips.

With revulsion, she decided that his words were not worthy of belief. Turning away, she faced the window, her posture as stiff as the cold night air. “My Aemond would never engage in such depravity” she proclaimed.

Her words spilled from her lips like an incantation cast to shield her cherished image of him from the harshness of reality—a vision she had clung to with all the fervor of her heart, and for which he would have sacrificed everything to achieve.

For him, witnessing her deny his sin was a cruel bittersweetness. On one hand, it was agonizing to realize the extent of his betrayal had wrought an irreparable wound in her perception of him.

On the other hand, there lay a strange solace. It spoke to a profound understanding of his true self—she could discern that his errors were entirely at odds with the essence of who he was. Her refusal to accept it was, in its own way, a declaration of faith, a hopeful cry.

“It was a moment of weakness” he insisted, unsteady with earnest desperation as he sought to appeal to her compassion.

“A moment of weakness?” she countered with a sharp edge of disillusionment. “Is this what you truly are—a weak man who cannot resist temptation?”

“It was a grievous mistake.”

“A mistake?” she echoed with rising ire, each word a stinging reprimand to his wounded pride. “Did you leave the castle by mistake? Did you venture to Street of Silk by mistake? Did you lavish her with coins by mistake? Do you take me for a fool?”

“I did not know…” he faltered, each utterance deepening his descent into the abyss of his guilt. “It was a… a gift.”

“A gift?” Her incredulous tone resonated with frustration. “What manner of excuse is that?”

“My brother” he explained. “Aegon wanted to help me, with you. As a gift.”

She scrutinized him, her mind attempting to unravel what his words hadn’t fully explained. The flickering light caught the pained shift in her expression before she asked, her voice tinged with trepidation. “When did this… happen?”

He was aware that the answer he was about to give would only worsen the wound and drive the final nail on his coffin. The thought that she would come to learn that the man who had basked in her devoted care had made such disastrous decisions while she stood by him was a suffering of his own crafting.

Especially on that night, when she had bestowed upon him the most beautiful gifts of her affection, when destiny itself seemed to be sealed with a kiss that marked a new journey for them. He recalled with vivid clarity how he left her waiting, how she had knocked on his door, how she had needed him, and he had just laid there, consumed by regrets.

“The last nameday you spent by my side” he finally confessed.

She fell silent, her face a canvas of disbelief as she struggled to process the information. Gradually, her expression contorted into one of pure horror and sorrow, a devastating amalgam that stole his breath away.

The look they shared was a taut cord, stretching painfully between their hearts. He knew with certainty that he shouldn’t draw closer, that she desired neither his closeness nor his touch.

“I am sorry” he murmured in a plea for redemption. “I am deeply sorry.”

Her tears fell in an unrestrained deluge, cascading as if released from a dam. Without warning, she moved hastily toward him. “Oh, Aemond.”

He stood paralyzed, caught at a crossroads, unsure whether to reach out for her or retreating, fearful of causing further harm. Before he could resolve it, she flung herself at him. But rather than seeking refuge on his chest, she enveloped him with a force that defied logic, as though she wished to meld into him entirely. His arms lay ensnared, trapped between their entwined forms.

She grasped his neck, forcing him to bend down so that his cheek rested upon her shoulder.

He remained in that position as she succumbed to her pain, the urgency of her embrace seeming more a desperate attempt to soothe him than a quest for comfort herself. For a moment, he allowed himself to savor this ephemeral return to the closeness he had so missed, even though the circumstances were heart-wrenching.

In a twist of the unexpected, she wept into his ear, her words barely audible through her cries. “Forgive me.”

When he drew away, her face was swollen, her cheeks streaked with the relentless streams that had left her weary. With shaking hands, she cradled his face. “I am sorry” she repeated, her breath erratic.

“Why?” he asked, overwhelmed with confusion.

“For everything I asked, for all the words I spoke. I am so deeply sorry” she replied, breaking into a choked sob. Her lips quivered as she bit them, her eyes shining with heartache. “You do not understand, do you?”

“It was not your fault” she said, sadness wrapped around her every word. “You were just a child.”

Far from clarity, he looked at her, feeling how the lines of bewilderment etched deeper into his features. Words escaped him as a cry of desperation echoed within him.

A shiver of discomfort washed over him. “I was three and ten” he clarified.

“I know” she answered, soft and broken, steeped in compassion. “My darling boy.”

“Old enough to know better” he countered, heavy with a devastating self-criticism and an unrelenting sense of shame.

She shook her head vehemently, filled with sadness, as if she could see further than he could and had reached the core. “And yet, so innocent to not expect the worst.” Her voice was a whisper, a lament.

Suddenly, an avalanche of thoughts began to assail him, a tumultuous storm of clarity crashing over him with an implacable force. The darkness he had long endured, the misery he had inflicted upon himself, was now shattered by a brutal illumination.

Yes, he was a child.

It wasn’t his fault for not being able to foresee it, stop it, overcome it. They were the ones who took from him what was his to have, to give.

The world began to spin with violence. The dizziness descended upon him brutally, turning the air thick and ungraspable, as if the walls were collapsing inward to crush him. Each breath became a monumental effort, a contest against the suffocation. His legs, once firm, could no longer bear the weight of his own existence, almost collapsing beneath him.

His palms and forehead began to pearl with cold sweat, his vision was blurred and a piercing pain began to carve his chest.

With an instinctive sharpness that only the deepest bond can forge, she immediately perceived the gravity of his plight. Her eyes, before veiled in sadness, now blazed with resolute determination, focused to see him through that ordeal.

Gently, she sat him down, her movements imbued with a stable calm grace that seemed to defy the tumult around them, though the slight tremor in her hands betrayed her worry. Without hesitation, she procured a glass of water, holding it to his lips. “Drink” she urged, with authority and tenderness.

As he drank, she stayed by his side, her hand softly stroking his back, an attempt to dispel the fog that clouded his senses.

“May I sleep with you tonight?” he ventured, emerging in a manifestation of vulnerability.

“Would you prefer us to stay here, or go to your chambers?”

“The truth is” he murmured, admitting a deeper truth that made him feel even more exposed, “I do not like the view from my window.” She nodded softly, her understanding silent.

After a few minutes, she rose, her movements a dance of sadness and empathy, and went to the door, securing it with the latch. The sound was a promise of safety, a barrier against the outside. She then turned to the basin of water, dipping a linen cloth into its coolness.

Unbeknownst to him, his own soul had overflowed, finding its escape through his eye. As she wiped his face with a tenderness that seemed to absorb not just his tears but the very pain that caused them. She dried her own as well, though her stare promised more.

“May I?” she asked gently, as if seeking permission to navigate his fragile state. He nodded, setting the small wooden case aside.

With meticulous care, she removed his jackets and boots, her hands moving with a reverence of a healer tending to a sacred wound.

As he lay down, he was enveloped by the sweet fragrance of roses that lingered in the sheets. When she joined him, the bed became an oasis, where the burden of that long-festering night began to dissolve in the warmth of her proximity.

He had never confided that to another, for no one else could ever hold a candle to her. She, his sweet princess, who had defended to the hilt the child he once was, now gazed upon him with a love so profound it seemed to radiate from the very depths of her soul and cleared the darkest corners of his.

He cautiously lifted his hand to his face. She watched him in silence as he proceeded, slowly liberating him from the barrier that had shielded him from the world and himself, laying bare more than his wound.

Her breath caught in her throat as she beheld.

“You said I could think of it as a piece of sky, or sea, to remind me that I was destined for something greater” he whispered, referring to the sapphire that replaced his lost eye, “I chose to think of it as a part of you, for you are who I am destined to.”

In her, he discovered acceptance—an unwavering flame that had been there for him all along, waiting patiently to be stoked, to be his salvation.

@callsignwidow @purplegardenwhispers @helaenaluvr @scarletbedlam @fics-i-love-and-recommend @squidscottjeans @fossface @truly-abysmal @congenialcat @that-girl-named-alex @oh-you-mean-me @barnes70stark

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen x reader #ewan mitchell #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen fluff #hotd fanfic #aemond x reader #hotd aemond #cregan stark

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rafesapologist · 4 months ago

Text

the boy is mine ─ rafe cameron; chapter three

summary: you were an erudite kook with her life ahead of her, very highly sought after by almost every man from figure 8 all the way to the cut. but you only wanted rafe cameron, and just in the typical nature of getting everything you wanted, you were going to have him.

warnings: dr*g use, alcohol, suggestive themes

The following week at school was agonizing, brutal even. You were thrust back into the relentless rhythm of your usual routine: waking up at 6 AM, donning your stiff uniform, and enduring seven grueling hours of classes. You pushed through the school day only to return home and bury yourself in more studying. Normally, you approached this regimen with a resigned acceptance, but this week was different. This week, everything bothered you.

After the encounter at Sarah's house, you felt as though a fire had been ignited within you, a fervent flame that left you restless and craving more. The moment in the kitchen with Rafe had been electrifying, a tantalizing taste of something you had never experienced before. It was more than just a fleeting interaction; it was a revelation, a stark contrast to the monotony that had characterized your life until then. You realized you wanted more of that—more excitement, more unpredictability, more Rafe Cameron.

As you sat through each class, your mind drifted back to him, replaying every detail of your encounter. His touch, his gaze, the way he made you feel seen and alive. Each memory sent a thrill through you, making it harder to focus on the mundane tasks at hand. You found yourself staring out the window, daydreaming about what might happen next, how you could cross paths with him again, and what that might lead to.

This newfound desire clashed violently with your disciplined nature, creating an internal turmoil that you couldn't shake. The rigid structure of your life, once a source of comfort and stability, now felt suffocating. You longed for the excitement that Rafe embodied, a break from the relentless pursuit of academic excellence that your parents had drilled into you.

Every night, as you sat at your desk poring over textbooks, the thought of Rafe lingered at the edge of your consciousness, a tantalizing distraction that pulled you away from your studies. You wondered what he was doing, who he was with, and whether he ever thought about you. The questions spun through your mind, feeding the fire that had been lit within you.

By the time Friday rolled around, you were desperate for a change. The week had felt like an eternity, each day dragging on with excruciating slowness. You knew you couldn't keep going like this, caught between the expectations of your parents and your newfound yearning for something more. As you packed up your books and headed home, you resolved to find a way to see Rafe again. You needed to feel that spark, that electricity, just one more time at the least.

When you got home, you headed straight to your bedroom. Your parents, accustomed to your diligent study habits, didn't question your haste. The door clicked shut behind you, and you immediately grabbed your phone, dialing Sarah Cameron’s number. The seconds stretched painfully as it rang, your heart pounding faster with each passing moment. Finally, she answered, her voice bright and welcoming.

"Hey, Y/N!" Sarah’s chirpy tone filled the line, "What's up?"

"Sarah, hey," you responded, a smile spreading across your face. You began to pace the room, biting down on your lip, nervous but eager to ask her the question that had been burning inside you all week. "Are you doing anything tonight? We should get together and do something."

There was a brief pause on the other end, followed by a laugh. "Funny you ask! Actually, I was just thinking about calling you. There's a bonfire on the beach tonight. Some of the guys, and Rafe, are going to be there. You in?"

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of Rafe’s name. "Yeah, that sounds perfect," you said, trying to keep your voice steady despite the excitement bubbling inside you. "What time?"

"Around eight," Sarah replied. "You can come over to my place first, and we can head there together."

"Great, see you then," you said, hanging up the phone. A sense of exhilaration washed over you as you looked at the clock, calculating the hours until you would see Rafe again.

You wasted no time getting ready, feeling a pressing need to outdo everyone else at the bonfire in hopes that Rafe’s attention would be solely on you. Each choice was careful and deliberate, your fingers lingering over fabrics and colors as you selected the perfect outfit. You settled on a simple sundress that hugged your figure in all the right places, its hem teasingly short, just grazing your thighs. The fabric accentuated your tan, making your skin glow with warmth.

You styled your hair into loose curls, aiming for an effortless beauty that suggested you hadn’t tried too hard, even though you had meticulously crafted every strand. Your makeup was a masterful blend of subtlety and allure, enhancing your natural features without appearing overdone. The delicate sweep of highlighter on your cheekbones caught the light just right, and the gentle curve of your eyeliner made your eyes pop, giving you an air of understated sophistication.

As you stood in front of the mirror, you felt a surge of confidence. You looked good, and you knew it. There was a thrill in the anticipation, in the possibility of what the night could bring. Your mind kept drifting back to the kitchen, to the way Rafe had looked at you, his gaze lingering, intense and unspoken. You wanted more of that, more of him, and tonight felt like the perfect opportunity.

Grabbing your bag, you took one last glance in the mirror, ensuring everything was perfect. The sun was setting, casting a golden glow through your window, a promise of the night to come. You took a deep breath, steadying your nerves, and headed out the door, your heart racing with excitement and the thrill of the unknown.

The drive to Sarah’s house felt like a blur, your mind occupied with thoughts of Rafe. When you arrived, the mansion stood grand and imposing, its windows reflecting the last rays of the setting sun. You hurried to the door, your steps quick and light, a smile already forming on your lips as you anticipated the evening ahead.

You knocked softly, your heart hammering in your chest as you waited for someone to open the door. With your arms crossed over your chest, you stood there, full of anticipation and nerves bubbling up in the pit of your stomach. Finally, the door swung open, and you were met with the face that had been preoccupying your mind for days—Rafe.

Your heart nearly stopped, breath hitching subtly at the sight of him. His tall, intimidating stature filled the doorway, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made you feel small and exposed. His smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he drawled, "Princeton."

The casual nickname sent a shiver down your spine, a mix of irritation and intrigue swirling within you. "Come in," he said, stepping aside with a languid grace that only heightened your awareness of him. You stepped into the house, and as the door clicked shut behind you, the air seemed to thicken with a charged anticipation.

Rafe leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. His gaze swept over you with a deliberate slowness, his eyes taking in every detail of your sundress, your loose curls, and the way you tried to appear effortless. His scrutiny made your skin tingle, a warm flush creeping up your neck. "Sarah said you were coming to the bonfire tonight?" he asked, his voice low and smooth, each word deliberate and drawn out.

"Uh, yeah," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. "She invited me, so I thought I'd come."

Rafe's eyes narrowed slightly, the smirk never leaving his face. "Well, we're glad to have you," he said, his tone carrying a hint of something you couldn't quite place. "Should be a fun night."

You nodded, trying to keep your composure. "Yeah, I'm looking forward to it."

Rafe replied with a breathy, half-hearted laugh as he pushed off the doorframe, taking a slow step closer to you. His presence was almost overwhelming, each movement measured and deliberate. "Yeah, me too," he said, his tongue grazing his teeth slowly, his eyes flickering from your eyes to your chest.

There was a brief moment of silence between you and Rafe as he eyed you, and all you could do was stand there, engulfed in his daunting demeanor that made you feel ten times smaller under him. Your cheeks felt hot as you stood under his gaze, unsure of what to say or if you should speak at all.

Rafe's smirk deepened as he watched you, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you. His eyes darkened, filled with an intent that made your breath hitch. He took another step closer, the space between you shrinking, his body heat radiating toward you. "Sarah's upstairs getting ready," he spoke up suddenly, his voice low and hushed, the proximity making it feel like a secret meant just for you. "I'll see you there."

You managed a nod, your throat dry. "Okay," you whispered, barely able to find your voice.

He lingered for a moment longer, his eyes lingering on yours with a look that was impossible to decipher. The silence stretched, heavy and charged with unspoken words and lingering glances. It felt as if time had slowed, every second stretching into eternity, filled with the sound of your heartbeat thundering in your ears.

Finally, Rafe turned and walked away, leaving you to collect your scattered thoughts. As you stood there, your heart still pounding from the encounter, you couldn't help but replay the scene in your mind. The way he looked at you, the warmth of his breath as he spoke, the intensity of his gaze—it was all too much, yet not enough. His presence lingered in the air, like a tangible force you could still feel on your skin.

Your breath came in shallow, uneven bursts as you tried to steady yourself. The realization of how deeply he affected you settled in, an exhilarating and terrifying thought all at once. Part of you wanted to run after him, to chase that feeling, while another part urged caution, knowing the danger that came with someone like Rafe Cameron.

You shook away your thoughts and headed up the stairs to Sarah's room, determined to shift your focus back to getting ready for the bonfire. The encounter with Rafe had left you rattled, but you couldn’t afford to let it dominate your mind.

As you approached Sarah’s door, you knocked softly before pushing it open, stepping inside with caution. The room was warm and inviting, the soft glow of fairy lights casting a gentle hue across the space. Sarah was seated at her vanity, her cheerful smile immediately putting you at ease. She was in the middle of her beauty routine, setting powder still dusted across her face.

"Hey!" she greeted, her enthusiasm infectious. "You can sit on my bed if you want, I'm almost ready."

You nodded, offering a small smile in return as you made your way to her neatly made bed. Sitting down, you watched as she meticulously applied her makeup, each movement precise and practiced. The scent of her perfume wafted through the air, a delicate floral fragrance that filled the room.

"Thanks for inviting me tonight," you said, settling onto Sarah's plush bed, trying to keep your voice steady. "I needed a break from all the studying."

Sarah glanced at you through the mirror, her eyes sparkling with warmth. "Of course. We're gonna have fun tonight, I promise."

You watched as she continued applying her makeup, each brushstroke precise and practiced. The scent of her perfume filled the room, a delicate floral fragrance that mingled with the soft glow of fairy lights draped around her vanity. Her vanity table was a treasure trove of beauty products, each item meticulously arranged, reflecting her attention to detail.

"How's everything been?" she asked, breaking the comfortable silence. "You seem a little stressed."

You sighed, running a hand through your hair, the strands slipping through your fingers. "It's just been a lot lately. School, parents, you know the drill."

Sarah nodded sympathetically, her gaze softening. "Yeah, I get it. But tonight, we're forgetting all that. Just a night to relax and have some fun."

You smiled, feeling a bit lighter at her words. "Sounds like exactly what I need."

Sarah turned back to her mirror, adding the finishing touches to her look with a steady hand. "Any particular reason you were so eager for a break? Or is it just the usual?"

You hesitated, your mind flashing back to Rafe and the way his gaze had lingered on you. The memory sent a shiver down your spine. "I guess... it's just been a while since I did something for myself. Needed to remind myself there's more to life than textbooks and exams."

Sarah chuckled softly, a knowing look in her eyes. "You're right about that. And who knows, maybe tonight will be more exciting than you think."

As she finished up, she turned to you with a radiant grin. "Ready to head out?"

You took a deep breath, feeling a mix of anticipation and nervousness. The prospect of the bonfire, and seeing Rafe again, was both thrilling and terrifying. "Yeah, let's do this."

Once you stepped onto the scene, the bonfire was already bustling and full of life, loud music pulsing through the night air. The flames danced high into the sky, casting flickering shadows across the crowd. Part of you felt anxious, a knot of unease twisting in your stomach. This wasn’t your first party, but the large crowd and loud noises, combined with the thought of running into Rafe, made you feel somewhat sick to your stomach.

Despite the nerves gnawing at you, you put on a facade of false confidence, walking with your head held high as you and Sarah approached the throng of people. The laughter and chatter were almost overwhelming, a cacophony of voices blending with the beat of the music. You scanned the crowd intently, searching for familiar faces and, perhaps, one face in particular.

The bonfire's light flickered on everyone’s faces, giving the scene an almost surreal glow. You could see groups of friends laughing together, some couples wrapped in each other’s arms, and others dancing with abandon to the rhythm of the night. Sarah gave you an encouraging smile, her hand brushing against your arm in a gesture of support.

“Let’s grab a drink,” she suggested, leading you towards a makeshift bar set up on a long wooden table. The sight of it was a welcome distraction, a chance to steady your nerves.

You nodded, following her lead. As you walked, you couldn’t help but let your eyes wander, hoping to catch a glimpse of Rafe. The anticipation of seeing him again sent a thrill through you, despite the anxiety it also brought. The memory of his intense gaze and the subtle way he toyed with the string of your bikini was still fresh in your mind, making your cheeks warm at the thought.

At the bar, Sarah handed you a cup filled with something fruity and strong. You took a sip, the cool liquid helping to calm your racing heart. The night was still young, and you were determined to enjoy yourself, to let go of the worries and just be in the moment.

Sarah nudged you playfully, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Feeling better?”

You laughed softly, the sound almost drowned out by the music. “Yeah, a little. Thanks.”

She raised her cup in a mock toast. “To a night of fun and no stress.”

You clinked your cup against hers, smiling genuinely this time. “To fun and no stress.”

As you took a sip, a growing crowd caught your attention from the corner of your eye, a few feet away. Intrigued, you turned your head, squinting to get a better look at whatever had captivated them. Through a small gap in the throng, you peered in, your eyes adjusting to the dim, flickering light of the bonfire.

Your heart dropped. There he was, Rafe Cameron, sitting in a circle with his friends. The bonfire's flames cast an eerie glow, dancing shadows playing across their faces. You watched in stunned silence as Rafe leaned over, his eyes dark and intense. A line of powder lay across his lap, stark white against the fabric of his jeans. He sniffed it up quickly, then tilted his head back, a look of raw euphoria washing over his features. The sight was jarring, his usual composed demeanor replaced by something unsettling and raw.

Your jaw dropped, your body freezing as the realization hit you like a cold wave. The Rafe you had been daydreaming about, whose touch had lingered on your skin in your fantasies, was now someone else entirely in this moment. The crowd around him seemed oblivious to the impact of what you were witnessing, their laughter and conversation continuing as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

Your mind raced, a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions crashing together. Disbelief and disappointment mingled with a lingering sense of curiosity. Was this who Rafe truly was, or just another facet of his complex persona? You felt a mix of emotions—concern for him, a touch of anger, and an unsettling intrigue.

You felt minuscule, almost insignificant, as you bore witness to the scene unfolding before you. The sight of Rafe, so absorbed in his actions, made your cheeks flush with a tumultuous mix of embarrassment and confusion. The heat crept up your face as you observed his focused expression, his eyes dark and intense, holding a mysterious allure that was both unsettling and oddly captivating. The reality of what you saw clashed harshly with the fantasy you had built in your mind, an illusion of Rafe that didn’t involve such reckless indulgence.

Rafe was a Kook, after all. You should have known better than to expect any less from a boy who lived in that world. But the Rafe you had daydreamed about, the one whose touch had sent shivers down your spine and whose gaze had made your heart race, wasn’t supposed to be tangled up in this. The stark contrast left you feeling disoriented, as if the ground beneath you had shifted, leaving you unsure of your footing.

Sarah’s voice cut through the fog of your thoughts, snapping you back to the present. "Everything alright?" she asked, her tone filled with concern.

You blinked, shaking your head slightly to clear the haze. "Yeah," you replied, your voice tinged with uncertainty. "Just... thinking."

Sarah followed your gaze, her eyes narrowing as she took in the scene. "Don't mind them," she said, a hint of exasperation coloring her words. "They always get up to stupid stuff at these things."

You nodded, though your mind was still reeling from the unexpected turn the evening had taken. Sarah’s words were meant to reassure you, but the lingering image of Rafe’s dark, intense gaze and the undeniable reality of his world clung to you like a shadow, refusing to be dispelled.

You shook off your thoughts, forcing your focus back to your conversation with Sarah. The rhythmic exchange of words and laughter served as a distraction from the chaotic whirlwind of emotions within you. The topics drifted from school to fashion, from mutual acquaintances to harmless speculations about the future. The normalcy of it all was comforting, a temporary balm to the disquiet Rafe had stirred up.

Then, a familiar voice broke through the bubble of your conversation. "Hey guys," Topper greeted, a smirk playing on his lips as he leaned in to press a quick kiss to Sarah's cheek.

"What're you two gossiping about?" he asked, his tone teasing.

"None of your business, Topper," Sarah retorted with a playful roll of her eyes, nudging him gently.

You managed a hesitant, half-hearted laugh, feeling a bit like an outsider in their easy banter. You took a nervous sip from your cup, the cool liquid doing little to soothe the anxious flutter in your chest. Your eyes roamed the crowd, searching for Rafe almost involuntarily, expecting to see him nearby.

Topper’s presence, though friendly, only served to heighten your awareness of Rafe. Your gaze flitted across the sea of faces, scanning for any sign of him. The crowd seemed to ebb and flow around you, a moving tapestry of laughter, shouts, and music, but all you could think about was where Rafe might be and whether he was watching you.

Topper continued to chat with Sarah, his voice a steady background hum. You tried to engage, to laugh at the right moments and nod along, but your mind kept drifting back to the image of Rafe, his dark eyes and the way they seemed to pierce right through you.

As if sensing your distraction, Sarah glanced at you with a knowing look. "Y/N, you good?" she asked, her voice laced with genuine concern.

You blinked, forcing a smile. "Yeah, just a bit tired, I guess," you replied, trying to sound convincing.

"Well, we can always head back inside if you want," Sarah offered, her tone considerate.

Before you could respond, a loud burst of laughter erupted nearby, drawing your attention. Your heart skipped a beat as you saw Rafe among the group, his head thrown back in amusement, his presence commanding even in the midst of the lively crowd. He looked different, more relaxed, yet still exuding that magnetic aura that seemed to pull you in no matter how hard you tried to resist.

Your gaze met his for a fleeting moment, and he smirked, raising an eyebrow as if to challenge you. You quickly looked away, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks once more. The tension, the curiosity, the inexplicable draw towards him—it was all still there, simmering just beneath the surface.

Sarah's voice brought you back to the present. "So, what do you think? Head inside or stay out here?"

You hesitated, the decision feeling heavier than it should. "Let's stay a bit longer," you finally said, your voice firmer than before.

Sarah nodded in response, giving you a supportive smile. As the night continued, you found yourself more intoxicated than you had anticipated. You and Sarah took shot after shot over the next few hours, and before you knew it, you were definitely drunk. A liberating sensation washed over you, a freedom you hadn't felt in your entire life, like you were floating and everything else was background noise.

The bumping music thumped in your ears as you swayed alongside Sarah, the world around you a vibrant blur of lights and laughter. You giggled at her exaggerated dance moves, the infectious joy of the moment wrapping you in its embrace. For once, you were truly having fun, and it was a feeling you wanted to hold onto forever.

You excused yourself from Sarah, telling her you were getting another drink. She waved you off with a nod, her own laughter echoing in your ears as you stumbled towards the wooden bar across the sand. The bonfire’s glow illuminated the path, casting flickering shadows that danced along with you.

The bar was a rustic setup, a makeshift oasis of alcohol and camaraderie in the midst of the beach party. You leaned against the counter, your head buzzing with the pleasant fog of intoxication. The bartender, a friendly-faced guy with a scruffy beard, raised an eyebrow in recognition and poured you another drink without needing to ask.

You took the cup, the cool liquid sloshing inside as you turned to look back at the crowd. Your eyes instinctively searched for Rafe, a part of you hoping to catch another glimpse of him, to feel that rush of adrenaline once more. The firelight cast a warm glow over everything, making the night feel almost magical, like a scene from a dream.

As you took a sip, the world spun just a bit too quickly, and you lost your balance, stumbling backward. A pair of strong hands caught you from behind, steadying you gently. Before you could respond, you turned around to see who had caught you, only to be left speechless at the familiar figure towering over you. Rafe's piercing gaze met yours, his expression a mix of concern and amusement.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice soft yet firm, grounding you in the moment.

Your breath caught in your throat, the proximity of his presence overwhelming your senses. "Y-yeah, I think so," you managed to stammer, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks. You tried to regain your composure, but his intense gaze held you captive.

Rafe's hands lingered on your arms for a moment longer before he let go, a small, reassuring smile playing on his lips. "Good," he said, his eyes never leaving yours. "Wouldn't want you getting hurt."

The music and laughter from the bonfire seemed to fade into the background, the world narrowing down to just the two of you. The warmth of his touch still tingled on your skin, and you felt an inexplicable pull toward him, a magnetic attraction that you couldn't deny.

"Thanks," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I guess I should be more careful."

Rafe chuckled softly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "Yeah, maybe," he replied, his tone light yet laced with something deeper. "But where's the fun in that?"

His words lingered in the air, a challenge wrapped in a tease, and you couldn't help but smile. The night was filled with possibilities, and standing there with Rafe, you felt a thrill of excitement and anticipation.

"You enjoying the party?" you asked, trying to keep the conversation going, your voice steadying as you spoke.

Rafe's smile widened, his eyes sparkling with a mix of mischief and something more. "I am now," he said, his voice low and intimate, making your heart race. "How about you?"

You nodded, feeling a rush of warmth at his words. "Yeah, it's been... interesting," you admitted, your gaze never leaving his.

He chuckled, his smirk growing as he nodded at your reply. "I see. It's a wonder you've been able to be around Sarah drunk this long," he shrugged, taking a sip of his beer. His eyes sparkled with amusement, the dim light of the bonfire casting shadows on his sharp features, accentuating the sharp lines of his jaw and the mischievous glint in his eyes.

"She's not so bad," you said, gazing up at him, trying to keep your tone confident. "Besides, I don't think I'm much better than her right now." You let out a small laugh, picking nervously at the rim of your cup. The alcohol had given you temporary courage, but under Rafe's scrutinizing gaze, you felt the familiar flutter of nerves, like butterflies trapped in your stomach.

Rafe tilted his head, his eyes roaming over your face with an intensity that made your breath catch. "Didn't think you'd be much of a drinker, Princeton," he remarked, cocking an eyebrow with an amused glint in his eye.

"Yeah, well," you shrugged, trying to play it cool. "There's a lot you don't know about me."

He took another step closer, the scent of his cologne mixing with the salty sea air and the faint smell of the bonfire. "Is that so?" His voice was low, almost a whisper, sending a shiver down your spine. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, the electric pull drawing you closer.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest as you attempted to keep your composure. "Yeah," you managed, gulping silently and biting down on your bottom lip, trying to steady yourself against the swirling emotions inside you.

Rafe's eyes darkened suddenly, the familiar smirk plastered on his face as he took a step closer. "Well," he spoke in a low tone, his voice a teasing mockery of your earlier confidence, "I'd love to find out." The space between you seemed to shrink, the air thick with unspoken tension. Rafe's presence was overwhelming, his proximity sending waves of heat through your body. The flickering light from the bonfire cast shadows on his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the intensity in his eyes.

You felt a shiver run down your spine as he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. "I bet there's probably a lot of things you hide under that 'good girl' act you do." His words sent a wave of heat through your body, igniting a fire that had been simmering since your first encounter. You tried to steady your breath, but the proximity of his body and the intensity in his voice made it nearly impossible.

You shook your head, feeling weaker by the minute as Rafe kept his burning gaze on you. "It's not an act..." you sheepishly tried to defend yourself, avoiding the intensity of Rafe's stare.

He chuckled lowly, shaking his head in disbelief. "I have a hard time believing that. See, I think you parade around here acting innocent and oblivious to everything, like you're only concerned with your precious scholarship and getting into some Ivy League school. But really, I bet you're begging just to be touched."

Your eyes widened at his accusation, taken aback by his statement. It was partially true; your entire personality wasn't just about school, but you surely weren't sleazy either, to be begging for attention in the way that Rafe made it sound. "No, I'm not," you protested, your voice trembling with a mix of indignation and uncertainty.

Rafe's eyes narrowed, his smirk growing more pronounced. "Oh, really?" he said, taking another step closer, his presence overwhelming. "Then why do I see you looking at me like that? Why are you trembling right now?" His fingers grazed your arm, sending a jolt of electricity through your body. "Admit it, Princeton. You want more than just good grades and a spotless reputation."

You swallowed hard, your heart racing as his words cut through your defenses. You tried to steady your breathing, to regain some semblance of control, but the intensity of the moment made it impossible. "You don't know anything about me," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Rafe's smile widened, a glint of triumph in his eyes. "Maybe not. But I'm willing to find out," he murmured, his fingers trailing up your arm to cup your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "And I think you want that too."

You felt a rush of emotions, a cocktail of fear, excitement, and desire swirling within you. The logical part of your mind screamed at you to pull away, to maintain the carefully constructed image you had built for yourself. But the pull of his presence was too strong, the allure of stepping outside the boundaries you had set for yourself too enticing.

"I..." you began, your voice faltering as you tried to form a coherent response. Rafe's eyes never left yours, his gaze unwavering and intense.

Rafe chuckled, his smirk widening as he leaned in closer, his gaze never leaving yours. "That's what I thought," he repeated, his voice low and teasing. He took another casual sip of his beer, the corner of his mouth quirking up as if he found your defiance amusing. Despite the heat rising to your cheeks, you refused to back down.

"Yeah, well, you aren't so innocent either, Rafe," you retorted, folding your arms defensively. You held his gaze, your brows furrowed in determination. "I saw what you were doing earlier with your friends."

Rafe's amusement only grew at your accusation. He cocked his head slightly, his eyes flickering with mischief. "And what about it?" he countered, taking another deliberate step closer, his presence almost overwhelming. "Do you think that's anything new?"

You hesitated, feeling a pang of embarrassment at his nonchalant response. "I… I don't know, you tell me," you admitted reluctantly, your voice softer now. The tension between you was intensified, each word and gesture charged with a strange, electric energy. Rafe's gaze bore into you, assessing, as if daring you to challenge him further.

"You must not know me that well either, Princeton," he remarked, his tone playful yet tinged with something deeper.

You felt a pang of vulnerability as Rafe's amusement at your embarrassment sank in, making you feel smaller than ever. Frustration and annoyance simmered within you, aggravated by his clear enjoyment of the upper hand. With furrowed brows, you frowned up at him, grappling with how to counter his taunt. His chuckle, mocking yet oddly enticing, echoed in the tense space between you.

"What's wrong, baby?" His voice was laced with a teasing edge. "Nobody ever proved you wrong before?"

You scoffed, rolling your eyes at his cockiness, the warmth from the bonfire casting flickering shadows across his face. "This is ridiculous," you protested, your words slightly slurred from the drinks swirling in your system. "I'm leaving." With unsteady steps, you turned to walk away, but his hand caught you, stopping you in your tracks. His grip on your wrist was firm yet oddly gentle, the touch sending a jolt through you.

"Wait," he said, his voice cutting through the noise of the party, his gaze locking onto yours.

Your heart raced as you turned back to face him, frustration evident in your expression. "What now, Rafe?" you snapped, trying unsuccessfully to free your hand from his grasp.

He held on, his eyes narrowing slightly as he regarded you with a mix of amusement and something else you couldn't quite place. "You can't just walk away like that," he stated firmly, the seriousness in his tone contrasting with the playful smirk that usually adorned his lips.

"Why not?" you challenged, meeting his intense gaze defiantly despite the butterflies fluttering wildly in your stomach.

Rafe's smirk softened, replaced by a more contemplative look. "Because," he began, his voice quieter now, "I don't want you to."

Confusion mingled with curiosity as you searched his eyes for any hint of deception. "Why?" you asked, your voice softer now, uncertain of where this conversation was headed.

Rafe's gaze held yours, his expression unreadable for a moment before a flicker of something vulnerable crossed his features. "Because," he began slowly, his voice tinged with an unexpected earnestness, "you're not so bad to talk to."

His words caught you off guard, the sincerity in his voice stirring a mix of emotions within you—surprise, uncertainty, and a hint of reluctant admiration. The usual facade of cockiness and charm seemed momentarily set aside, replaced by a genuine attempt to connect.

"I..." you started, searching for words as his gaze held yours steadily. His vulnerability felt almost disarming, a stark contrast to the confident persona he usually projected. You found yourself drawn in by the sincerity in his eyes, wondering what lay beneath his charismatic exterior.

Rafe's lips quirked in a faint, almost self-deprecating smile. "I don't know why," he continued, his tone quieter now, "you just seem so… innocent." His gaze softened as he studied your reaction, as if searching for something deeper in your response.

You blinked, surprised by the unexpected vulnerability in Rafe's words. His usual charm and playfulness were nowhere to be found, replaced by a raw honesty that tugged at something inside you. His admission left you feeling exposed, as if he had seen a part of you that you kept carefully hidden from the world.

"I'm not innocent," you protested softly, your voice barely above a whisper. But even as the words left your lips, you couldn't help but wonder if there was some truth to his perception of you. Maybe there was a side of you that longed for the simplicity and purity of innocence, untouched by the complexities of the world.

Rafe's gaze lingered on you, his eyes searching yours for a reaction. There was a flicker of something unreadable in his expression before he spoke again, his voice low and almost hesitant.

"I didn't mean it as an insult," he said, his tone earnest. "It's... refreshing, in a way. To see someone who still believes in the goodness of the world, despite everything." He shifted slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. "I envy that innocence," he confessed quietly, a vulnerability shining through that you had never seen before.

A rush of empathy washed over you as you listened to him speak, realizing that perhaps Rafe's carefully crafted facade was not as impenetrable as it seemed. It was a moment of unexpected intimacy between the two of you, a shared understanding that transcended words.

"I think there's more to you than meets the eye too, Rafe," you said softly, surprised by your own admission. It was a risky gamble, laying bare your thoughts and feelings in such a way, but somehow it felt right in that moment, as if honesty was the only currency that mattered between you and Rafe. He seemed taken aback by your words, a hint of vulnerability flashing across his features before his usual mask slipped back into place.

"You're perceptive," he murmured, his voice tinged with something you couldn't quite place.

A small smile played on your lips as you watched the subtle shift in Rafe's demeanor, a crack forming in the armor he usually wore so effortlessly. It was a rare sight to witness him letting down his guard, and you found yourself inexplicably drawn to this glimpse of the real Rafe hidden beneath the facade.

Suddenly, a distant sound broke the spell that had enveloped the two of you, causing Rafe to straighten up and glance around warily. The moment had passed, but its impact lingered in the air like a promise of things yet to come.

"We should go," Rafe said abruptly, his voice brisk as he turned away from you.

You followed Rafe through the bustling crowd, your thoughts a whirlwind of the unexpected conversation. As you neared the bonfire, the familiar sound of Sarah’s laughter reached your ears. She spotted you and waved, making her way over with an excited grin.

“There you are!” Sarah exclaimed, her eyes twinkling with curiosity. “Where have you been? I was starting to think you’d ditched me for someone more interesting.”

You forced a smile, trying to brush off the intensity of your recent interaction with Rafe. “Oh, just wandering around,” you replied nonchalantly. “Actually, I’m feeling a bit tired. Do you mind if we head out?”

Sarah’s smile faltered for a moment, replaced by a look of concern. “Are you okay? You look a little out of it.”

“I’m fine,” you assured her, your voice steady. “Just had a bit too much excitement for one night.”

Sarah studied you for a moment before nodding. “Alright, let’s go. I’ll get Topper to drive us.” She glanced around, spotting her boyfriend nearby and motioning for him to join you.

As you waited for Topper, you stole a glance back at the bonfire. Rafe was still there, his figure illuminated by the flickering flames. For a brief second, his eyes met yours across the distance, and a silent understanding passed between you. There was more to uncover, more to understand about each other, but tonight wasn’t the night for it.

Topper pulled up in his car, and you climbed into the backseat with Sarah, who gave you a reassuring smile. “You’ll have to tell me all about it tomorrow,” she said, squeezing your hand. “But for now, let’s get you home.

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

taglist: @yawnzshit, @saintchxx4, @hotch-meeeeeuppppp, @maybankslover

#rafe cameron #drew starkey #rafe cameron x reader #obx #outer banks #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe angst #rafe cameron imagine #the outer banks #rafe x y/n #rafe x you #rafe x reader #rafe fic #rafe #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n

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missglaskin · 11 months ago

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Yandere Coriolanus Snow (Romantic) would include:

Tags: fem/Capitol!reader, implied naive!reader, toxic relationship, manipulativeness, lovesick!Coryo, controlling, possessive behavior, isolation, implied forced marriage, Coriolanus is his own warning, messy writing

Coriolanus harbors an insatiable desire for possession and control. This desire towards control was woven into the fabric of his very being through the childhood he had. The war took both his parents, leaving him, Tigress, and his grandmother to lose all their prestige and wealth. The only thing that remained was his name. For Coriolanus, control was needed, after all, survival hinges on the relentless pursuit of ambition. In his world, love itself is entangled with the need for control-a vessel through which he can only claim you for himself.

Coriolanus possesses a distinctive charm; able to tailor himself to align with your virtues and inclinations. Able to don many faces - a devoted son striving to make his family proud, a diligent student who gets along well with his classmates and has the praise of his teachers, a trustworthy and loyal friend. It’s no different to you; he may begin as a stranger, but he can and will integrate himself into your friend group, becoming an acquaintance to a dear friend, and perhaps, evolving into something more.

You spark an internal conflict within Coriolanus. A part of him resents how you seem to have a hold on him. In moments when you hand him something, and he can feel the brush of your fingers against his; fighting the urge to stroke them. Or in crowded hallways, where you accidentally bump into him, apologizing but it falls on deaf ears, where his mind is consumed with a desire to to hold your body against his. You make him lose control, the control he works so hard to maintain.

Many times, he tried to convince himself that he wasn't in too deep, it only takes time for these feelings to pass. He can think of more beautiful girls in the academy, ones who are more intelligent, resourceful, and undoubtedly wealthier than you. But yet, he’s the first to notice when you walk into the room. how his ears seem to instinctively seek the sound of your voice, and as he turns, he always knows where to find you.

He would, at least in the beginning, never openly display his interest in you. If there’s one thing Coriolanus never wants to seem, is desperate. But the second your name is mentioned in a conversation, ever the opportunist, he’ll try to gather every little detail. Most of his discoveries come from watching you, attentively listening to your inputs during class, noting where you spend your time, observing your food preferences.

He pays close attention to how you style yourself - everyone has a dress code, but where you choose to place your pins, how you tuck in your shirt, how you style your hair are the little details, not many notice. He will be sure to make a mention when you make any changes; savoring a moment of triumph when you claim he’s the first to notice.

A constant aspect of Coriolanus is his unrelenting judgment and scrutiny. He holds the belief that he can lead you to become the best version of yourself, someone who understands your needs better than anyone else, even you. He can’t help but think how you’re wasting your future spending time with students who seem to lack any ambition or dedication to their studies. How you’re too ‘kind’ allowing others to walk over you, and besides other male students will get the wrong idea.

You’re not even together, yet everything you do appears to reflect on him. Even when he tries to keep up with your interests and hobbies, he wears a disapproving frown upon discovering your penchant for romance books. He’ll of course read them, but can’t help but lament over how you should delve into more scholarly literature. He reassures himself in due time that he’ll implement all those necessary changes in you, molding you into the person he envisions you should be.

Coriolanus knows what his end goal is; to have you by his side; bound to him and what other conventional means to achieve this than through marriage. A bit of that also aids into his desperation in his pursuit of the Plinth prize. Knowing he cannot bring you to his home or shower you with extravagant gifts, he makes do with the cakes Tigris makes or the white roses of his grandmother.

He could thank Tigris for suggesting places he can take you, creating excuses for the long walks; he merely wants to engage in conversations away from everyone to understand you better. Coriolanus also takes deliberate steps to become acquainted with your parents, showing impeccable manners during the few meetings. His goal is in the hopes that your parents push you towards him, after all, nearly everyone around you anticipates something to come from your interactions.

Even when you finally become his, it fails to calm the intense storm of jealousy that rages within him. Coriolanus is a man who meticulously weighs the benefits and costs of every action, he believes there’s a reason behind everything you do. In the initial stages of the relationship, he is determined not to reveal that ugly side of his, like everything else it’s all tied to his need of control.

Coriolanus is a man who cannot be left alone with his thoughts. Otherwise he’ll rethink every interaction you’ve had, from how you greeted that one person in the morning with such gleefulness. Are you happier to see them than him? How you placed a hand on someone’s shoulder while sharing a laugh at what he deems a childish joke.

Even the mere mention of past relationships triggers anger in him; he wants to be the first to claim every aspect of you. Unbeknownst to you, even casually mentioning them is signing their death warrant. Their name becomes etched in his memory with plans to be rid of them, especially during his days of presidency.

Coriolanus consistently seeks out boundaries to push, careful to appear that he’s not making demands but rather that he’s looking out for you. He wants you to take his input as truth. When Coriolanus compliments on how red looks good on you, he anticipates seeing it incorporated the next time he sees you. If your hair is long enough, he comments on how it beautifully frames your face when pulled up. He’ll make a comment on how you shouldn’t slouch, resisting a smile at how quickly you heed to his words.

The day Coriolanus returned from his time at the district, something had changed. He made a promise to return, pressing a searing kiss to your lips and made you promise in return to wait for him no matter how many years it took. True to his word, he has returned with you being his his first stop after Ghul of course. He was still Coriolanus, though no longer did he have his boyish blonde curls and time of training made his muscles defined through his uniform of duty.

The change became apparent when he became the Plinth’s family heir. No longer did he need to do with the little he had. Bringing you into the Snow mansion and the simple trinkets have turned into luxury. Your wardrobe has already been chosen for you and filled to the brim, taking notice of how most of its colors are crimson, white-pearled and arctic. Many had intricate patterns, adorned with roses etched into the fabric, complemented by grand rose pins.

It's advised to acclimate to the Mansion, to embrace it as your new home as that’s where you’ll spend most of your time. Coriolanus isolates you, he now has the power to turn every one of your friends against you and in return, he comforts you, reminding you of his earlier warnings on how your friends seemed indifferent to your well-being. Your visits and calls to your family dwindle as Coriolanus no longer sees a need to remain in their good graces. After all, you are now his wife, a member of the Snow family.

With your servants and cooks, clear instructions are given; to not speak with you unless it’s relaying a message directly from your husband. If you persistently attempt to speak with them or worse befriend them, they are likely to be replaced. In worse circumstances, if they attempt anything that Coriolanus deems as traitorous, they may be subjected to becoming an Avox; a lesson not only for them but for you as well.

He, of course, allows you to accompany him to galas; public appearances are deemed necessary; portraying him as a loving husband (a role he genuinely believes in) and you, as a devoted wife. During public appearances, every action is done with caution. Not only are you a reflection of him and the Snow name, but you also soon will become the future lady of Panem.

You were allowed to be alone with two people only, at least initially; his grandmother and Tigris. It’s unsure if his grandmother notices her grandson’s behavior, still she’ll only speak praises of him. Repeating how fortunate you are to have him as a husband, to marry into their family.

Tigris on the other hand, offers a semblance of solace. She treats you well, yet beneath her kindness, sometimes you discern a glance of sadness, almost pity. Sometimes, she questions if you’re being treated well and you respond with what you’ve been practiced to say. And despite her skepticism, she never presses further, as if understanding that doing so might jeopardize any possibility of being alone with you ever again.

Coriolanus revels in returning home to you. In his eyes, he believes he has attained everything he desired: the restoration of his family's name to its past glory, the regaining of its respect and prestige. How close he’s to be able to reside over Panem, and finally, having you.

Although you might think he doesn’t notice, he does. He notices how you gaze out of the window, your attempts to reason with him, how you do all you can do to make his day better when wanting your usual favors. He notices the concealed frown when the topic of children is mentioned. He knows when you lie. A promise later on, that he made you swear to never break.

But he also notices that despite knowing what he has done. Years and years of marriage no longer allow secrets to be concealed. You’re keenly aware of all those who’ve gone missing, including a politician who you recall foolishly making a pass at you. The sores on his lips tell of all those moments you’re never allowed to attend.

Yet, you remain by his side. Perhaps you’ve fully accepted the man he always was - a monster not one that he has become, but who he always was. Even when watching the hunger games, even when you have to stand by him and greet each child you know are sending to their death. Or perhaps in a twisted form of love that mirrors his own, you’ve grown to love him.

Over the years, there have been moments when you questioned if you were truly safe even with decades of marriage and giving him children who in turn gifted you with grandchildren. However, as you gaze at the man whose youthful looks have faded, who still greets you with a kiss to your hand just as he did in your younger days, you find a sense of security - for now.

#coriolanus snow x reader #the hunger games x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes x reader #tbosas x reader #yandere x reader #yandere headcanons #yandere coriolanus snow #yandere the hunger games #thg x reader #x reader #reader insert #female reader

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whatisonthemoon · 1 year ago

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Don Diligent’s Message to Sun Myung Moon and Neil Salonen: admit the UC is a CIA operation!

Re-posting from WIOTM Archive - a Don Diligent archived post from August 8, 2016, titled, “Mr. Moon! Just tell us the Unification Church is a CIA operation! Tell us now! You too Neil Salonen! Tell us now!”

Interview With Reverend Moon - Frederick Sontag - 1977

Sontag: Outsiders seem to detect a sense of conspiracy about the church and its activities. Why does it arouse this suspicion about its activities?

Moon: You know the Unification Church does not have any secrets. Many people think it is surrounded by secrets, like some sort of super CIA-type operation…I do not have anything to hide…we operate in the open.

Cults, Anti-Cultists, and the Cult of Intelligence by Daniel Brandt From NameBase NewsLine, No. 5, April-June 1994

Given the CIA’s resources, it is reasonable to expect that a commensurate interest in the cult phenomenon has secretly persisted through the years… A CIA interest in cults is far more ominous than the phenomenon of cults by themselves, because intelligence elites have the resources and mind-set to manipulate large populations.

The first example of such links is the Unification Church (UC) of Rev. Sun Myung Moon. Today it is too well-established to be considered a cult; the list of their front groups and businesses in NameBase runs to 28 pages with 667 names. The UC no longer recruits on U.S. campuses the way they used to – they don’t need the money that Moonies would earn from selling flowers at airports, and they don’t need this sort of publicity. Instead they buy universities: in 1992 the UC plunked down over $50 million for the University of Bridgeport in Connecticut, and one of the UC’s new trustees there is Jack E. Thomas, who was assistant chief of staff for U.S. air force intelligence for six years, and then special assistant to the CIA director for nine years.

Before the Unification Church was incorporated in the U.S. in 1963 by Bo Hi Pak, Moon had the support of the South Korean Central Intelligence Agency (KCIA). The expansion of the cult into the U.S. was conceived as a means of influencing U.S. politics. Four of Moon’s early followers were young army officers close to Kim Jong Pil, the founding director of the KCIA and chief strategist for the Park regime. Bo Hi Pak was the KCIA liaison to U.S. intelligence at the time, stationed in the Korean Embassy in Washington. Today he is one of Moon’s top aides and president of the Washington Times. In 1962 Kim made a two-week official visit to the U.S., and Lt. Col. Bo Hi Pak arranged meetings with CIA director John McCone, defense secretary Robert McNamara, and Defense Intelligence Agency director Gen. Joseph Carroll. On his way home, Kim met with some of Moon’s followers in San Francisco. Pak’s other duties at the Korean Embassy included frequent liaison trips to the National Security Agency at Fort Meade, Maryland. Moon… has received political and financial support from Yoshio Kodama, Ryoichi Sasakawa, and other powerful Japanese right-wing figures. In 1970 the Japanese contingent of Moon’s organization sponsored the annual conference of the World Anti-Communist League.

Church Takeover Of University Now Complete Hartford Courant August 07, 1992 By KATHERINE FARRISH

The Unification Church’s takeover of the struggling University of Bridgeport is now complete with the election of 16 new trustees, including several of the most prominent Americans in the Unification movement. Leading the list of trustees elected Wednesday by the 15 current trustees are Neil Albert Salonen…New University of Bridgeport trustees nominated by the Professors World Peace Academy: Jack E. Thomas, a retired Air Force major general, former special assistant to the director of the CIA, trustee of the Washington institute.

On the referenced ‘NameBase’ NameBase is a web-based cross-indexed database of names that focuses on individuals involved in the international intelligence community, U.S. foreign policy, crime, and business. The focus is on the post-World War II era and on left of center, conspiracy theory, and espionage activities. Founder Daniel Brandt began collecting clippings and citations pertaining to influential people and intelligence agents after becoming a member of the Students for a Democratic Society, an organization which opposed US foreign policy, in the 1970s. With the advent of personal computing, he developed a database which allowed subscribers to access the names of US intelligence agents.

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yumeka-sxf · 1 year ago

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I've been waiting to see Yor's epiphany chapter in the anime and it did not disappoint! I felt like analyzing more than usual because I loved this episode so much~ 💖

I hope that any anime-only viewers who at this point still had the opinion that Yor's just ditzy/submissive, one-dimensional, or whatever negative traits associated with her, have changed their minds. Throughout the cruise arc we've seen so many sides of her character: how she's struggling to understand the exact reason why she's taking on these dangerous assignments when her original reason for doing it (supporting Yuri) no longer exists, how her internal desire to seek her own happiness - live a peaceful life like Olka - is at constant war with her diligence to complete her mission, her yearning to be with Loid and Anya and how sad she looks when she has to tell herself that they're just a cover-up family and she'll have to leave them without a word if anything drastic happens, and how much more confident she is when doing something she excels at - assassinating - yet still retaining her kind and polite demeanor (Unlike Twilight, who dons the mask of Loid Forger, Yor Forger is not a mask for Thorn Princess, at least not in terms of personality. So everything she says as Thorn Princess can be interpreted as her true feelings, including the now two times she's hesitated during fights because of the thought of having to leave the Forgers).

And, in the moment where she's facing death right in the eye, all the doubts she's had since getting this assignment culminate, not only causing the samurai assassin to get the upper hand, but causing her to take a deep, introspective look into her reason for fighting...if it's not for the same reason as the other assassins, what is it?

What's even more amazing is that these things about her character did not come out of nowhere just for the sake of a flashy climax. We saw in previous episodes that not only does she understands that being in the Forger family makes her happy, but most importantly, how she's lived her life only thinking of the happiness of others above her own. And what's most tragic is that, upon finally realizing that her original reason for being an assassin is gone (since Yuri no longer needs support) she's ready to die then and there...until she remembers Olka's words about wanting to live a peaceful life, which in turn makes her remember her core reason for becoming an assassin was to not only support Yuri, but to make the world he lives in all the more peaceful by eliminating the villains in it.

Despite how naive Yor is about many things (due to her upbringing), she's certainly not ignorant about the needless tragedies that exist in the world. And here is where she makes her decision to keep doing her assassinating, not because she enjoys killing people, but because the result of it will make the world a better place...because now, she has even more people whose happiness she desires to protect.

Even if she sacrifice her own happiness by leaving the Forgers, that's not as important to her as preventing tragedy from befalling her loved ones, or the world in general. And these thoughts are so similar to Twilight's reasons for becoming a spy! Coincidently, as Yor has these thoughts, she thinks of how Loid complimented this aspect of her personality way back when they first met...and the thought that the man who she trusts and respects so much would approve of her decision, gives her the final push to keep on going (I love that they reanimated this scene too and didn't just use the exact frames from episode 2).

So yeah, if anyone who wasn't sure of how much depth Yor's character has, I hope this episode shed a lot of light! This is the right way to make a character both cute/sweet but also a total badass who's strong on the outside as well as the inside.

(I will probably reword a lot of this for my upcoming Twiyor analysis posts but I couldn't wait until then, lol).

#spy family #spy x family #sxf #spyxfamily #yor forger #twiyor #sxf anime

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xo-cod · 1 year ago

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calling simon when you're scared and hiding from some creeps that are following you on the way back from work/uni and won't leave you alone :(((

the protective instincts on this mf, these people don't stand a chance. immediately demands your location, keeping you on the line while he's already in his car. he's fast when he needs to be, especially when it's concerning you.

and when he finally comes to your location his blood all but boils when he sees the creeps near you, his gaze hardening as he edges close. he's silent, years of being an experienced lieutenant has advantages that many people don't possess. he's light on feet, despite the huge bulking size on him. it doesn't take long for him to storm closer, his height trumping theirs as he eyes them

"get the fuck away" his voice is cold, sharp, commanding. ghost

and when the creeps turn around to face him, their heads crane up to look at this behemoth of a man. donned head to toe in military gear, a skull balaclava covering his face apart from his eyes which all but glowers at these people. his thick boot takes another step forwards, his hands clenched ready to fight. ready to show what he's made of. the anger and tension was practically palpable, ghost was ready to go

it's a shame they run with their tails between their legs. and simon let's them go, that's not to say he won't do his due diligence and look them up later but you're his first priority right now. bundles you close in his huge arms, his hands stroking your back while he presses kisses to your temple softly. he can feel your heart racing and it engages him that someone instilled this much fear into you.

"here c'mere. i got you lovie. you're safe with me"

he's dropping you off and picking you up himself from now on for his peace of mind and his sanity. and you're getting lessons in self defence 😙 and those creeps definitely got their comeuppance in the night, simon returns to you with suspiciously bloodied fists muttering something about how he accidentally knocked them over

#asks #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader

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motorcop · 7 months ago

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"...As you may have already guessed, you've been selected for the dive unit. The rubber briefs you have on will remain in place for this cycle. As you may have realized, they are much more than just a brief or bathing suit. You are tubed to collect your seed, that the State has all rights to until you are fully released. They will be removed, sanitized, your body inspected and repaired if needed at the start of the next cycle. You will be fitted with a dive suit just like the one i am holding. Just like your former prison uniform, the dive suit Control Wear interior electronics are similar, but much much more controlling. As you will only be spending off hours back in your tubes to sleep and regenerate, you will be among the rest of society the other 18 hrs each day and these will keep you from doing or saying anything that will extend your sentence. You will be respectful and courteous to all you encounter. You will work diligently and professionally, and you will make yourselves available to all police and guards that want to use you for their own pleasure.... If anyone has questions or objects, lets hear it now....nothing?...OK, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 - don you suits, Units "

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cordyce · 2 years ago

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BY YOUR HANDS ALONE

neteyam sully x gn!reader

notes: this is silly & overtly fluffy & all over the place if i am completely honest rn. neteyam is a little flustered & probably ooc. sorry :’)

"there you are."

"here i am," you mirror back instantly, hardly sparing a glance up at the far too familiar voice as your fingers continue to work at chopping up some vegetables. it's a busy day—a momentous day. there is no time to waste.

"let me help," neteyam offers, already making moves to steal your knife from you as he steps to your side.

but you weave it away from his grasp, nudge him back with your shoulder and point the knife at him as you address him. "aht, don't think so," you differ, then continue your slicing. "besides, don't you have your own tasks to get to, mr. mighty warrior?"

days like this require a lot of preparation; everyone chipping in and doing their part so that it all gets done and runs smoothly. if even one person slacks off, it could cause a rift in sanctified plans. and that simply wouldn’t do. no, it would not.

"i have completed all of them, actually," he retorts, but he shrivels when you narrow your eyes up at him. "okay, almost all of them."

you scoff, let your pupils meet your sockets with a roll as you pry the truth out of him. of course, one of the most important days of the year and it is now that neteyam chooses to have an irresponsible whim. you aren’t sure what you’re gonna do with him.

"your mother will have your tail if she finds one thing out of place for tonight, you know this." it isn't necessarily a warning, but there is some tip-off in your tone. "you must get everything done."

neteyam hums, leans his hip against the raised wood that you are using as a makeshift counter. he says nothing, simply watches you. takes into account how you dice up the vegetables in front of you diligently before sliding them to the side with your knife and moving onto the next ones. his stare is driving you crazy—no one works well under pressure, after all.

it causes you to have a slight blunder; a misstep. you cut a pattern a tad too fast and send a slice of root tumbling towards the ground. neteyam's instincts are superb, quick, and he catches it before it hits the dirt. mumbling a thank you under your breath as he places it back on the tray, you find the heir before you still not making a move to speak.

you aren't sure why it unnerves you so.

"what do you have left to complete?" it's not the question you want to ask, but 'what the hell do you keep staring at?' doesn't sound quite as nice. so you settle on it.

you take a pause, a breath, to turn to him. throughout the years you have seen the eldest sully child wear many expressions. ones tainted by smiles, irritation, pride, devotion—but this one has you tipping your head in the most peculiar way.

because timidness is not something you think you've ever seen don the strong features of neteyam sully.

he carries himself with such an air of confidence; shoulders pressed back and chin held high—not arrogant, but undaunted. he does not shift gaze unless he is avoiding scoldings and he does not suck in his cheek unless he is fighting frustration. so, you wonder, what could possibly have his face contorted in such a reticent manner. if you did not know any better, you’d almost call his demeanor a rendition of shy. but that seems rather uncharacteristic of him, doesn’t it?

"ah—are you sure you don't need help with that?" he's deflecting, brushing off your inquiry like he hasn't heard it. and you can't decide whether you find that amusing or concerning.

he's making way for your knife again and you twist your arm to hold it out of his reach behind you. you eye him carefully, flit your gaze all around him to pick up on anything that you can that would explain his behavior.

"tell me." it's not an order, you aren't demanding, but neteyam nods his head like he's respondent of such.

"my father told me i needed a, uhm," he stutters, licks his lips, like he's tripping over his own tongue. and it's undeniable the way you see his ears twitch. "for the celebration tonight. i need a.."

"a what, neteyam?" you press, cock your brow up at him. you don't think you've ever seen him like this. never witnessed him so.. "you need a what?"

"a.. date."

so fidgety.

"a date?" you repeat with widening eyes.

"no, no not a—not a date really but i need someone for the—“

"the staining ceremony.” you finish for him, continue his sentence because with all his blubbering you aren’t sure he’ll ever spit it out.

he nods curtly.

the celebration tonight is for all the young warriors who have proved themselves throughout the calendar year as being strong willed and great protectors of the clan. neteyam, of course, is one of them. has been since he earned the right to be titled as such. so perhaps it should have clicked in your head that he’d be searching for a partner for the staining ceremony portion of the night.

but a part of you—if you’re being completely honest with yourself—just figured he had one already. events like this take weeks of planning; most warriors find their artisan a fortnight in advance. because it cannot just be anyone.

the partner one chooses for the staining ceremony must be someone with whom they feel a connection. some of the older warriors choose their mates. some of the youngest choose their mother or father. some settle for siblings. others, in brazen acts of outstretched hands, choose a mate unbonded; one who they harbor feelings for but have yet to seal such in the eyes of Eywa.

you cannot lie and say you had not pondered over who neteyam’s choice would be. a part of you thought he would pick kiri—they have always been so close and she has been his partner for such ceremony before. but, you are not deaf to the murmurs of your village, you are not ignorant of what has been passed from mouth to ear of all that will listen. there have been other… prospects who have been suggested to neteyam for this special commemoration.

your name has not been among them.

“well,” you continue, tear your eyes away from him and get back to the task at hand. there is no need to dwell on such things and fall behind. you have just one more batch of greens after this to prepare then you will be done and can walk away from all this. “if you’re here to ask my opinion on who your choice should be, i’m not sure i will prove to be much help.”

a shut down; a cut off. you’d like this conversation to be over as soon as possible because it’s making your fingers itch. you’re offering him a gateway to close the topic off.

but he doesn’t seem to get the memo.

“no,” he chuckles, now, and you can tell he’s shaking his head out of the corner of your eye. it’s breathy; like he’s punched it out of his chest and finally broken past the barrier of whatever flusteredness had him trapped before. “that’s not why i came to find you.”

“if it’s to convince kiri to sacrifice herself to do it for you again this year, i’m not game for that either.” you don’t understand why his laughter leaves you agitated, why this whole situation has caused an odd twisting in your gut.

“that won’t be necessary,” he disputes, “i do not need kiri to be my partner this year.”

your fingers fumble, your slicing stutters. “oh?” and you want to kick yourself for how your voice hitches. you clear your throat, bite the corner of your lip that neteyam can’t see. “convince some other poor soul to do it for you? is it zuy’nik? i know she presented you a kill from her hunt recently.”

neteyam hums. “no. i have not chosen zuy’nik.”

you grip your knife harder, focus carefully on the blade as you chop down on a bundle of leaves. your throat is dry, your heart is thundering. you feel silly.

“sënuul, then?” you question, do your best to sound as disinterested as possible even though your chest is burning to know who could be lucky enough to have been picked by the heir himself. “i hear many young warriors wish for her. they say she has delicate hands.”

your hands—in contrast—have grown tense; your chops near erratic. being this worked up over a man who is not your mate seems so futile, so nonsensical. if your mother were here to see you now she’d call you childish.

but is it so childish to want things your heart yearns for?

“while that may be true,” neteyam agrees with the sentiment, and that makes your stomach lurch, “it is not sënuul either.”

“then who is it? who could you possibly—“

a hand covering yours has you cutting yourself off. neteyam’s palm melds over your knuckles; stops your unsafe cutting and stills your wrist’s movements. before you can even bring yourself to look at him, calloused fingers are hooking around your chin. swiveling your head around, you have no choice but to meet his gaze. and it is not averting, not twinkling with tepidness like it was before. you think, for a moment, that’s because he’s passed the feeling onto you.

“i do not wish for any other partner in this clan.” and his voice does not waver, does not stumble, now. you swallow as you listen. “i came here to ask if you would do me the honors, for tonight.”

your tongue feels like cotton; the fuzz of it floating to your brain to make everything go static. this is.. not what you had expected.

you had expected to follow neytiri’s orders for preparing the food for the meals that would be shared. you had expected to dress yourself in the ceremonial clothing and jewelry you keep for these special occasions. you had expected to stand around the edges of the circle during the opening dance, serve food to the elders, and sit with a content tight smile as you watched kiri declare neteyam’s war paint for the third year in a row before the true celebration began.

you had not expected yourself to be standing face to face with neteyam, ears twitching embarrassingly sporadic, as he asks you to join him in one of the most intimate and important events of a warrior’s life.

and you suppose you can use that element of surprise as the reason why you find yourself a tad bit speechless while you nod dumbly. a wide grin cracks across his face, curves up his cheeks as he lets out another breathy laugh.

“thank you,” he murmurs, and he still hasn’t let go of your chin. “i was worried i would not get the chance to ask you in time. i was pushing it, but i tried to get all my other duties done as fast as i could.”

now that, the mention of time, finally knocks you out of your little lovesick trance.

“hey, wait,” you huff, shove at his chest lightly with your free hand. “you should have asked me sooner! i should have already had your stain pattern planned out, and—and now i have to go get all of your paints and i didn’t factor in the time for that. you’re terrible!”

“ah, i’m not terrible. i am sure you can just wing it,” he waves off, simpers like this is funny.

“wing it?” you gape at him. because he genuinely cannot be serious. “this will be your war paint pattern for the rest of the year. if it’s bad then you will be stuck with it. you want me just to wing that?!”

“why not? i have faith in you, i’ve put myself into your hands.” and it’s meant to playful, you know this, but the way he’s looking at you proves his words hold their full weight regardless. “don’t be mad at me.”

“oh, i’m mad,” you retort, brush him away as you get back to slicing because now you really do not have the time for distractions. “i cannot believe you have waited until last minute.”

“would you like me to ask someone else?” he queries, and you whip your head over to level him with a glare. “i mean, i am sure sënuul would be honored to be the partner of the future olo’eyktan.”

“you know, i liked you better when you were sputtering and nervous,” you spit back, retract your attention once again. “terrible. truly terrible.”

“ah, do not be mad at me,” he levels again, “what can i do to have you forgive me?”

“nothing. you will never be forgiven.” with no hesitation, but also no malice. your bite holds no venom, and your cheeks are still warm. such hypocrisy you spew.

“nothing?” he questions, and you don’t even have to see his face to know he is smiling. there he is again; the neteyam who holds his chin up high and taunts his brother into mindless games to prove his worth. you admire this neteyam; love this neteyam.

this neteyam grabs your face and tugs you forward before you can think of another mindless rebuttal to spout.

the kiss is light but fervent, and if you were a poetic person you might just say that his lips taste like future promises you already intend to keep. the fight drains from your body and you find no urge to bring it back. this neteyam seems to know how to quell you, how to dispel your frustration and wipe away your grievances like fogged up glass. so easy, so effortlessly.

he pulls away languidly, breath puffing against your lips. "forgive me?" he asks again, and you find yourself nodding before he even finishes the question.

he turns your head to peck your cheek then drops his hands to finally successfully steal the knife still held in yours. you tip your head, blinking through the daze to inquire what he's doing.

"i can finish that, you know."

"i know," he answers, then flashes you a crooked grin that has your stomach twisting in a way far different than before. "but don't you think you should start planning how you want to trail your hands over me?"

and, oh. part of you wants to hit him for that. but part of you wants to tug him in by the neckpiece he dons and get him to shut up by an alternative method.

as you reach forward to run your hand ever so heedlessly up his chest, a faux illusion of planning your mapping, you think you might just settle on the latter.

likes & reblogs appreciated !

#this is for my sweet matcha first and foremost <3 i hope u like it !#also i TOTALLY made up this entire celebration thing LMAO #i jus thought it was a cool idea and super cute sooo #also. i rlly hope u don’t think neteyam is too ooc bc he is a bit. flustered here #BUT SJDHDN AHHH ENJOY #neteyam x you #neteyam x na'vi!reader #neteyam x reader #neteyam sully x reader #neteyam drabble #neteyam fluff #avatar x reader #atwow x reader #atwow fluff #avatar fluff #neteyam sully fluff

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