#in the sense where they both sound rather young | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

seriiousgiirl · 1 month ago

Text

𝐼𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ݁𝒿𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓈 𝓈𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓍 𝓉𝑒𝒶𝒸𝒽𝑒𝓇!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇.⊹ �� ݁.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 . ⊹ ₊ ݁. alternate universe - canon divergence, post-silent Hill 2, angst and fluff and smut, touch-starved, redemption, grief, mourning, psychological trauma and horror, mutual pining, James adopted Laura, age difference, smut, vaginal sex, rough sex, rough kissing, aftercare, daddy kink, James deserves his happy ending, James is desperate and pathetic, based on the Silent Hill Games and mostly the remake

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ 𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 . ⊹ ₊ ݁. Three years after the harrowing events in Silent Hill, James Sunderland has survived the haunting memories of his past but carries the heavy burden of grief and guilt. Adopting Laura, James strives to create a normal life for them both, but the echoes of his former life linger, haunting him in moments of solitude.

As he navigates the challenges of fatherhood and a corporate job, James grapples with PTSD and the lingering shadows of his late wife, Mary. His daily interactions are fraught with anxiety, especially when it comes to Laura's teacher, Y/n. Young, vibrant, and filled with warmth. But as Y/n becomes an unexpected source of comfort and tension in James's life. He is drawn to her kindness and beauty, yet he feels undeserving of her attention, burdened by the ghosts of his past.

When Y/n reaches out with genuine concern for James's well-being, he wrestles with feelings of guilt, lust and longing, torn between the desire for connection and the fear of betraying Mary's memory. As James's pent-up frustrations bubble to the surface, he finds himself navigating a complicated emotional landscape where love, loss, and redemption intertwine.

❛ Part 2 ⋅ masterlist ⋅ ao3 ⋅ requests ❜

➜ ┊ a/n: Hello everyone! After years of being more or less in the Silent Hill fandom, the remake rather inspired me... :') After seeing how cute James is in it, I felt like I was rediscovering his character. The story is a bit different from what we usually see, but I hope it will appeal to the (few, I don't think many would be interested in a silent hill fanfic) people who read it.

➜ ┊: chapter 1/?.

James woke up again, his body snapping upright in bed, his breath ragged and uneven as if he had just surfaced from drowning. His chest rose and fell with frantic breaths that refused to calm, his heart hammering against his ribcage like a prisoner desperate to escape. The room around him was silent, still, and blanketed in shadows, the faintest silver glow of the moon seeping through the thin, worn curtains. It painted his surroundings in an eerie light, enough to make out the vague shapes of his furniture but not enough to chase away the weight of the darkness.

He knew it was early—much too early. The alarm on his nightstand wouldn’t go off for hours, not until the unforgiving numbers clicked over to 7 a.m. He set it religiously, every night, clinging to the hope that one day he’d wake naturally to the sound, as if that simple act could restore some semblance of normalcy to his broken life.

But that never happened.

James never woke peacefully anymore. His body, his mind, refused to grant him that mercy. Instead, he jolted awake in a cold sweat, his body rigid, his pulse racing. Each time, it felt as though he was being pulled from some unseen nightmare—ripped out of a hellish dreamscape that he couldn’t remember clearly but always left its mark. The fear, the panic, the suffocating sense of dread stayed with him, lingering like smoke in the air long after his eyes had adjusted to the dim glow of his bedroom.

He pressed his palm against his face, wiping away the sheen of sweat that clung to his skin. His body felt tense, coiled like a spring that had been wound too tightly. His muscles ached from the constant strain, from the battles he fought every night within the confines of his mind. The nightmares weren’t just dreams. They were fragments of a past that refused to stay buried, haunting him in the dead of night when the world outside was quiet and his mind had no distractions to keep the demons at bay.

The medication bottles on his bedside table gleamed faintly in the moonlight, their labels worn from use. He reached for them out of habit, his fingers brushing the cool surface, but he didn’t open them. No matter how many pills he swallowed, how many prescriptions doctors wrote, nothing ever worked. Sleep was supposed to be a sanctuary, a refuge from the waking world, but for James, it had become another battleground.

He let his hand drop back to his lap, staring down at his shaking fingers. He could feel the tension still coursing through him, the residue of whatever nightmare had dragged him awake. His body hadn’t yet realised he was safe, that it was just a dream, and the adrenaline still pumped through his veins. Every night, it was the same—this restless terror that clung to him, trapping him in a cycle he couldn’t escape. He longed for sleep, yet feared it in equal measure, knowing that the darkness of his subconscious held more horrors than the light of day ever could.

For a moment, he considered lying back down, closing his eyes, and trying again.

But the thought alone made his stomach twist.

With a sigh, James decided to give up on sleep altogether. There was no use lying there, waiting for his heart to calm down or for the remnants of his nightmare to fade. His legs still trembled as he swung them over the side of the bed, the cool floor beneath him grounding him just enough to pull himself up. The shadows in the room seemed to shift as he stood, though he knew it was his mind playing tricks again. He had long stopped trusting the darkness.

He moved carefully, trying to stay silent as he made his way to the door, not wanting to wake Laura. She was the only constant in his life now, the only reason he hadn’t completely unravelled. But even the thought of her, sleeping peacefully down the hall, wasn’t enough to ease the tremor in his hands. As he stepped out of the bedroom, the familiar creak of the floorboards echoed too loud in the silence of the house, and for a fleeting moment, his breath hitched.

Sometimes, in these quiet hours, he could swear he heard them—the monsters. That same sickening creaking sound they made, their grotesque forms dragging across the cold. Or worse, the heavy, slow scrap of metal—a blade being dragged along the ground. His body tensed, instinctively waiting for the ominous presence of that thing— he came to call Pyramid Head. He hadn’t seen it in three years, but its presence still lingered, like a ghost lurking in the corners of his mind. His chest tightened as he imagined that scraping sound growing closer, louder, but he knew… or at least, he tried to convince himself it wasn’t real. Not anymore.

On the worst days, though, it wasn’t just the monsters.

Sometimes, he would hear her—Mary. Her voice, soft and sweet, like the Mary he remembered before everything went wrong, calling out to him. It always started the same way, a gentle whisper at first, like she was in the next room, waiting for him. And each time, it grew louder, more urgent, until it was a siren’s call, relentless and cruel. It was enough to make his heart stop, to make him question everything, and then he’d remember—he knew where that call would lead. Straight into oblivion. Straight into the abyss of his own guilt.

On other nights, he could swear he felt Maria—her warmth next to him in bed, the way her body would press against his. It was so vivid, so painfully real, as though she hadn’t died in his arms multiple times, as though Silent Hill hadn’t swallowed her whole. She had been a ghost, a reflection of everything he had lost, and yet… sometimes she felt alive in those moments. His doctors told him it was all hallucinations, the remnants of trauma deeply embedded in his mind. Certified and explained away in clinical terms, but knowing that didn’t change how real it felt in those fleeting, terrifying seconds.

Even now, as he stood in the hallway, his breath uneven, James couldn’t shake the feeling that somewhere—beneath the layers of his fragile reality—the horrors were still there, watching, waiting.

James padded quietly into the kitchen, his bare feet brushing against the cool tiles as he reached for a glass. The water flowed smoothly from the tap, cool and refreshing, and he drank it straight, the crispness washing over him. It helped clear his mind, if only for a moment, pushing back the lingering echoes of the night’s terrors.

After finishing the glass, he flicked on the small lamp in the living room, its soft glow spilling light across the space, chasing away the oppressive darkness. He made his way to the couch, settling himself in front of the window, where the city still lay shrouded in early morning silence. Outside, the world was just beginning to stir, but here in this moment, everything felt suspended in time.

They had moved far away from Silent Hill, away from Maine altogether, as if he was still trying to escape the town’s haunting pull. When Laura had expressed her desire for a place near the coast, saying she wanted to feel the warmth of the sun and breathe in the salty scent of the ocean, he had obliged her wishes. It was the least he could do for the little girl who had become his lifeline, the one bright spot in his otherwise dark world. It had taken time, but he had learned to appreciate the small things—like the sound of waves crashing against the shore and the way the sunlight danced on the water’s surface.

He pulled his journal from the side table, the worn leather cover familiar against his fingers. The pages were filled with thoughts, memories, and an ongoing dialogue with himself—one that his doctor had encouraged. Writing was meant to help him sort through his feelings, to separate reality from the nightmares that still clung to him like shadows. It was a way to document the moments that felt tangible, grounding him in the present.

With the pen poised above the page, he took a deep breath, letting the silence of the morning wrap around him.

Date: [XX/10/1993]

Another night of waking up in a cold sweat. The dreams feel heavier lately, more vivid. I can still hear Mary’s voice sometimes, like she’s calling out to me. I know it’s not real, but the longing… It’s hard to escape. I need to remember that I’m here now. That I have Laura. She needs me to be present. I need to plan my day—take her to the beach, show her the tide pools, maybe? She deserves to explore, to laugh, to feel alive. Maybe it will help me too.

James paused, staring at the words he’d just written. The ink was still wet, and he felt the weight of each line pressing against his chest, a mixture of hope and dread swirling within him.

He continued, allowing his thoughts to flow onto the page.

I’ve been thinking about the way the ocean looks at dawn. It’s a beautiful sight, the horizon slowly illuminated by the first light of day. I want to share that with Laura. She deserves to see the world as it is. Maybe if I can show her that, it’ll help me remember what it feels like to be alive, too.

He turned the page, feeling the familiar texture beneath his fingertips, grounding him in a moment that felt too fragile. The nightmares are starting to blur again. It’s like I’m drifting between memories and dreams. I know I should talk to Dr. Fischer about it, but I hate feeling so exposed. Every time I sit across from him, it’s like peeling back layers of skin. I don’t want to keep reliving the past, but I also know I can’t pretend it doesn’t exist. It’s a part of me now—part of what makes me who I am.

But sometimes, I wonder if I’m doing enough. If I’m enough. Laura is so full of life—she deserves happiness, yet I feel like a ghost in my own home. The laughter that fills this place is often followed by a silence that weighs heavily on me, as if I’m a spectator in my own life, watching a play where I don’t belong.

He paused, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, fighting against the swell of loneliness that threatened to overwhelm him.

Some days, I can still hear Mary’s laughter, the way it used to light up the room, but now it’s a whisper in the wind. I wish I could reach out to her, ask her for forgiveness, tell her how much I miss her. But she’s gone, and I’m left with nothing but my guilt and the memories that won’t let me go. It’s a bitter irony—I have another chance at life with Laura, yet I feel more alone than ever.

I thought time would heal me, that the scars would fade, but each day feels like a new reminder of what I’ve lost. I watch Laura play, her laughter cutting through the silence, and it fills me with joy and pain all at once. I want to protect her, to shield her from the darkness I carry. But how can I do that when I’m still fighting my own battles?

Anyway, plan for today: Take Laura to the beach, explore the tide pools, and have a picnic.

As he continued to write, the rhythm of his thoughts began to settle, the initial chaos giving way to clarity. He documented everything he hoped to achieve that day, the things that could distract him.

After some time, the soft patter of small feet echoed in the hallway, and Laura emerged from her room, her hair tousled and her eyes still heavy with sleep. She settled next to James on the couch, curling her legs beneath her as she leaned against his shoulder, still waking up.

“Did you even sleep at all?” she mumbled, her voice thick with the remnants of slumber.

James chuckled softly, the sound warm and gentle. “Just a little. You know how it is,” he replied, glancing down at her. The early morning light filtered through the window, illuminating her features and casting a soft glow around them.

“Not again,” Laura sighed, shaking her head in mock exasperation. “You should really take better care of yourself, you know.”

James smiled, closing his journal and setting it aside, feeling the comforting weight of their shared silence. His relationship with Laura had evolved significantly since that first day they met. In the beginning, there was an undeniable tension, a wall between them built from grief and uncertainty. Laura had been sharp-tongued and defiant, often testing his patience with her stubbornness. But over time, that wall had crumbled, brick by brick, revealing a bond that had become more profound and genuine.

“Maybe I just like the quiet,” he teased, nudging her lightly with his shoulder. “It gives me time to think.”

Laura rolled her eyes, though a smile tugged at her lips. “Yeah, right. More like you spend it worrying about everything,” she shot back, her familiar sass coming through. But he could sense the softness in her demeanour, the way she had begun to let him in, and it filled him with gratitude.

There were still moments when she wouldn’t call him “Dad”—it felt too heavy, too final—but there had been instances where the word slipped out, once or twice. The first time he had felt a rush of warmth and something almost like fear at her words. It had caught him off guard, pulling at his heartstrings in a way he hadn’t expected. It was one night after a particularly rough day at school.

The kids had been relentless, and when she had come home, her eyes glistened with unshed tears. She had cried so much that night, seeking solace in his arms, and in that moment of vulnerability, she had whispered it—Dad—like it was a fragile promise, something she wanted to believe in.

He had held her tightly, whispering reassurances as she poured out her heart. It was one of the hardest days for both of them, but that single word had changed everything, reinforcing their bond in ways he never thought possible.

The shrill sound of James’s alarm cut through the quiet morning, signalling that it was finally 7 a.m. He groaned softly, the sudden noise pulling him from the lingering remnants of his thoughts. “Time to get moving,” he muttered to himself before swinging his legs off the couch and standing up.

“Laura,” he called out gently, “you need to get ready for school.”

Laura groaned but slowly pushed herself upright, her hair sticking up in tousled spikes. “Do I have to?” she whined, rubbing her eyes.

“Yes, you do,” James replied with a chuckle, heading into the kitchen to start breakfast. He could already hear her muttering under her breath as she dragged herself away from the comfort of the couch, but he couldn’t help but smile at her antics. As he prepared breakfast, the scent of eggs and toast filled the air, mixing with the cool October breeze that slipped in through the slightly ajar window.

He could hear the soft shuffle of Laura getting ready in the background, her footsteps echoing through the hallway.

When breakfast was ready, he set the table, placing a plate in front of her just as she joined him. They ate together in comfortable silence, the clinking of forks the only sound between them for a few moments.

“So, there’s this kid in class…” Laura began, her voice a mix of enthusiasm and worry. As she recounted her stories, James listened attentively, nodding along as she shared her concerns about a class project and the kids who were teasing her again. She spoke with an earnestness that made him proud, she was a smart little girl.

“...and I do think the teacher likes me a lot,” she finished, her voice dropping slightly, smiling shyly.

James reached across the table, placing a comforting hand on hers. “You’re doing great, Laura. I’m so proud of you,” he encouraged, hoping to convey his support.

Once they finished breakfast, he cleared the table while she dashed back to her room to grab her backpack. The familiar morning routine helped ground him, a stark contrast to the chaos that often filled his mind.

Then, James returned to his room, feeling the familiar weight of his thoughts returning. He turned on the water for a shower, the warm spray washing over him, almost as if he were trying to cleanse himself of his sins and guilt. Each droplet felt like it could wash away a little more of his guilt, his pain, and his memories.

After his shower, he stood in front of the mirror, towel drying his ash-blond hair and tidying it up, shaving his stubble. The cold air from outside seeped through the window, sending a shiver down his spine as he dressed for the day. He pulled on a simple shirt and jeans.

But as James stood in front of his closet, the morning light filtering through the curtains, his gaze fell upon his signature khaki jacket hanging quietly amidst his other clothes. For a moment, he hesitated, his heart tightening.

The jacket felt heavy with the weight of the past. He recalled the feel of it against his skin as he navigated the fog-laden streets, the chill of the air contrasting sharply with the warmth it provided. It had shielded him from the elements, yes, but it had also cloaked him in the pain of his choices, the guilt that clung to him like a second skin.

James swallowed hard, staring at the jacket, the muted fabric whispering secrets of the past. He could almost hear the echoes of Mary’s voice, feel the pang of loss that accompanied every memory. It was as if the jacket was tainted, infused with the blood and tears of that time—but also her scent, her warmth and gentle touch.

Perhaps… Today, he could indulge himself.

He took a deep breath, fighting against the swell of anxiety that rose within him. This jacket is just a piece of clothing, James, he reminded himself, yet it felt like so much more. With a decisive moment, he pulled it from the hanger and slipped it on, the familiar weight settling comfortably on his shoulders.

James looked at himself in the mirror, the reflection staring back at him was a man still fighting battles. With a shameful sigh, he adjusted the collar, feeling the jacket’s fabric against his skin. When he stepped outside, the brisk October wind greeted him, a sharp contrast to the warmth inside.

Laura stood at the door, a look of surprise mixed with concern crossing her face.

“Why are you still wearing that jacket?” she asked, her eyes narrowing slightly as she gestured to the fabric. “You know… after everything that happened in...” She couldn’t bring herself to say the name of the haunting town.

James shrugged, a faint smile creeping onto his face. “I still like it. It’s comfortable.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a grin. “You’re so weird, James,” she teased, nudging him with her shoulder as they made their way down the path toward the car.

“Weird or not, let’s get you to school on time little girl,” he said, his tone quite firm. Together, they stepped into the brisk morning air, ready to face whatever the day had in store.

‧───────────────

Dropping Laura off at school had become a routine, but for James, it was anything but simple. As they approached the bustling entrance, he felt a familiar tightening in his chest, a sense of dread creeping over him like a heavy fog. It wasn’t the school itself or the noise of children chattering and laughing; it was the attention he attracted.

In a small town where traditional family structures were the norm, a single father with a daughter who didn’t even remotely resemble him stood out like a sore thumb. James had chosen to keep his past private, and he was grateful that Laura’s adoption remained a secret. He avoided any conversations that might lead to questions about their relationship or as to why he was alone, fearing the scrutiny that came with revealing the truth. After all, in the eyes of the world, he was just a man dropping off his daughter, and that was how he wanted it to stay.

As they parked and stepped out of the car, the sun shone brightly, but it felt cold against his skin. He could already sense the gazes of the mothers lingering on him as he helped Laura with her backpack. Their eyes were sharp, curious, sizing him up like sharks circling prey, ready to pounce at the slightest sign of vulnerability. James kept his head down, focusing on Laura as she adjusted her straps and prepared to head inside.

“Have a good day, okay?” he said, forcing a smile as she turned to him, her enthusiasm bubbling over as she waved goodbye.

“Bye, James!” she called, her voice full of cheer as she dashed toward the school gates, her ponytail swinging behind her.

With her back turned, James felt the full weight of the mothers’ stares. He could almost hear the whispers beneath their breath, speculating about him—why he was alone, where Laura’s mother was, and why they didn’t look alike. It was all too easy to imagine the conclusions they would jump to, and he wanted no part of it.

Every step he took toward his car felt like walking through a minefield. He avoided eye contact at all costs, keeping his gaze fixed on the ground as he navigated through the throngs of parents and children. Conversations buzzed around him, but he focused solely on his breathing, trying to ignore the anxiety tightening around his chest.

As he passed a small group of mothers standing near the entrance, he couldn’t help but catch snippets of their conversations, even as he tried to block them out.

“Did you see him? He looks so sad,” one of them whispered, her voice dripping with faux concern. “Who could leave such a handsome man alone?”

James felt a familiar flush creep up his neck, a mix of embarrassment and irritation. He quickened his pace, but their comments followed him like shadows.

“I know, right? A single father is so sexy,” another chimed in. “I wish my husband was as committed to our son’s school life.”

He clenched his jaw, biting back a retort. The last thing he wanted was to be part of their gossip, yet he was helpless against the words that floated through the air like smoke. Each compliment felt like a reminder of everything he wanted to avoid—attention, scrutiny, and the inevitable questions.

As he reached the edge of the parking lot, he heard another mother say, “I heard there’s a parents-teacher meeting tonight. Can you imagine? He’ll probably be all alone again. It’s such a shame.”

The words hit him like a cold slap, and he paused, taking a moment to gather himself. The thought of attending the meeting, sent a fresh wave of anxiety crashing over him. Why did they have to bring that up now?

He finally reached his car, fumbling for his keys in his pocket as he tried to push the whispers from his mind. The weight of judgement lingered in the air, but he didn’t look back. He slipped into the driver’s seat, exhaling slowly as he gripped the steering wheel. “Just another day,” he murmured to himself, willing his heart to calm.

James had avoided women religiously since he came back, erecting barriers around himself that felt both protective and suffocating. The loss of Mary had left a gaping hole in his heart, one that he couldn’t bear to fill with anyone else. Allowing himself to indulge in the warmth of another felt like an insult to her memory.

In the years following her death, he had retreated into himself, building walls high enough to keep the world—and the painful reminders of his past—at bay. He threw himself into fatherhood, pouring all his energy into raising Laura and ensuring she felt loved and secure. She was his anchor, the one bright spot in the dark fog of his grief. Yet, in avoiding connections with women, he had inadvertently created a deep well of pent-up frustrations within himself—frustrations that simmered just beneath the surface, threatening to boil over at any moment.

Every time he caught himself looking at a woman, whether it was a fleeting glance at a passerby or—especially a longer gaze at Laura’s teacher during a school event, he felt a wave of guilt wash over him. What am I doing? He would ask himself, immediately diverting his eyes, as if the very act of looking was a betrayal of the love he once held dear. He had convinced himself that he wasn’t ready to move forward, but in truth, he was terrified of what that would mean.

In the quiet moments, when he was alone with his thoughts, he couldn’t help but acknowledge the weight of his solitude. The nights grew long and lonely, and sometimes he found himself longing for the comfort of another person—a hand to hold, a voice to soothe him.

But the thought of crossing that line felt insurmountable, like stepping onto a precipice with no way back. He often wondered if this self-imposed exile was healthy or just a way of avoiding the inevitable. Deep down, he knew that if he ever did let someone in, it would come with a torrent of emotions he wasn’t prepared to face—the guilt, the grief, and the fear of moving on without forgetting.

Sometimes, when the darkness of the night enveloped him and the oppressive solitude weighed heavily upon his chest, James found himself struggling to resist his deepest, most shameful urges. Alone in the dim light of his bedroom, the air thick with silence, he would reach for the only source of warmth he had left—his own body.

But every time he started to jerk himself, trying to think about anyone other than Mary, he would falter. His thoughts would slip, no matter how hard he tried to redirect them. The moment he ventured into the realm of fantasy, attempting to conjure images of the warmth he longed for, his mind would betray him. Instead of the embrace of another, he would see Mary’s face—her soft smile, the way her eyes sparkled with mischief, the lightness in her laughter that had once filled their home. The memory of her enveloped him, suffocating and punishing him in its intensity, and he would feel a deep-seated shame clawing at his insides.

But jerking off while thinking about his dead wife, the one he had killed, felt utterly wrong.

With a trembling hand, he'd stroke his hardening cock, trying to drown out the memories that haunted him. But no matter how hard he tried to push them away, they always crept back in, taking over his mind and filling him with an overwhelming sense of guilt. Images of Mary would flood his vision, her soft smile and sparkling eyes etched into his mind, along with the lightness of her laughter that once filled their home.

As he stroked faster, his breaths coming in ragged gasps, he could feel the pressure building inside him. But just as he was about to reach the edge of ecstasy, he would see her face again, and the guilt would consume him. How could he possibly find pleasure in this, knowing what he had done to her?

The guilt was overwhelming, flooding his senses as he would try to push it all away, but it clung to him like a shadow. Tears would fill his eyes, hot and stinging, blurring his vision as the shame washed over him. He would cry, feeling pathetic and broken, as if indulging in his own body was another betrayal on a long list he had made in his mind. How could I even think of anyone else? He would chastise himself, the guilt wrapping around his heart like a vice, squeezing tighter until it became unbearable.

Knowing that he could never truly find solace in this act, James would eventually release his warm cum spilling onto his hand and stomach. But even in the aftermath of his orgasm, the guilt remained, and he would lie there, spent and broken, wondering how he could ever redeem himself.

It was a cycle of longing and despair that left him feeling more isolated than before. He would swipe at his tears, but they would keep coming, relentless and unyielding. The echoes of his cries seemed to linger in the air, a haunting reminder that he was still trapped in a cycle of grief that he could never escape…

‧───────────────

The day had finally drawn to a close, and the muted hum of office chatter began to fade as the fluorescent lights overhead flickered in their final moments. James gathered his belongings, the familiar weight of his briefcase resting heavily in his hand. The corporate world had wrapped around him like a well-worn coat, the same job he had held before, one that felt both calming and predictable.

It paid well enough to keep the bills at bay and provided a stable life for him and Laura, allowing him to indulge her little whims—the occasional treat, a new book or doll, or even a day out at the beach.

As he waved goodbye to his coworkers, offering polite smiles and half-hearted chuckles, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of isolation. Their lives seemed so vibrant, filled with laughter and casual conversations about weekend plans, while he felt like an outsider peering in. Part of him wished he could simply slip away unnoticed, disappearing into the anonymity of the evening. But the thought of the upcoming parent-teacher meeting loomed over him like a dark cloud, the spectre of his insecurities rising to the surface.

What if Laura’s teacher had concerns about her progress? What if she brought up issues he was completely unaware of? The prospect of engaging in a discussion that could highlight his shortcomings as a parent filled him with an unfamiliar anxiety. He recalled how he had struggled to help her with her homework due to his absent mind, the frustration evident in both their faces as they would argue over James’ implications. Laura would always end up saying that she wished she had a better family…

As he walked through the now empty parking lot, James’s mind drifted to the scenario of the meeting. Maybe it was a bit late, and he secretly hoped Laura’s teacher wouldn’t want to linger past the working usual hour to talk with him. He envisioned himself slipping away, feigning an urgent call or an unforeseen obligation, but guilt gnawed at him, tugging at his conscience.

He couldn’t let Laura down; she had come to rely on him, and he owed it to her to at least try.

“Just get through it,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head as if to clear the impending doubts swirling in his mind. The crisp October air washed over him like a cleansing wave, invigorating him for just a moment. Inhaling deeply, he felt the coolness slice through the tension that had built up in his chest throughout the day, if only temporarily.

Sliding into the driver’s seat of his ageing car, he turned the key in the ignition, the familiar rumble reassuring him, if only slightly. He glanced at the clock on the dashboard; he still had a little time before he needed to pick Laura up from school. As he drove toward the school, the streets blurred by in a rush of colors, and he allowed himself to mentally prepare for the meeting.

Maybe he could muster enough courage by the time he arrived, but deep down, he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that this meeting would push him closer to confronting the ghosts of his past—something he had been desperately trying to avoid.

Thoughts of Mary flitted through his mind, uninvited yet persistent. What would she think of him now? Would she be proud of how he was trying to raise Laura, or would she shake her head in disappointment? These questions haunted him as he navigated the familiar streets. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions roiling within him.

The school building came into view, and he parked in a spot near the entrance. As he sat there for a moment, staring at the looming structure that housed his daughter’s daily adventures. With a deep breath, he pushed open the car door, stepping out into the cool evening air.

As he approached the entrance, he reminded himself that this was part of the job of being a parent—a role he was still desperately trying to fully embrace. After all, it was true she deserved more than a father lost in his own grief.

As he approached the school gate, he spotted her standing there, the last child waiting to be picked up. His heart sank at the sight; he had hoped to arrive earlier, to be there for her when the final bell rang. A wave of guilt washed over him, but when Laura turned and her face lit up with a smile, that guilt was momentarily pushed aside.

At least she wasn’t angry.

“James!” she called out, her voice bright and cheerful, as she stretched out her hand toward him. He could see a small backpack slung over her shoulder, and his heart swelled at how she looked—so much like a little girl embracing the world, unbothered by the worries that often plagued him.

“Hey,” he replied, kneeling slightly to take her small hand in his.

As he thanked the school attendant, a friendly woman with kind eyes who had watched over Laura, he glanced around, hoping to catch a glimpse of her teacher. He didn’t see anyone lingering by the entrance, and a relieved sigh escaped him. Perhaps she had decided to leave, not waiting for him to discuss whatever concerns she may have had about Laura. That was one less thing for him to handle, and he felt a slight weight lift off his shoulders.

“Let’s go home, shall we?” he suggested, his tone light as he turned to lead Laura away. The sight of her eager nod and bright smile made his heart feel lighter, even if just for a moment. He began to walk toward the car, feeling a sense of normalcy return to him—until a soft voice called out behind him.

“Mr. Sunderland!”

Here’s an expansion on James' perception of you:

James turned, the sound of your voice pulling him back from his thoughts. You were striding toward him, your expression a mix of determination and urgency, the late afternoon light catching in your soft hair.

There was something striking about your presence that always made his heart race, even amidst the rising anxiety he felt at these interactions. It was as if you carried a warmth with you, an energy that seemed to radiate in the space around you, igniting a flicker of something long dormant within him.

“I was just about to leave,” you said, a hint of breathlessness in your tone as you approached. “I wanted to talk to you before you went. Is this a good time?” You looked unsure.

James glanced at Laura, who was watching the exchange with curious eyes. He felt the familiar knot of anxiety twist in his stomach but nodded, trying to mask his apprehension with a calm demeanour. “Sure, I have a moment.”

“Laura’s been doing really well, by the way,” you continued, your voice lightening as you spoke about his daughter. “She’s incredibly bright and has made some good friends this semester. I’m really proud of her progress.”

James felt a flicker of warmth at your praise. He was grateful to see Laura thriving, especially after the rough patches they had navigated together. “Thank you. I know she’s been working hard,” he replied, glancing down at her, who was beaming at your words.

“But…” you paused, your tone shifting slightly. “There are some areas where she might need a bit more support. I think if we work together, we can help her really shine.”

James felt a wave of gratitude and unease wash over him. While he wanted to support Laura, the idea of deeper involvement with her teaching felt daunting. “What do you suggest?”

Your eyes met his, and he felt a strange mix of comfort and vulnerability in that gaze. You began outlining a few ideas, your passion for teaching evident in your animated gestures. He found himself hanging on your words, drawn in by the way you spoke.

As you began to speak about Laura’s progress, he couldn't help but take in the little details—the way your eyes sparkled when you talked about the kids, the way your hands moved animatedly as you explained your thoughts, and the curve of your soft pink lips. It struck him how youthful and beautiful you looked, filled with a vibrancy that he found both comforting and terrifying.

He had known you for years since Laura started school, but he had always kept his distance, avoiding lingering too long in your presence. Every encounter felt like a double-edged sword; he wanted to connect, to know you better, but the fear of what that meant held him back. Your passion for teaching shone through, and it was evident that you genuinely cared for each child, especially his daughter.

Yet, for James, that made you all the more dangerous. It was a kind of warmth that he couldn’t dare to approach or touch, as if it would burn his skin. Your laughter and bright smiles were like sunlight piercing through the clouds, illuminating the shadows that loomed over his heart.

But it also reminded him of how far removed he was from that happiness.

The innocence and light you carried felt worlds away from the darkness he had endured. It made him question if he was even deserving of your kindness, let alone your attention—even if it was strictly professional. You had a purity about you that felt both inviting and forbidding. It was the kind of innocence that reminded him of everything he had hoped for once—everything he felt unworthy of now. How could someone like you, who radiated joy and hope, ever understand the darkness that clung to him? The guilt and despair that wrapped around his heart like a vice?

Yet, as you continued, he realised that part of him didn’t want this moment to end. Just a short while ago, he had dreaded this conversation, but now he found himself wishing to listen to your soft voice all night long.

As you concluded your thoughts about Laura, your smile remained bright, and for a moment, James caught himself wishing he could linger just a bit longer in your presence, absorbing the warmth you exuded. But the instinct to retreat kicked in, a familiar defence mechanism rising to shield him from the vulnerability he felt around you.

“Thanks for the feedback,” he said, forcing a smile as he tried to mask the storm of emotions brewing inside him. “I appreciate you taking the time.”

You smiled back, but there was a flicker of something in your eyes—curiosity, concern?

He couldn’t quite decipher it.

As you stood there, a moment of silence stretched between you, and James noticed a flicker of hesitation in your eyes. You looked shy, as if you were unsure whether you were crossing a line by speaking up.

“Mr. Sunderland,” you began, your voice soft, “are you okay? I’ve noticed you’ve looked... a bit tired lately.”

The question caught him off guard, and for a fleeting moment, he found himself wondering if it was painfully oblivious or truly observant of the details that everyone else seemed to overlook. But quickly, he concluded that he must have been projecting his exhaustion more than he realised, and he must definitely look tired.

The question wasn’t intimate.

He forced a smile, trying to shake off the weight of your concern. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he replied too quickly, dismissing your worry as he nodded almost vigorously. “Just, you know, work and everything.”

For a heartbeat, you searched his face, perhaps hoping to see something more, a glimpse of the truth that lay beneath his carefully crafted exterior. But after a moment of hesitation, you seemed to accept his response. You nodded, though there was still a hint of worry shadowing your features.

“If you or Laura need anything, please let me know,” you insisted gently. “I’d be more than happy to help.”

The kindness in your offer made his chest tighten, his heart pounding with a mix of gratitude and desire. He appreciated it, truly, but it also fueled the raging fire of lust that had consumed him. Here you were, simply trying to be helpful, and yet he couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to have you all to himself, to explore every inch of your body and lose himself in your embrace.

His mind raced with vivid, graphic images of you—unbuttoning your shirt, revealing your tantalising curves; running his hands over your smooth skin; kissing and licking your neck, tasting the salt of your sweat. He could almost taste the sweet moan that would escape your parted lips, the moan of a woman ready to surrender to his sinful, wanton needs. The very idea of it made his breath catch in his throat and his cock twitch in his pants.

He felt like a beast, a predator stalking its prey, as he watched you. Every move you made was a tease, every word you spoke a seductive whisper that echoed in his mind and stoked the flames of his desire. You were a forbidden, irresistible delight that he craved with every fibre of his being.

“Thank you,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper and his voice painfully strained. “That means a lot.” He managed to nod, hoping to convey his gratitude without revealing the turmoil churning inside him.

James' lips curled into a polite smile, but his dark thoughts raged like wildfire beneath the surface. He tried to ignore the forced gentleness of his own tone, reminding himself that he was only being polite. Yet, every word he uttered was weighed down by heavy lust for you, and the knowledge that he should never let these desires surface again.

As you stood there, a mixture of warmth and uncertainty radiating from your presence, he felt a pang of regret. You were offering him a lifeline, yet he felt as though he was dragging you into a murky depth he didn’t know how to escape. The moment hung between you, a fragile thread of connection that he wanted to reach for, yet feared would only end in disappointment. In your eyes, he saw kindness, concern, and a spark of something he dared not acknowledge. But with every passing second, he also felt the walls he had built around himself begin to tremble, as if you might be the catalyst for change he had been both longing for and dreading.

“I should go,” you said, breaking the silence, and James felt an odd mix of relief and disappointment wash over him.

“Right,” he replied, forcing his mind to focus on the present. “Thank you Miss, and have a good night.”

You offered him one last warm smile before turning to leave, and he watched you go, feeling the weight of what had happened. The kindness you had shown him stirred something deep within—a longing he couldn’t quite satisfy.

#silent hill #silent hill 2 #silent hill 2 remake #silent hill james sunderland x reader #james sunderland #james sunderland x reader #smut #james sunderland/reader #x reader #female reader

435 notes · View notes

flokali · 10 months ago

Text

♢ I own you, I love you | Tartaglia

warnings: yandere, dub/con, male m.asturbation, violence, threats, corruption, unrealistic sound-isolation, delusional thoughts, possessive behavior (from childe), childe/tartaglia lore-spoilers, canon divergence (maybe?), misunderstanding/miscommunication, manipulative behavior (from ajax) , unreliable narrator (ajax), ask to tag more.

pairing: afab! fem! reader x childe

word count: 10.7k

a/n: after months... here it is;; i'm so sorry for taking so long (tt),, i'll make it up to you !! istg (huhuh)

— 18+

You had trouble falling asleep ever since the day Ajax went missing.

It was meant to be yet another normal day, one that would blend in with all the others – muddled with other memories of childhood. Instead, it became the day your life began to change in ways you hadn’t even fathomed possible.

It had heavily snowed the previous night, which left a brand new layer of pure white to cover the humble roads of Morepesok. Normally, after such a heavy storm, you and Ajax would go over to his house and play inside – making use of the fireplace his father had built and hot chocolate his mother would make to keep warm. You both would steal his father’s diary and read about his adventures across Teyvat, recreating the scenes in your minds with yourselves as the main characters, before sharing your dreams with one another.

You never had the courage back then to tell him your ideal adventure was a rather simple one, while you always dreamt of moving to a less snowy nation, one like Mondstatd or even Sumeru, you were content with peacefully traveling across Teyvat before settling down. You didn’t want to spend your life fighting monsters and exploring the world, you only really longed for a simple life, where you could work a safe job and create a new home for yourself and those you loved. It was fun to imagine yourself on a long, rewarding journey across the nation to complete a request, but you’d rather keep it as just that – a figment of your imagination.

Ajax, on the other hand, longed for the chance to become a warrior. While never too skilled with the blade, always too nervous to even kill an animal, his determination was enough to convince you he’d one day make a great adventurer like his father. He’d longed for the thrill of exploring every corner of Teyvat, roaming the land until there was nowhere in this world where he hadn’t been to. Meeting new people, learning about new cultures, fighting monsters and gaining the freedom that came with being an adventurer; Ajax’s dreams had been clear from a young age.

A part of you, albeit really, insignificantly small, always wished he’d never succeed, secretly hoping he’d leave those ambitions behind with age and become a fisherman or craftsman instead. You’d heard tales of men and women who’d joined the Adventurer’s Guild only to never come back, and even more about those who’d joined the Fatui’s ranks, and you didn’t like the idea of waking up one day to find out he’d passed in a foreign land. It was selfish, you knew that, but you hoped that maybe he’d choose a safer option, one where you two could live together, away from the cold winters of Snezhnaya and safe from the dangers of the world. Maybe you’d both move away from Morepesok, find a quaint town in Fontaine where you’d both settle down and continue being friends, or maybe more, with no worries for each other’s safety - only busy being happy and healthy.

While you were putting on your boots and coat, making sure to layer as many clothes as you could to avoid the freezing cold temperatures that came with such heavy snowfall, you remember feeling an odd sense of uneasiness, a queasy feeling settling down in your stomach making you feel sick and nauseous. At the time you had thought nothing of it, too focused on meeting up with your friend and the taste of his mother’s hot coco, but now, years later, you think it was the Tsaritsa’s way to warn you for what was to come.

You remember nearing his house, confused as to why he hadn’t met you halfway down the road like he always did. It was quiet, eerily so, only the sound of your boots and your labored breath as you battled your way through the snow. There were no kids out on the street, all the adults that would normally be on their way were missing, even the birds seemed hesitant to chirp.

Instead, you find his mother worriedly looking around the perimeters of their humble cabin, her normally neat appearance now disheveled. Her long, ginger hair was half-hazardly put up, her clothes were wrinkled, her coat wasn’t even buttoned up all the way, but she stood there, frantically looking around.Whenever you’d come over, you and Ajax would always bump into one another before racing home to see who’d get there first, but today there was his mother’s choked sobs where normally his laughter would ring.

“Auntie?” You asked, running the rest of the way as you saw her expression, the closer you got the clearer the worry in her face became and you felt yourself grow anxious.

“Sweetie,” she looks at you in surprise, not having seen you approaching - too preoccupied to hear your unsteady footsteps as you struggled to run towards her, you see her blue eyes frantically look behind you and you follow suit, “A-Ajax, he wouldn’t have been with you, right?”

“No…” You shake your head, the previous feeling in your stomach expanding across your body, your head felt fuzzy as you asked, “Isn’t he home?”

“I… I’m afraid not,” She looks distressed at your words, her eyes water as she ushers you inside while still trying to look around to see if she caught sight of her son’s bright ginger hair against the cold white that coated the roads, her hands are shaking as she holds yours and brings you into her home, “Come inside, come inside – it’s too cold out t-there, you’ll get sick.”

Behind you, you hear more people arrive, you’re almost certain you hear your parents as well, but you have no time to ask before the worried mother shakes her head at the curious adults that looked up at her – the atmosphere worsens at the realization he hadn’t snuck out to be with you, she tries to occupy herself by taking you inside so as to not give into hopelessness.

You’re confused, not too sure of what’s going on even as you see adults from around the village inside of the house, maps in their hands as they whisper about the boy’s possible whereabouts.

“Is Ajax… o-okay?” You ask, you start to feel afraid as you process their concerned faces, seeing all of these adults who’d always been smiling and assured look so worried and uncertain sent a chill down your spine.

Where was Ajax? Normally he’d be here, assuring you your imagination was running wild and that nothing was wrong, the empty space next you where he’d normally be felt awfully cold.

Nobody answers you, instead you’re taken to your friend’s room where his siblings were gathered. Their mom, who you've always called your auntie, kneels down in front of you, taking your smaller hands into hers and giving you a weak smile.

“Ajax will be fine, okay?” Her words are meant to comfort you but you feel like they’re more for herself in that moment, “He’s just… gone out for a while, but he’ll be back before you know it.”

You nod, not truly understanding what she meant but feeling as if that was the response she needed to hear.

She gives your forehead a small kiss, you feel a tear fall travel down her cheeks and into your hair but you say nothing as she leaves, noting how she desperately tried to conceal the tears in her eyes; You’d never seen her cry before and it’s only then, as you look at his siblings and the pained look in their faces, that you finally begin to grasp the severity of the situation.

He was missing. Your best friend was gone and no one had any idea where he had run off to.

That evening your parents came over and stayed the whole day with Ajax’s family, alongside the other townspeople who went and came as they searched for the young boy in the woods around the area. Normally, you had to fight tooth and nail to let them grant you permission to stay over but that night they’d been the ones to offer it first.

That night was the first and only time you had a sleepover without Ajax. You and his siblings huddled together in the living room, next to the fireplace as his mother looked over you all. You would wake up every so often to the sound of people coming and going as the search efforts seeped into the night and early morning.

The suffocating cycle repeated itself for three days. Three days, two nights, and one afternoon later, after countless hours crying to your parents in fear of losing your best friend; Ajax emerges from the woods in one piece, but he who returns is not the same boy.

The first thing that stood out was his disheveled hair, he was wearing the same clothes – which were in too good a condition for a kid who’d gotten lost in the woods by himself for three days –, and the hunting knife he’d stolen from his dad now dull as if it’d been used continuously for a long period of time. What shocked the men and women who’d found him was the blood on him – specks decorated his face and hands as he looked up at them from his position near the corpse of a bear, one easily three times his size, he’d somehow taken out.

They’d found him in a clearing close to his house, the smell of blood had been what had alerted the rescue party – they’d prepared for the worst case scenario where the blood came from Ajax’s body, instead they found him to be in good shape even after three days by himself in the wild – perhaps a little too good, for it seemed he’d somehow taken down a beast by himself with his hands and his father’s old hunting knife.

The news of his return quickly spreads, everyone gathered near his home as they awaited with bated breaths to see the young boy; you’re there as he’s reunited with his family, hugging your mother’s leg as tightly as you could.

Rumors spread about him having killed an animal, some claimed it had been a rabbit while others alleged it had been a beast the size of a horse, and you wondered if they had mistaken another kid for Ajax – he’d never had the guts to harm even a fly, you doubted he’d changed so much in the span of three days. But it seemed as if you’d been wrong.

He doesn’t shed a tear, he doesn’t say a word. Not even a squeak as his parents coddle him; nothing at all. The only sounds are hushed whispers as people discuss the absurd situation and gleeful congratulations from onlookers as they celebrate his arrival and well being while giving his family well wishes. Instead, his blue eyes find yours and you’re unnerved at the empty look in them. Where there’s once been a warm light, you found an empty void that seemingly sucked you in and refused to let you go. You felt goosebumps arise all over your body the longer he looked at you. Even as he’s embraced within his father’s arms, his family surrounding him as they cry from relief, it’s only when he makes eye contact with you that, the first time since arriving, he smiles.

You feel a chill travel down your spine as you realize Ajax hadn’t been the one to return that day. You unconsciously nestled closer into your mother’s coat, as if trying to hide from his unnerving gaze.

You did your best to ignore that unsettling feeling, opting to attribute it to the rumors you had heard instead of something your friend had done, you pushed it and as well as any doubts aside as you attempted to focus on the good news; he was here, home with his family and back next door to your own house, and that was all that really mattered.

Ever since then, he’d become more confident. His once timid personality completely disappeared and the days where you had been the stronger one, defending him from his older siblings’ teasing and the mocking from other kids, were now but hazy memories. The roles had switched quite suddenly, not that you minded it too much – there were times where it felt nice to be the one being protected rather than the protector, but it had been quite the surprise at first.

He’d become bolder and more protective, never afraid to throw a punch (and sometimes even more) if he felt like you had been disrespected. It came to a point where you’d sometimes grow suffocated by his mere presence; eventually it escalated to where he’d never let you hang out with anybody he didn’t approve of, afraid they’d hurt you and he wouldn’t be there to defend you, and he’d make sure to let it be known you were his friend first and foremost. Unknowingly, a set of rules had been implemented between the two of you. Rules that stated you were his responsibility to protect and care for, even if it meant it drove others away and left you two isolated from other kids your age.

There were times you missed the Ajax that’d gone into the woods, the freckled boy who was timid and polite – who’d rather be teased by his siblings than hurt even a bug the size of your pinky, you doubt that boy would have picked fights with kids twice his size because they’d made a joke or two that didn’t land too well. But you hesitated to dislike the new Ajax, after all, when it was only the two of you - it was as if that damned day had never occurred at all.

He was back to the sweet, delicate boy who’d blush at your jokes and avoid prolonged eye contact. Whose hand would grow warm from holding yours, who’d confess his feelings to you every night when he thought you’d fallen asleep.

A few years later, once you were both older – now settled into your teen years, he ended up joining the Fatui and leaving your humble seaside village to go to the capital to train as a soldier.

You cried the day he’d given you the news. As overbearing as he could be, the ginger had been your only friend that your parents consistently let you hang out with, you’d spent your whole lives together and the thought of being without him terrified you greatly.

You remember the look on his face, the way he desperately tried to look strong and not let a single tear get away, his hands that had once been soft were now calloused as he grabbed your own.

“I’ll come back for you, I promise.” He’d whispered, his lips near your ear as he enveloped you in a hug.

You don’t trust your voice not to break and so you nod, letting your nose burn from trying to contain your sobs and not worry him more than he already was.

“A-and I’ll write you letters, so you better not forget me,” he continues, and even if by now he’d long since grown taller than yourself – you’re amazed at how small and vulnerable he felt against your frame, “so please… wait for me.”

“Only if you always write to me first… ‘Cause I swear I’ll leave if you forget.” You try to lighten the mood, halfheartedly warning him as if you both didn’t know it’d take death itself for Ajax not to fulfill a promise from him to you. He tightens his arms around you and you feel a wave of nostalgia wash over you as you wonder how long it’ll be before you can both hug like this again.

“I promise.” He laughs softly, the sound warms your heart.

“Then I promise as well.”

Ever since the day Ajax went missing, you have had trouble falling asleep.

When you did manage to fall asleep, a task which took longer than you’d like to admit without external factors such as medicine, your dreams would be strange and cryptic, often times you’d wake up in the middle of the night with a racing heartbeat and a sense of urgency, as if you’d been in danger; you’d learned to hate the images your brain would concoct during your rest. Some nights, you’d dream about that day and what would have happened if Ajax had never been found, other times you’d open the door to soldiers grieving his death; whatever tragic scenario your mind decided to present you, it would always be so realistic you’d wake up with tears streaming down your cheeks and a devastated heart.

This time, however, your sleep had come easier than expected and there were no dreams or nightmares to haunt you. No earthly worries were present and, after such an unexpected day filled with reunions and world-shattering news, you wished to succumb to a never ending night; however, the fates had other plans for you.

As you’re forcibly awakened from your slumber you feel a familiar, pleasant hand gently caressing your head. It felt gentle, their touch delicate and sweet, as if they were afraid any more force would hurt you. If the owner of said limb wished to lure you into consciousness, their touch had the opposite effect as it almost seemed to beg you to go back to sleep and forget the world of the living.

You felt truly content as you laid there, the blanket that laid atop of you was heavy and cozy, a foreign feeling - nothing like the blankets you were used to, and the pillow smelt like an old friend, welcoming and nostalgic. It all felt like a perfect trap set out to catch you, if that were that case then you’d have to admit it was a little too good at its job as you resign yourself to cuddling closer to the fabrics that enveloped you.

If it hadn’t been for the gentle kiss pressed against your cheek, you probably would have never gotten up. You want to complain, already formulating a sentence of indignation and annoyance to throw at the perpetrator, but the warmth left behind by the gesture is cozy and fills you with a taste full of happiness and fulfillment you don’t want to sour. At the feeling of a pair of unknown, soft lips against your skin you become more alert, slowly your consciousness begins to enter the realm of the living once more while you grow aware of your surroundings. Your eyes open timidly, the leftover fatigue from such a deep rest keeping them heavy, it takes you a second or two to adjust to the light and another few to register the man that lovingly gazed down on you.

“Ajax…?” You call out, rubbing your eyes as you wonder if it really was him. You’re almost sure you’re dreaming, as embarrassing as it was to admit, it had been so long since you’d seen him in person you may have simply gone crazy and imagined the man to be here; You’re about to ask him what he was doing here, if he were real at all, but he beats you to the punch with a smile before answering you with a gleeful tone that reminds you of summers long gone.

“The one and only,” he laughs gently as the hand that laid atop your head began to ruffle your hair in a familiar gesture – reassuring you that he was, in fact, a real person and not a figment of your imagination you had come up with to deal with the loneliness, “… don’t tell me you forgot about earlier.”

He teases you, but there’s a hint of worry in his eyes as he awaits your answer; surely, you couldn’t have forgotten. It’d only been a couple of hours and he had been sure to be as thorough as possible so that he left a print on both your mind and body, there was no way you’d forget making love with your soulmate. Just the thought of it sent jolts of anger and frustration down his spine, not at you - never at you, but at himself as he wonders if maybe he’d underperformed and disappointed you to the point you’d try and act like nothing had happened. If that was the case, he was more than willing to go again just this instant to right any previous wrongs.

“Earlier?” You mumble, you wreck your brain trying to think of what he meant but it isn’t a full minute before you realize what he meant. If it hadn’t been for his words, maybe his coat laying on you and your sore body would have been enough to eventually jog your memory. You feel your cheeks grow hot as you remember what you two had done earlier, you’d been so tired by the end you’d fallen into a deep, dreamless slumber that momentarily left you empty-headed when you woke up, but now the memories are rushing in and you doubt you’ll be able to forget the feeling of Childe on top of you for a long time.

Your embarrassed gaze was enough for him to know you’d remembered the dance you’d both partaken in earlier that day, the way your eyes avoided his had his heart swooning and a warm, fuzzy feeling settling deep within his very soul.

He feels himself calm down the more he looks at your flustered face, his whole body light and intoxicated on your sweet expressions; his pants felt so tight as he watched you fiddle with his coat, he wonders if he’d be able to warm you up on the ride back to his place the same way he’d done so previously.

You were absolutely adorable to him, so very weak and fragile in comparison to him – if he wasn’t such a gentleman, he would have loved to destroy you until you were too scared to leave his side. Alas, he decided that you shouldn’t be the one to face the sharp end of his blade, instead, he’ll scar your psyche and those around you so violently you’ll have no want nor need for anything else other than him.

“So, ‘slept well, my love?” He asks, his tone sweet as to never betray his darker thoughts — you didn’t have to know about how deeply he wished to break you until you couldn’t function without him by your side. You nod while suppressing a yawn, blissfully unaware of the chaos that was unfolding due to the man in front of you, and he laughs, content with your naïveté; he missed you oh so very much, “That’s good.”

There’s a warm, almost euphoric feeling that invaded your senses as you both took the time to enjoy each other’s presence; it felt different from earlier, something had changed now that you both had finally indulged in each other’s bodies. It felt akin to drinking a warm cup of tea, comforting and pleasurable, a reminder of home and the feeling of familiarity after a long period of impersonal and foreign coldness.

“Let’s get going then,” he breaks the silence, finally standing up from his crouching position, he gives you one last pat in the head before he starts making his way through your room and inspecting your belongings – or what remained of your belongings, “the carriage will be here soon, it’s only an hour long ride away but I think it’s best we take as much as we can today and send someone to pick up what remains.”

That’s when you notice he’s fully dressed, other than for his cape that was laid on you, as if he was anxiously awaiting the time to leave. You’re confused; why was he so keen on leaving and so fastly – he’d barely been here a handful of hours. Did you misunderstand his intentions?

“What do you…?” You ask, you rub your eyes while you sit up, using the large coat as a cover once you feel chilly Snezhnayan air hit your sensitive skin. It’s then that you can finally look at the many bags and boxes that litter the floor, and the almost empty room you laid in. All of your belongings seemed to have been packed away, almost nothing remained other than old family portraits and gifts from your parents from across the years.

“Huh?” The sight of your room packed into boxes was enough to wake you up, you instinctively try to stand up but a firm hand keeps you in place; you look up and see Ajax looking down at you. Your eyes meet and a chill goes up your spine at the look in his, they look eerily empty. You barely feel the coat slip from your shoulders, too focused on the feeling of his fingers against your forearm and the fact he, as a soldier, could easily overpower you if he wished.

“You’re still sleepy, aren’t you?” He asks, the muscles on his arm flex slightly as he speaks to you - he sounds disappointed as he continues interrogating you, “Do you really not remember?”

You shake your head, trying to wrack your brain for any indications of what he could be referring to; you remember the news about your parents and what happened after, but moving out? You have no memory of such a thing being even discussed, lest he meant —

“You agreed to marry me,” he says, as if reading your mind, your arm is finally set free as he adjusts the gloves on his hands, “and as my wife, you’ll be living with me from now on; I assumed you wouldn’t want to stay… here for much longer, considering everything.”

“Marry you…?” You echo as you watch him parade around your room, sharp eyes taking in what was left of your belongings on display. You vaguely remember his proposal during the first half of your conversation, something about how it’d serve as an obstacle for the arranged marriage – after all, it’s not as if the wife of a Fatui Harbinger’s marriage could be easily questioned or objected to. You had agreed almost immediately, even if you had your doubts about the reasoning behind the arrangement, you’d rather marry someone you knew than a stranger.

You wished you’d thought things through better, waited a bit longer before giving your answer. Clearly Ajax had made up his mind but now, after the shock of the news began to wear off, you felt like you owed your parents and yourself a discussion. Even if you felt betrayed, like their decision degraded you to an object instead of their daughter, you wanted to head their side; if only to get closure for your own aching heart.

Instead of answering you, Ajax turns around to meet your eyes. His eyes had always had the ability to suck you in like a void, they’re never clear - always muddy, like there was a side of himself he hid from you; you could never find your reflection on them. It took you a while to get used to them, to their empty, numb look that sent chills down your spine all those years ago.

The room feels small as you both look at each other, you sit on the bed naked and he stands in front of the door as if he were trapping you in, it’s silent and intimate and it makes your skin crawl. His expression is one you can’t read, maybe all those years in the Fatui had taught him how to make his enemies cower thanks to his presence alone, because the harder you tried to understand what his gaze meant, the less you felt you knew about him.

“Yes, you said you’d marry me.” He states and, even if it wasn't phrased as such, it felt more like an order than a recalling of events.

“I know,” you mumble, “and I… I like you, Ajax, I really do, and I’d love to be with you, but… but I can’t run away from this without hearing them out, you know?”

“You said you loved me.” His expression changes into a frown; Had you lied to him?

He probably sounds childish, his sentences short and repetitive like that of a toddler throwing a tantrum, but the truth was he simply couldn’t believe that you’d even hesitate to marry him; his brain completely short-circuited as he tries to understand why on Earth you’d ever think of giving anybody a chance when you had him.

“I mean, I-I do,” your cheeks feel hot as you’re quick to answer, at least you think you love him, “but… mom and dad wouldn’t just do this without a reason and you know that. I can’t just leave and never see them again without their explanation, even if it’s bad… I need some sort of closure; I can’t accept they’d just do this to me for no reason.”

“As if that changed anything, they gave your hand away for Mora, my love” He retorts, completely bewildered at your words; they’d tried to give you away to some lowlife, they hadn’t consulted you, they were going to spring it up on you one day and expect you to get over it the next, “Does a reason even matter?”

“It does, at least I… I think it does,” you look down at yourself and notice droplets falling down against the coat, staining the heavy leather with your sorrow, you were crying and hadn’t even realized it, “I don’t want to hate them… I don’t want them to hate me.”

He goes quiet when he catches sight of your tears. He freezes, his chest tightens and he feels himself grow dizzy – it’s the same foreign feeling he got when he first heard of the engagement, he feels his knees buckle under his weight and himself sway with every step he takes in your direction. They were beautiful, your tears, so delicate and clear, they shone like crystals when the soft afternoon light came through the window just right; he wishes he could collect them in his palm and weave a necklace to keep with himself, a reminder of your fragile heart he desperately needed to protect.

You looked so vulnerable, naked and crying, covered only by his coat. It was an intoxicating sight, he wished he could take a photograph and engrave it on his eyelids so every time he blinked he’d see this scene play out. You broke so beautifully, it was haunting to hear your voice break into sobs and wails as you mourned the life you thought you had, but it sounded beautiful to his ears nonetheless. It makes him feel insane, it was taking too much self-control from his part not to jump on you.

He sits down once more next to you, shaking limbs trapping you in his arms as he rubbed your back softly. As you cried uncontrollably, he found his cheeks hurting from the large grin on his face; it couldn’t be helped, no matter how much he tried to will it away, the joy he felt as he saw you cry was too much for him to hide.

“It’s okay,” he makes no effort to quell your fears, instead he chooses vague words of comfort to let it fester in your heart, “you won’t need to see them ever again, you’ll have me instead.”

He feels you hiccup, too deep in your own despair to formulate words. Your shaking body clings to his, you felt so scared and alone; How were you supposed to accept such a cruel, unforgiving truth? What could you possibly do to ease the pain in your heart as you thought about your parents and siblings, who had so easily given you away to a stranger. They felt so far away from you, it felt as if your whole life had been a long dream, nothing but a fantasy you were unaware could break any second, leaving you afraid and confused as you awakened to a reality you could have never seen coming.

“Come, I’ll help you get dressed,” Ajax helps you up as he speaks, essentially forcing you to face reality and displace the fogginess in your mind, he’s gentle as he makes his way with you to your closet - you vaguely note that it was still full, unlike the rest of your room it seemed he hadn’t touched it save for a few drawers here and there -, “the sooner you get ready,” he keeps an arm around you while he goes through the rack of your clothes, making sure you stay close to him, “the sooner we can get out of here.”

You nod, your head hurts but you can’t seem to stop the tears.

Maybe he was right, maybe it was a bad idea for you to talk to them; there was truly no excuse, was there? You doubted anything they’d say would take the feeling of betrayal away, they had treated you like an object, completely forfeiting your own personhood and giving you away to a stranger for Mora. No matter how desperately you wanted to understand what they’d done and why they’d done it, the more your head and heart hurt – it was such a cruel, heartless thing to do, to throw away your own blood to whoever bid the highest for them.

You can’t even muster the strength to facilitate the Harbinger’s task of dressing you, your whole body felt heavy as he made sure to layer on your clothes, it was near impossible for you to even stand up by yourself without your legs swaying and your knees buckling under your weight. It’s only due to the ginger’s persistence and strength that you don’t collapse.

By the time you’re ready and boarding the carriage, you’re tired and too drunk in your own misery, to question why, even as it neared nighttime, your parents nor your siblings hadn’t come home yet. Not that you cared, at least not right now, seeing them was the last thing you wanted to do.

The ride home is peaceful, you’d fallen asleep early on and laid beside Childe as he caressed your sleeping cheek and gazed out the window. Your head laid on his lap, broad thighs becoming a make-shift pillow for the ride, a blanket covering your body to keep you warm while you both made your way to his residence in the capital through the cold night.

Bored, deep blue eyes mindlessly gaze at the scenery passing by, his thoughts too jumbled together for him to admire the scenery. His thoughts stray back to your mother’s horrified face as she walked in on you together in bed earlier, he chuckles to himself as he recalls the screech she let out; it felt nice to see her so uncomfortable, but it wasn’t nice enough he’d forgive her for what she’d tried to do to you; Separate you from him.

“Ajax?” She finally gasps out, her hand points at him in an accusatory manner, “What… what is going on?”

When did that boy come back? He’d been gone for years, the last she remembered him was as a young teenager going off to join the Fatui; what was he doing in bed with you? You hadn’t mentioned him once during all these years, she had thought you’d long since forgotten about him. So why on Earth was he laying in bed with you - naked? Had he pressured you to do so? You two had such a close relationship, there was no way you wouldn’t have mentioned him to her if you two were dating - her mind was racing with a million thoughts and all of them left her worried and confused. It’s clear she’s not doing well, her breaths are visibly unsteady, her chest rising and falling unevenly while she audibly gasped for air, she’s shaking so hard you can see her knees wobble as she tries to steady herself against the doorframe; this wasn’t something she could have ever seen in coming.

Ajax couldn’t care less, the whole spectacle was boring and wholly unnecessary; she wouldn’t get to see you ever again, she should be grateful he hadn’t simply taken you home with him the minute he saw you.

“I came back for my beloved,” he answers carelessly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, he makes a vague gesture towards your sleeping form as if to make the point clearer, “can’t have a wedding without a bride, after all.”

“Wedding? You and her… are getting married?”

“Yes, is it that hard to understand? Come on, ma’am, everyone could see that she and I were going to get married,” he scoffs, “you said so yourself multiple times.”

“But,” she looks visibly confused, “that was back when you two were together everyday, Ajax… you haven’t seen each other in years. You can’t seriously think that you’re getting married because you both said so when you were children.”

The audacity this woman had was near parody, clearly she knew nothing about you nor your life and it made him feel sick. She had the privilege to be a constant part of your life during all those years he was away and yet she clearly spent them doing Archons’ knows what, he was growing visibly angry the more she spoke.

“We’ve known each other long enough,” he shoots her a glare, “and I’ve known my whole life I’d marry her, whether we’ve been seeing each other everyday or not - we’re getting married and that’s final.”

“Did she agree to this?” Your mother asks, her voice rising until it was near a squeak.

“Of course she agreed to marry me!” He snaps, his tone venomous; Could she just shut the hell up already?

“Then why didn’t she mention it to her father nor myself?”

“Because we agreed to get married today,” he puts your sleeping body aside, slowly standing up and tying a loose blanket around his hips, “and neither of you were here.”

“Today?” She echos, “You came back today and asked her to marry you?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I did,” he shoots her a glance as he picks up his clothes, slowly putting them on as he goes on, “and she said yes, I think you get the point by now.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” she mumbled to herself, she made her way inside the room, careful as to not wake you up, “there’s no way she was serious about marrying you. You… you’re practically a stranger to all of us at this point, Ajax.”

His pants were on at this point, his blouse now balled into his fist as he tried to control his annoyance. This was starting to get pathetic on her end.

“I will have you know,” he interrupts her, turning around to make eye contact with the woman once more to make his point clear, “that not only have we been in constant communication since I left, she agreed quite happily to the proposal - I don’t understand what exactly is not clicking, ma’am.”

“Of course she’d agree,” she exclaims, her hands flying up in desperation as she continues, “she has liked you all her life; but were you two dating until this point? What even was the relationship between you two; how am I supposed to support her getting engaged with a man we haven’t seen or heard from in years. Never once did she mention you, Ajax, she never spoke of a partner much less a marriage, all her life she’s made it clear that’s one of the least of her concerns and you want me to believe her mind changed in one day because you came and had sex with her? You’re insane if you think I’ll allow it.”

He feels himself freeze, most of what she’s said up until now feels like background noise the moment he finishes processing her words. You never mentioned him to your parents? He knew you hadn’t mentioned the letters, not all of them at least - he’s asked you not to, but never once in the almost eight years since he left had you mentioned him - not even as a potential suitor nor as a lover. That hag is lying, right? There’s no way you’d do this to him, right? You loved him, you said you did when he was fucking you just minutes ago, you wouldn’t lie to him, no.

“Listen to me, I don’t care if you want to get married to her - but there’s an order to how things are done,” your mother shoots your sleeping form a glance, “you could have at least let us know beforehand you’d be coming, you… you should have spoken to us; you know we would have given you our blessing if you’d waited a bit longer. This is the first time you’ve seen each other in years, emotions are running high - at least give her some more time to think this through, you already bedded her… don’t make this harder on her - she was beginning to move on, she’d been planning to move and now you’re telling me she’s throwing it all away? For a man she’s barely seen in years no less.”

“You’re… you’re wrong.” He mumbles under his breath, “You’re wrong, we both love each other.”

“Listen to me,” had your mother’s voice always been so grating to the ear, “she might have said yes to you now but how do you know she won’t regret it? When did you ask her? Today, the same day you come for the first time to see her? You think that under all the emotions that’ll come up seeing you again she’ll be thinking rationally? Was this even a conversation you both had previously, Ajax? How are you so sure she loves you like a wife and not just as a friend?”

His movements slow down, his hands feel heavy as he buttons up his shirt; can she just shut up? What did she think she was doing, lying to get him out of the way? Insinuating you’d ever regret him, what a joke - you needed him to survive.

“I’m saying this not just as a parent but as a wife, you can’t rush into these things, you can’t spring the question up suddenly and not take the time to consider it properly! You… you immediately had sex with her and you want me to believe this is out of love and not physical attraction? You couldn’t even wait for her father and I to get home. You’re telling me that both of you are completely sure of what you’re doing, you want me to believe that? I’m not letting my daughter make such a rash decision in a day -”

“So what if it was in only a day, huh? You’re just looking for any excuse to oppose us getting together,” he’s quick to interrupt her, “because you are trying to get her to marry some old fuck for some quick mora.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You think I don’t know, huh? You don’t care about her at all, do you? Lying to me that she’d never mention me, as if you didn’t know we were together all this time… acting like you care about her when there’s some fucking bitch downstairs you sold her off to.”

“What… What's this about selling my daughter?” “Don’t act stupid on me,” he doesn’t even bother buttoning the rest of his shirt before he’s pushing your mother out of the room and following her out the door, “I tried to be civil, but I’m getting really damn tired of you criticizing us and you keep on lying.”

She hits her back against the wall, she yelps in surprise but the Harbinger makes no acknowledgement of any discomfort he may be causing. Instead, gloved hands shoot up and take hold of her shoulders as he continues going at her; there’s a crazed look in his eyes as he keeps on speaking, getting progressively annoyed the longer the conversation went on.

“We – I, we never sold her off,” your mother pants, she looks up at him in confusion and fear, “who do you take us for?”

“I have the records,” he pushes her down, “there’s no use in lying to me, ma’am – I know everything I need to know.”

“You’re crazy,” she spits out, “you’re fucking crazy… I don’t what the fuck happened to you, but I’m sure as hell now that you are absolutely not getting anywhere near my daughter!”

“Shut up!” He picks her up and throws her against the wall, there’s a loud thud as her body slowly sinks into the ground, he corners her with his body, “Shut the fuck up, you hag.”

“Let go!” Tears are streaming down her eyes as she pleads,“Help, someone help! Please, upstairs… come upstairs now!”

“Listen here,” his eyes are wide open, his posture threatening as he leans over her shaking body, he’s rough in his handling of her and he knows it but chooses not to care, “she said she’d marry me, she said she loves me, she said so and so it is. There’s no debate, got it? If I want to fuck her two minutes after seeing her, I do so, and if I want to marry her after not seeing her for years, I do so. We don’t need a lying bitch getting in our way, you understand that, right? I don’t need you taking her away from me to give her to someone else. She was mine before I left, she was mine when I left, she’s mine right now, and she’ll be mine as long as I’m alive, so you either shut up and accept it or I’ll get rid of you and your fucking mistake of a family.”

“Get off of her!”

Oh, your father was here.

It’s strange to think that at some point, Ajax would have considered him something akin to a second father - especially now as his stomach filled itself with venomous rage at the mere sight of the older man.

“I said get off,” he runs towards the younger soldier, at an impressive speed for a man his age, his hands lunge forward as if to tackle him but it takes one hydro blade’s slash for him to stop dead in his tracks, “I… what do you want?”

Your father looks visibly worried as the ginger brands his weapon, the sight of an unfamiliar vision user threatening your spouse is one that would make anyone think twice before taking their next step.

“Do you seriously not recognize me?” Tartaglia laughs incredulously, “Come on, sir… I was only gone for a couple of years.”

“Ajax?” Your mother nods her head frantically as your father finally puts a name to the face of the strange man in his house, “What the hell are you doing, boy?”

“He’s going on about,” your mother gasps for air, “marrying her and - and, us selling her or something!” The awkward position she found herself in made it hard for her to comfortably speak, even so, she made sure to spit it out as quickly as possible. Her chest is heaving while she desperately tries to make your father understand the absurdity of the situation, the hydro blade in his hand was simply too close to her skin for her comfort - the power of Harbinger was nothing to scoff at and she wanted nothing more than to never find herself in this position ever again.

“We can talk this out,” your father’s hands shake as he tries to slowly approach the ginger, “there’s clearly been a misunderstanding…”

“There has been no misunderstanding, sir,” he laughs, “I know damn well what I saw and what I heard.”

“We would never -” “Yes, you would!” He nearly shouts, but he restrains himself - if only because you’re still sleeping nearby, his whole body shakes as he tries to control the volume of his voice, “And I’m getting really fucking tired of you acting like you wouldn’t, you know? Just admit it and maybe, just maybe, we can work things out.”

“We would never hurt our daughter like that, Ajax,” the older man tries to explain, “please, understand that… let my wife go and we can talk this out properly, please.”

“Talk it out?” Ajax looks at him incredulously, “There’s nothing to talk about if you won’t admit to your mistakes, sir.” “B-but we didn’t -”

“Shut up!” His blue eyes are wide open, the crazed look in them was enough to send a chill down a grown man’s body. Why couldn’t they just admit to trying to separate the both of you? Why were they so desperate to lie? He knows what he heard, he knows they were trying to ruin his chances to be with you. They were clearly trying to get in his way, they had to be conspiring against the two of you - there was no other reason as to why you’d been so hesitant to agree to his proposal, why you’d been scared to see the truth; they were brainwashing you into forgetting him, doubting him. They had to have known he’d come back, there was no way he wouldn’t have, it’d take death itself for him to give up on you.

He couldn’t take it anymore, he couldn’t stand to listen to your parents’ pathetic attempts at covering up their lies.

Your mother’s words die in her throat as he knocks her out with a single blow, it’s by sheer luck the impact against her skull hadn’t straight up killed her. Your father doesn’t even get to react, not even a pip can be mumbled, before Tartaglia is making his way towards him at rapid speeds, the young man’s strength was enough to tackle him down. The Fatui soldier makes sure to use as much strength as possible, all in an attempt to get his opponent to knock his head against something and pass out with as little fuss as possible.

It’s almost pathetic how quickly he’d taken both of them down, in just a few minutes the couple was knocked out cold - not yet dead nor mortally injured but not awake, no longer able to annoy Ajax or disturb you.

It’s almost pathetic how quickly he’d taken both of them down, in just a few minutes the couple was knocked out cold, both lying motionless on the ground, their limbs sprawled awkwardly; not yet dead but no longer able to annoy Ajax or disturb you, much to the former’s delight.

Footsteps could be heard from the first floor as the guests downstairs started getting worried, standing up and roaming around calling your parents’ names - too polite to dare wander into the house but too anxious about their absence to stay completely still, the thick wooden floors muffled the sounds but not enough that the commotion upstairs couldn’t be heard. One of the many benefits of Snezhnayan architecture was the isolation you could achieve in a big enough house, he’ll keep it in mind when he picks a house to start a family with you in.

Due to your house’s size, Ajax wouldn’t have to worry too much about Andrei or his parents hearing too much, meaning he’d be able to keep the element of surprise.

The Vision user knew he’d have to avoid the dining room, the place where the guests currently found themselves, lest he lose control and kill his former subordinate the minute he laid eyes on him, however his reasoning was anything but noble; Tartaglia simply wasn’t too keen on the idea of letting him get away with his crimes just yet.

To him, death would be too soft a punishment, it would have to be a fate worse than, not just for Andrei but every single person who was involved in the scheme.

His gloved hands make their way to check their pulses, both weak but still there - good.

With a satisfied huff he makes his way down the hall and staircase, quick to dismiss his signature hydro blades as he purposely makes his presence known with loud, rhythmic footsteps any soldier who’d served under him would recognize.

Years of hanging out under this very roof meant Ajax knew exactly where your back entrance was, which meant that he could enjoy instilling a sense of dread into the people downstairs without risking being found.

With a lazy smirk, Ajax purposely lets a couple of framed pictures and paintings fall from the wall, his hand tracing the walls and making sure to create as much sound as possible. As he approaches the dining room, he can hear the confused, hushed whispers as someone tries to peek into the hallway but, by the time the young man finally reaches the door to look around, Ajax has long since exited the house as he makes his way to recall the soldiers he’d stationed around the neighborhood.

With a wave of his hand soldiers seemingly appeared from thin air, emerging from bushes and rounding dark corners, soon the Harbinger is surrounded by men awaiting his orders.

“Is the Galkin residency ready?” He asks, making direct eye contact with a shorter soldier.

“Yes, sir.” The man nods.

“Good,” he combs a hand through his hair as he looks at your childhood home, “there’s a knocked out couple on the second floor, the rest are in the dining room.”

“Yes, sir.” A chorus of voices respond, mechanically a group of the soldiers turn around and march into the house.

“Keep it down, will you? If they scream, knock them out,” he adds half-heartedly, “she’s sleeping, so don’t wake her up.”

The leader of the group nods enthusiastically, making sure to echo the sentiment to his men before making their way inside the house.

As their operation takes place, Tartaglia turns back around to address his remaining companions; “Make sure to make it look as realistic as possible, we need the charges to stick.”

“Yes, sir.”

He asks to see the boxes full of fabricated evidence one last time. There are at least six large boxes filled to the brim, but he focuses on one. The one that holds the most damning evidence for the most serious crime anyone could commit in the land of Cryo; Treason against the Tsaritsa. Cold, blue eyes look with a gleeful glint at the falsified letters, penned to look exactly like your family members’ handwriting, there’s more; photographs, bank records, falsified shipment records, and more.

He gives one final nod, officially sealing everyone’s fates. From this moment onwards, your family and the Galkin’s would be charged with treason against the Tsaritsa and conspiracy to overthrow the Fatui. Sure, many others, perhaps even innocent people, will unjustly be implicated but he’ll make sure to pin this on the worst people he can. He’ll get rid of two birds with one stone while he’s at it.

It takes only a couple of minutes before everyone is being pulled outside of the house and led into carriages. It’s a humiliating sight, the ones who were awake were panicked, some even crying, the ones who had to be subdued needed to be carried by two or more people as they were unceremoniously dragged away.

Ajax purposely hides away, making sure to make a mental note of who was being taken and their condition. Andrei and his father are the only Galkin family members out of the four present who hadn’t been knocked out. Your parents, your eldest sister, and younger brother are knocked out - your elder brother, and your other sister are the only ones awake. There are a couple of other people, their partners, and a few he didn’t recognize immediately. In total, there were 16 people taken from your home.

Tartaglia made a point to only reveal himself as they finally dragged Andrei out, the final person out the house. His hands were bound behind him, a confused look clear in his eyes as he desperately tried to understand what was going on. His green eyes finally make contact with Ajax’s, they widen.

“Sir? What is going on -” He’s cut off by a harsh shove from the soldier walking him, he stumbles.

Ajax almost feels bad at the sight, Andrei was a good man - if only he didn’t try to get with you. He was young, unlike the idea he’d planted into your head, Galkin had only recently turned 27 last month, and he’d been a promising soldier until he was honorably discharged after a failed mission took the lives of most of his troupe. However, if you found out about his closeness in age to yourself, you’d probably not have reacted as poorly - maybe you’d even think about giving the fucker a chance. After all, people like Andrei - honorable young men who sacrificed a part of himself for his nation - were always appealing to the masses. But never as appealing as Ajax was to you, he couldn’t be.

The Harbinger turns around on his heels, not even sparing another glance to the arrested individuals, before making his way inside your house.

It’s filled with strangers, their serious faces evident as they set up the scene - their movements calculated as they did their best to create the image of guilt. Even though there were easily five or more people in every room, the whole place felt eerily empty. In a way, he almost feels as if you two were the only people in the world - you, the sleeping beauty waiting for him to arrive.

There’s a spring in his step as he pushes the door to your room open, his eyes immediately find you buried within his coat. He’s not surprised you had managed to sleep through it all, you’d always been a heavy sleeper even during your youth.

He ushers a soldier in with a bunch of empty boxes, signaling for her to start packing your things up.

“Wake her up and you’re dead.” He adds while he makes his way towards you, a cheeky smile on his face as he makes himself comfortable next to you.

The soldier nods, making sure to be as quiet as humanly possible as to not anger the man in front of her - at this point, everyone in the house knew that he was not exaggerating when he said such things. When it came to you, the eleventh Fatui Harbinger knew no bounds. She turns around, making sure not to look too much at either of you in fear of upsetting him.

He patiently waits for the woman to finish packing all she could fit in the boxes. By now, he’s cuddling you in his arms, never allowing you the chance to so much as squirm away from him. It’s a suffocating, possessive hold he has on you, like he was scared if he let you go even for a second you’d leave him.

“Good, thank you.” He doesn’t even look at her - too focused gazing lovingly at your sleeping form. She says nothing but bows before leaving, desperate to leave the room as soon as possible.

The minute she closes the door he pulls himself away from you, making sure to not wake you up with any sudden movements - a concern he seemingly hadn’t had before when he’d been tormenting your parents.

He’d done his best to conceal himself but the truth was that the minute he saw you again, he felt himself growing hard again. Your naked body was hidden enough he didn’t feel the need to kick the soldier from before out, but he knew - he knew that beneath it you were still dirty with him, you were bruised from his handling of you, your neck filled with his kisses and bites. Just knowing that was enough for him to get dizzy, as if all the blood that was meant to flow to his brain had been redirected to his dick. His white pants were tented up, it almost hurts from how erect it was - just the memory of you taking him inside had a wet patch forming in his underwear.

“Look at what you do, baby,” he moans, his voice breathy as he pulls his zipper down, slowly freeing his hard-on, “ah… hah, I want to be inside you again.”

Just the cold air hitting his bare cock is enough to send a jolt of electricity down his spine, he just wants to feel you again, it’s all he wants - to be inside you again and to fuck you until all you can think of his your future husband’s cock. He takes your hand, so much smoother than his battle-worn one, and cautiously shoves two of your fingers into his mouth as a make-shift gag.

He keeps one hand there while the other one slowly caresses his slit, his touch almost a ghost on his skin as he makes sure to tease it until a glob of pre starts to form from how sensitive he already was. He takes a small amount of pre-cum and uses it as lube, making sure to spread it slowly across his tip and down his shaft with long strokes.

He’s trying his best not to bite down on your fingers but it was so hard not to, instead he occupies himself by sucking on them in sync with his hand.

“Mhm!” He accidentally touches his vein, the thick bump was extra sensitive against the cold air and your scent, his whole body twitches.

He can’t stop his hand from gaining speed and force, the longer he’s here with you the more his hand moves. It just not enough, his hips thrust upwards as he gives into himself, fucking into his balled up hand. His tongue laps at your fingers, his lips wrap tightly around them as he tries not to bite into your flesh; he can’t stop his hand from tightening against his cock.

He continues like this for a while, humping into the air like a bitch in heat, making sure to not cum - he didn’t want this to end too soon, he wanted to continue feeling like this next to you. In your room, a place that smelt so much like you it was overstimulating him, the taste of your lips against his tongue was intoxicating - he didn’t want today to end.

“Hah, mhm…” He chokes against his moan; it’s starting to get too much for him.

It’s then that he makes the mistake of looking over to you. Just the sight is enough for him to cum, it takes just a few strokes for him to finally spill.

“F-Fuck!” He can’t stop the moan that leaves his lips, he takes your fingers out of mouth in fear of hurting you but he refuses to let it go, gripping tightly while he lets himself ride the wave of pleasure he feels.

It takes him a second or two until he finally calms down, his dick growing sensitive as he slows down his strokes until he finally stops. His chest feels heavy as he pants, his heart beating painfully loud - he wonders if maybe you could hear it even in your sleep, a part of him hopes so. His whole body is on fire but he thinks this is the best he’s ever felt, just being near you was enough to make him feel like a God.

“I… I love you,” he pants, his fingers almost leave a dent in your hands from how tightly he’s gripping it, “hah… I love you so, so much…”

Almost a little too much.

#yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin #yandere ajax #yandere tartaglia #yandere childe #yandere x reader #yandere gi #yandere #yandere male #yandere x you #yandere boy x reader #male yandere #๋࣭ ancient scrolls #yandere genshin imagines

1K notes · View notes

landinhoe · 11 days ago

Text

In the Heart of November- Lando Norris

ღ

In honour of our little Lando’s birthday, enjoy🫶🏻

ღ

The evening air was cool, carrying the crisp bite of late November, as Lando pulled up to the small, intimate restaurant in London. Nestled away from the busy streets, this place held a special charm, chosen specifically for its warm, quiet atmosphere—a place where he could celebrate his birthday with only his closest friends. As he stepped inside, he took in the cozy ambiance. The soft glow of candlelight flickered off the wooden tables, and the gentle hum of quiet conversations surrounded him, giving the room a sense of familiarity and comfort. But despite the company of his friends, Lando’s thoughts were somewhere else.

Or, rather, with someone else. He checked his phone for any messages, trying not to seem too eager. She was supposed to arrive soon. They’d been friends for a while now, ever since they’d first met through the world of Formula 1. She worked in a legal role with McLaren, and their paths had crossed unexpectedly during a team event. What had started as casual conversations about racing, contracts, and the challenges of the sport had grown into a friendship filled with laughter, shared dreams, and mutual understanding. She’d become someone he could talk to—someone who understood the pressures he faced, not just as a driver but as a young man trying to make his mark.

It was during the long hours between races, in the quiet moments away from the track, that he found himself drawn to her. She grounded him, reminding him to enjoy the little things. When he was around her, he could set aside the high expectations and just be Lando. They had developed an easy rapport, and over time, his feelings had shifted from friendship to something deeper, something he couldn’t ignore. But tonight, he wasn’t sure if she felt the same. All he knew was that he wanted her there.

Then the door opened, and she walked in. Wrapped in a dark, elegant coat, her cheeks flushed pink from the cold, she looked radiant. Her hair was slightly tousled, her eyes bright as they met his from across the room. She paused, scanning the restaurant for him, and when their eyes met, she gave him a warm smile. For a moment, everything else faded into the background. He stood to greet her, his heart pounding in his chest as he tried to keep his face calm and casual.

“You made it,” he said, his voice softer than he intended.

She laughed lightly, a sound he always found himself looking forward to. “Of course I did. It’s your birthday—wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

They hugged briefly, a touch that felt both familiar and electric, and he led her to their table. The night unfolded with laughter and easy conversation. Around the table, their friends told stories from races and travels, the room filled with lighthearted jokes. Yet, despite the crowd, it felt like the two of them were in their own little bubble. Lando would find himself glancing at her, noticing the way she laughed, the way her hand sometimes brushed against his arm as they leaned in to share quiet words. She listened intently to his stories, her eyes lighting up when he talked about his dreams and the challenges he faced. There was an ease between them, a familiarity that made every moment feel special.

As dinner drew on, each of his friends took a turn presenting their gifts, filling the evening with laughter and warmth. Finally, it was her turn. She pulled out a small, beautifully wrapped box, holding it out to him with a smile that was both shy and knowing. Lando looked at her, feeling his curiosity pique as he gently untied the ribbon, careful not to rush. Inside, nestled in a bed of dark velvet, was a watch. It was simple yet elegant, with a sleek black leather band and a timeless face. His fingers brushed over the engraving on the back, reading the small, precise words she had chosen: “Drive with your heart.”

Lando’s throat tightened as he read it, his heart swelling with a mixture of gratitude and something deeper. She looked at him with a softness in her eyes, and he sensed there was more to this gift than just its material worth. She had chosen something meaningful, something that spoke to who he was, and it was as if she had seen through all the layers he tried to hide. For a moment, he was overcome, unsure of what to say. He looked up, catching her gaze, and held it.

“It’s a reminder,” she said softly, her voice just for him. “For all the times when things get difficult, when you need to remember why you’re doing this. You have so much heart, Lando, and I just… I wanted you to know that.”

Her words stirred something in him, a warmth that he had rarely felt before. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t think you realize how much this means to me.”

For a moment, they sat in silence, his hand resting on the box, her hand resting close to his on the table. The air between them felt charged, filled with everything they hadn’t said. He wanted to reach out, to take her hand, to tell her what had been on his mind for months. But instead, he held back, savoring the quiet connection between them. The evening carried on, but Lando’s thoughts stayed on that watch, on her words, and on the growing realization that this was more than friendship.

As the night wound down, they stepped outside, and he offered her a ride home. She agreed, and soon they were side by side in his car, the city lights flickering past them in a blur. The ride was quiet, but not uncomfortable. It was as if they were both waiting for something, some unspoken understanding that hung in the air between them. Every now and then, he would glance over, catching her gaze as she looked out the window, her profile softened by the streetlights. He wanted to say something, anything, but he didn’t want to ruin the moment.

Finally, they arrived at her apartment. He parked, leaving the engine idling as he turned to her, his heart beating faster with every passing second. The warmth of the car was a stark contrast to the cool November air outside, and he was suddenly aware of just how close they were. He looked at her, his gaze lingering on her face, her eyes, the gentle curve of her smile.

“Thank you for tonight,” he said softly, his voice barely more than a whisper. “And for the gift. It’s… it’s perfect.”

She turned to him, her eyes meeting his with a look that seemed to hold a thousand unspoken words. “I’m just glad you liked it,” she replied, her voice gentle.

The silence stretched between them, filled with possibilities. Lando’s heart raced as he reached out, his fingers brushing her hand, testing the boundaries. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned in slightly, her eyes never leaving his. Their faces were close now, so close he could feel her breath against his skin, warm and inviting. He couldn’t hold back any longer.

Slowly, he leaned in, closing the space between them. His lips met hers, soft and tentative at first, as if they were both afraid to break the spell. She responded, her hand finding his, fingers intertwining as the kiss deepened. It was gentle and sweet, a kiss filled with all the words they hadn’t spoken, a silent promise between them. Time seemed to stop, the world falling away until there was only her, and the feeling of her hand in his.

When they finally pulled back, he looked at her, his heart full and his mind racing. She smiled, a soft, knowing smile that told him she’d felt it too.

“Happy birthday, Lando,” she whispered, her voice a warm breath against his lips.

Lando squeezed her hand, a smile spreading across his face as he took in the moment. “Best birthday ever,” he murmured, and he knew, deep down, that this was just the beginning of something extraordinary.

#lando norris #lando norris oneshot #lando norris fluff #lando norris blurb #lando norris fic #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #f1 imagine #f1 x female reader #f1 fanfic

400 notes · View notes

kykyonthemoon · 5 months ago

Text

[Headcanons] To be a father

His reaction and interaction with his first and unexpected child.

ಇ. Character x MC (Female Reader) - in third pov.

Parts in order: Rafayel, Xavier, Zayne, Caleb.

ಇ. Tags: headcanons only, fluff, domestic fluff, family fluff, (unplanned) pregnancy and child birth mentioned, reader insert but I'm using pronouns she/her for MC, he/she and his/her pronouns for all of the babies in this post.

ಇ. Word count: 2k5

ಇ. Ky Ky's notes: This is not a complete fanfic, rather a post of my headcanons about the men and MC having their first baby, and it's unexpected.

Based on many requests of the same plot I've got so far, from Cá Cá đến hôn em một cái, an Anon-san requesting about Zayne dealing with MC's morning sickness, and another Anon-san who sent a three-ask-long request in my askbox.

ಇ. Masterlist ♡ Request a fic

Rafayel

With all of his innocence, Rafayel will just note that MC has been a little fatigued recently, without knowing why.

She senses something, but is unsure whether a human can become pregnant with a Lemurian.

When she returns from the hospital with certain results in hand, she's shaking. Rafayel keeps asking until she tells him the truth.

Rafayel is rather astonished. "Are you sure there's a baby in your belly, not just fat?"

She simply wants to beat him hard. They could not comprehend what is occurring; it's like a miracle.

Rafayel ponders if the child would be more like him or her. He begins speaking to her tummy with the sound "glub glub glub".

Every day, Rafayel performs music and paints in front of MC. He claims that he does this so that the child in her tummy may experience art from a young age.

When she experiences morning sickness, Rafayel develops similar symptoms. He grumbles and worries more than her. As a result, she needs to care for both of them.

Rafayel invites Talia to stay for some time, keeping her company and learning more about this half-human, half-Lemurian child. As a result, MC discovers a number of intriguing details regarding Rafayel's childhood.

Every morning when she wakes up, the first question he asks is, "Has the baby come out yet?" She is both annoyed and amused, telling him it is still too early.

The day MC goes into labor, people discover him crying in a corner. When he holds the baby for the first time, he checks to see if he/she has legs or a fish tail. Then he cuddles the infant and continues to cry out of delight. It appears that throughout MC's pregnancy, he gets exceedingly sensitive and tears more easily.

Rafayel has set up a separate nursery with all of the necessary supplies a long time ago. He almost moves in there after the baby is born.

Rafayel speaks to his child in a baby voice, occasionally using fish language. This does not alter even as the kid grows older. He/she may feel embarrassed when his/her father speaks to them in this manner in front of others.

He frequently calls his child by intimate names, most of which are related to fish.

Other babies’ first word might be “dad” or “mom”, but the first word that ever comes out of their child’s mouth must be “glub”.

Rafayel purchases only the most adorable baby items. He additionally designs his own pillows, toys, and other baby-related products.

Rafayel is the sort of dad that pushes his child in a stroller around the mall. After that, he would most likely forget about his own child and return home alone. To him, the kid is capable of finding his/her own way home. But after being scolded by MC, he rushes back to fetch the kid.

The father and his child regularly go to the beach together. He educates the kid about Lemuria, art, and the beautiful world where his or her mother grew up.

Rafayel frequently pulls pranks with the kid, causing MC a headache. It's like having two children under the same roof at the same time. Her parenting style differs from his. The young child could prefer Rafayel because MC can be so strict at times. When she scolds and disciplines the child, he typically sides with the child. It ends up with both of them punished together.

The child possesses the strength of a Lemurian, but his or her body is more resilient and not as vulnerable on land.

Rafayel likes to lull his baby to sleep with ancient Lemurian melodies. He also tells him/her goodnight stories, after which the two cuddle and fall asleep comfortably. MC would frequently embrace Rafayel from behind or place the child between the two of them.

Xavier

Neither Xavier nor MC are aware of the pregnancy until she faints on a mission.

When he arrives at the hospital, the doctor informs him that there is a little life in her tummy.

Xavier sits for a long time in front of the waiting room, trembling from the emotions in his heart.

When MC gets up, he is the one to tell her the news and she almost faints again.

Since neither of them is prepared to have children, life has become more chaotic. She develops morning sickness and tension, and she is only permitted to perform desk jobs rather than fighting, which drives her insane as she feels excluded and is frequently uncomfortable.

Xavier gently remains by her side to care for her, even on difficult days when she grumbles at him.

He pats her abdomen and murmurs to the baby: "Come out soon so you don't hurt mommy anymore, okay?" Then he would softly kiss her tummy.

Xavier buys almost every parenting guide he could find. He also follows the suggestions in there, seeking for healthy meals, performing mild workouts with MC, and giving her massages.

He handles all of the tidying up throughout her pregnancy, but she would not let him near the kitchen.

The day she gives birth to a beautiful child, Xavier cuddles the baby and kisses her forehead, praising her for the most precious present he could ever have.

She frequently sees Xavier in the nursery, cradling his baby, but he falls asleep even before the child. At that moment, MC simply grins and gently drapes a blanket over his shoulders.

She believes this child is more like Xavier than herself. Take a look at how he/she can sleep anywhere, anytime. They can hold hands and sleep on the sofa while the TV is on. He/she has the same taste as Xavier, preferring meat and leaving all veggies to MC.

As the kid grows older, he/she develops an interest in superheroes. Of fact, he or she idolizes Lumiere much more than MC. The child begs his/her parents to buy Lumiere's merchandise to fill the room, and occasionally even asks Xavier to play the role of this hero.

Xavier loves to create light shows for his child, receiving praise and admiration from him/her. To become a child's entire universe, he spends a lot of time researching how to build and construct toys for his kid.

The child soon becomes the youngest plushie collector in Linkon.

Compared to going out, Xavier and his child prefer staying at home together. Both spend much of their time asleep.

Whenever MC is away from home, Xavier and the child often do not care much about their meals. But when she returns, the whole family would have a hearty meal. She plans to teach the child to cook at a young age so that he/she might aid her in the future.

Even though Xavier adores the child, MC remains his primary focus. He spoils her more than his child, so the baby sometimes has to get between the two of them for attention.

When she becomes preoccupied with the infant and loses sight of Xavier, he appears sad and attempts to reclaim her attention by assisting her in caring for the baby. He enjoys taking care of both of them and frequently reminds the child who actually is his /her mother's most favorite.

The child prefers to sleep in his or her parents' room more. His/her favorite position is between the two of them. When he/she falls asleep, Xavier will covertly carry the child back to his/her room before returning to the MC's side and sealing the door so they are no longer disturbed.

Zayne

As her physician, Zayne is aware of MC's pregnancy before she is. He is familiar with her period and has received the results of her frequent checkups.

Zayne is astonished because neither of them expected to have a kid at that point. He doesn't know how to tell her either. Finally, he decides to get a box of excellent macarons for her. She finds it strange, so she inquires whether it is for a particular occasion.

Zayne pauses for a time, then stares deeply into her eyes before quietly saying: "You... are pregnant."

As if lightning has struck, she drops the macaron she's about to bite. Zayne has to catch her before she faints.

It takes her a bit to recover her composure. What sort of mother would MC be if she hadn't prepared anything? She is completely unaware of how to care for an unborn child or infant.

Zayne appears calm as he soothes her, but that night she discreetly observes him grinning ear to ear in the study, while pursuing further medical documents.

He also takes special care of her more than ever. Morning sickness is also more bearable with him by her side. He constantly checks her and their child's health, ensuring that she receives the greatest and most timely medical care. MC is just concerned with eating nutritious meals and preparing for their future child.

Zayne would pre-register her for pregnancy care, infant care, and any other classes that he deemed essential.

Zayne also intends to raise their child from infancy to college. MC could only gaze at him, surprised, with big round eyes. As anticipated from Linkon's brilliant young doctor.

He would alter his entire schedule to ensure that he could always be there when she needs him.

He's constantly by her side throughout childbirth. No matter how hard she scratches or squeezes his palm, all he does is softly console her.

Zayne is excellent at caring for children. Since the baby is born, he devotes all his time and energy to care for him/her. Afraid that MC would be upset since they couldn't have much private time together anymore, he would compensate with sweets and do something they both enjoy (such as watching a movie together).

Children often get sick, and when their baby does, Zayne attentively takes care of him/her until he/she gets better.

He asks his child to eat veggies to gain enough nutrition, but whenever the kid leaves the carrots out for him, he slyly puts them on MC's plate.

Zayne is the type of parent who can hold a baby and work at the same time; or hold their child while carrying all the bags for MC when they go out shopping.

Their child is exceptionally smart and obedient, as well as silent, yet whatever he or she says amazes the MC. He/She takes after Zayne more than her. He/She is adored and spent time with by everyone at Akso Hospital. People often praise the child for his/her courteous and well-mannered behavior, which makes MC chuckle, while Zayne fails to hide his proud smile.

However, as a child, there are times when he/she may become too playful and lose sight of his or her responsibilities. Zayne has the strict role in the family. He disciplines the child not with whipping or scolding, but rather with a reasonable consequence and reward. He assigns a chore to the child and promises prizes if he/she completes it successfully. Otherwise, he/she will face a penalty.

Zayne might be very strict at times, leaving the child afraid and furious. He/she runs to the MC with a gloomy look. She speaks a few words to get him/her away with this, but seeing Zayne's stone-cold face, fearful of being criticized by him too, she pushes the kid forward with encouragement: "You asked for it, dear."

Even still, after every tantrum, the child would always find candy that Zayne has mistakenly placed in an easily accessible location.

The kid frequently begs Zayne to make popsicles for him/her or to serve as his/her own portable air conditioner when it's hot outside.

On occasions when the whole family has a day off, Zayne often takes them out of town in his car. In addition, he usually brings the child to the hospital to participate in some volunteer activities there.

Caleb

MC remembers that Caleb is petrified for a long time after hearing her announce the pregnancy.

Then he walks out into the backyard, and she hears him scream so loud that the whole neighborhood could hear, "I'M GOING TO BE A FATHER!"

The next thing she knows, he has rushed inside, scooped her up like a princess, and spun her around the room. When he comes to a halt, she notices his eyes are bright red. He embraces her for a long time, thanking her for giving him the most precious thing in this world.

Caleb is paying more attention to her meals, even learning how to prepare new nutritional foods for the two of them, rather than simply following her appetite. He also ensures that she eats and drinks more.

Due to his profession, he frequently departs for far away missions, but every day he checks on her health and reminds her to eat on time and to arrange regular prenatal checkups.

Caleb couldn't be with her as often during the pregnancy, which made it really tough for MC. She regularly tears when she gets upset. However, he surprises her and makes her happy by returning home without calling first. He states that he's on long-term leave to take care of her.

Caleb previously talked about MC so much that all of his Academy friends and coworkers are familiar with her. He is now filled with tremendous delight and pride as he talks about their upcoming kid.

Even before the baby arrives, he/she already receives many gifts and necessary items from his/her parents' colleagues.

After having a kid, Caleb accepts short-term assignments closer to Linkon. He enjoys spending time with his family the most, and every time he's home, MC feels like everything becomes cozier.

She sometimes recalls their childhood while seeing Caleb care for and play with the baby.

He is always present on important occasions for the whole family, when the baby takes his/her first steps and babbles a few unclear words. He has a collection of images and videos capturing such moments.

Caleb occasionally becomes strict with his child and educates him/her using the similar disciplinary methods he learned at the Academy. But in the end, he always manages to comfort the child.

"Don't argue with mom." and "Mom is always right." are the things Caleb tells his child every time he/she gets scolded by MC.

The child is quite active. Anyone can tell since he/she possesses all of the stubbornness and mischief of MC and Caleb combined. Caleb enjoys playing sports and doing outdoor activities with his child. He often carries him/her on his back or lets him/her sit on his shoulders when they go out.

Caleb frequently engages in daring activities with his child that make MC's pulse race. But he never allows the kid to be injured or frightened.

Caleb likes to call his child by affectionate names. But every time he calls "baby" or "sweetie", or "pip-squeak", both MC and the child turn around.

When Caleb takes on long-term assignments away from home, sometimes the child would miss his/her father and cries. But as soon as he/she finds MC sobbing, he/she will hold her and console her in the same manner Caleb does. That's what he has taught his child. And when he returns, the entire family will spend all their time together. The memories he creates with his child always make him/her joyful and grateful every time he comes home.

As requested in my ask box:

Header images used at the top of this post by: x

648 notes · View notes

lalunanymph · 5 months ago

Text

i. PROLOGUE

as an arranged marriage to a woman he doesn’t want looms over him, gojo satoru resolves to seize control of his destiny by marrying the very first woman he sees—a disgraced aristocrat from an enemy family who happens to be mute. as political ties unravel, will this ruse succeed or ultimately cost him his life?

warnings: mentions of injuries, war, captives, mentions of alcohol, o/ral s/ex, mentions of death, misogyny, forced marriage, p/rostitution, MDNI

masterlist 🧵 playlist

Gojo Satoru was a Lord not in need of a wife.

Arrogant and hubristic, he led life as a fool—simple, filled with pleasure and lacking no responsibility.

As such, brothels, handmaids and ruining aristocratic ladies were all his favorite pastimes.

In this very moment, his vices were no different.

The scion to the Gojo clan, a man with white hair and cerulean blue eyes the exact hue of the sea from which his family’s sustenance derives from, flickered them onto the woman poised between his thighs.

She was a whore or some other, hired for pleasure and a respite from the thoughts whirling in his mind. He barely paid her lewd suckling and theatric moans any mind, sensing that it was done with the intent to gleam a bigger tip by the end of the night.

Rather, he sank back into the paltry futon, gaze towards the ceiling while she tongued his balls.

A question bubbled in the back of his mind, tiptoeing to the edge of his tongue where he exhales it with little fanfare.

“Do you believe in true love?”

The woman paused, and he almost laughed at the glimmer of uncertainty coruscating in her gaze. “I beg your pardon, my Lord?”

He recognized that barely-there look on her face, that one sliver of determination mingling with the throes of forced lust she made herself believe she carried for him, if not to ease her suffering for one night.

“I asked if you believed in true love?”

A beat of silence that was louder than the schlicking of her mouth bobbing up and down his length. He discovers a second too late that she wasn’t as pretty as the lighting made her out to be and waves her away. Recognizing that she was being dismissed, the whore stands and tightens her obi, bowing low to him.

“Shall I anticipate you for next week as well, Master Gojo?”

Reverent and demure. He senses it was not due to his status but the clanking of coins in his pouch which caught her attention like the darting of silverfish in a foggy lake. He removes a golden piece and tosses it to her, narrowly missing her eye as she scrambles to catch it clumsily with both hands.

“Same time,” he drawls and stands up, making himself decent once more. The whore bows low and he pulls back the den’s curtain, making his way to the front. He does not have to wander far to encounter the stench of disapproval that mingles with the heady curls of opium smoke in the air.

Right at the door, wearing a frown that gleamed as brightly as his ebony robes, was his right-hand man.

Geto Suguru eyes him with open disdain and Satoru grins, raising his hands in mock surrender. “You found me, Sugu.” Not appreciating his tone or the abbreviation of his name, Suguru snorted and motioned towards the front door.

“This is the last time I am saving you behind from your councilmen, Satoru,” he starts on his churlish tirade, one that the young lord had heard many, many times. “The gathering is in full swing. What will people say when their great Lord is missing?”

Satoru’s snort pierced through a drizzle that clung to the tips of his brilliant white locks. “Now you sound exactly like General Nanami, Sugu.” At the mention of the stoic, aloof, and often unsmiling samurai who had retired from his life of serving the Gojo clan to live safely in the hills, Suguru physically bristled.

“At least Nanami was paid to handle your foolish ass.” Geto sighs, pinching his brow with his thumb and forefinger. “Come on. Let us go or else we will be late.”

Satoru strides to his great white steed, hauling himself over the stallion’s back.

“Now, Sugu. You are being quite the downer tonight.”

Suguru sighs. “I cannot help it. Tonight is when the great Lord Kozume will sign over his district to be under the Gojo rule, is it not?”

Despite his reckless approach to life, Satoru remains aware of his fief’s happenings, and this is an unprecedented event which marks a new chapter into his rule.

Kicking Mumu into a trot, Satoru sighs.

“Yes. And uncle will be there, too. No doubt trying to force my hand into taking a wife tonight.”

At the mention of the great, stoic Michizane Gojo with his blustering white beard and piercing blue eyes trying to force his nephew to marry, Suguru chuckles.

“If there’s one thing your uncle is, it is consistent.”

“And annoying,” Satoru quips, already wishing he had not stopped that whore from making him cum. Maybe he would feel more relaxed by now.

His mind drifts, and he recalls everything that has happened to make today one for the history annals.

A messenger stumbles in, covered head to toe in blood.

He’s unannounced, and Gojo has his katana out, ready for the first sign of danger and betrayal from any man.

But, the grisly older warrior does not flourish his sword; he sinks to his knees, holding his bleeding abdomen and a crumpled piece of paper in his trembling hand.

“My Lord,” he gasps and flourishes the scroll for his liege to take it.

Gojo immediately stands, any trace of his defensiveness melting off like frost when he unravels the scroll with shaky hands. His eyes widened. The enemy camps from beyond his threshold suddenly become like toys in his hands; easy to grasp and smash.

“They have surrendered,” he breathes out. The messenger curls his forehead to the floor, nearly sobbing.

“Long live your rule, Gojo-sama,” he tolls, loudly enough for his generals to come rushing into his war camp. Suguru is the first to grab the scroll from Satoru’s hand, and he too, is rendered silent from the sudden shift in their fates.

“Unbelievable,” the dark-haired general swears.

His second peers over the Lord’s great shoulders and gasps.

“Nagamachi has fallen,” Satoru announces through trembling lips. He turns to his men, his most loyal followers and who never once doubted his ability to expand the Gojo empire.

“We can all go home.”

Puddles of liquor and puke scatter on the tatami floors, and Satoru wrinkles his nose in disgust when he approaches the dais.

The men of his army could celebrate as well as they held a fight; brazenly crying out his name in exuberance and clinking their sake glasses together.

To Satoru! They cried. May his reign be ever long and prosperous!

Gojo takes his position on the dais, and reclines, accepting a cup of sake from one of his generals.

The man wears a smile so big, Gojo wonders how it doesn’t split his face.

“Your uncle is not yet here,” Suguru informs, taking a seat next to him and picking up a cup of the sweet, fermented alcohol to sip on. The fumes burn his nose and he frowns, not liking the taste.

Suguru has always been the more uptight between the two of them; where Satoru indulges, his friend restrains. Satoru reacts, Suguru observes.

Tonight, Suguru is his eyes and ears, peeling his attention around the room. Though merry men were no threat, the danger has not yet subsided.

These Nagamachi warriors could turn on them anytime; the frail peace treaty ending in blood.

Satoru leans back, and pretends to look interested in this turn of events. However, the second he hears the drums announcing his uncle’s arrival, he straightens.

Michizane Gojo is a man with a love for theatrics. His torture methods insane, his court a fester of troublemakers and violent men. Though he disagrees with his uncle’s rule, he cannot overturn it—Michizane holds an army of men three times his own and could destroy his part of the fief with a flick of his finger.

Tall, and with an imposing air that would make the harshest samurai tremble, Michizane strides into the drawing room. And he is not alone.

Head down, hand in cuffs and trudging behind him, the leader of the Nagamachi warriors wears a blackened eye and bruised cheeks. The gathering is free of women and children, so the men could indulge in cruelty till the morning sun rose. However, a slighter figure behind the man catches his eye, and Gojo feels a curdling disgust rising inside of his chest.

Gojo understands that in this world of wars and conquering, one has to respect whoever is at the top. But, if it were not for the fact that this man was his uncle, Satoru would have ordered his men to drag him out, respect for the elderly be damned.

Because there is nothing respectable about what he sees right in front of him now.

A young lady with her wrists bound follows behind the man, and unlike the other captive, her head is high, features turned obstinately to the light so every man could witness her disdain. She’s the sole woman here in this room, and the sight of her rouses every man—bloodhounds seeking to tear an injured bird apart.

Satoru stands and feels Geto stiffening beside him.

“Monster,” his friend whispers under his breath. Gojo has to agree.

The woman is shoved to her knees while the men remain standing. Her yukata, once a sign of her wealth and prosperity, is torn and with mud at the hem. If he looks closer, he can see her clenching her trembling hands, turning them to fists in front of her.

“Nephew,” Michizane stretches out his arms and Gojo reluctantly steps forward, receiving his uncle with a tight hug. “You are alive and have conquered the mountains. How proud I am of you.”

Gojo grits his teeth, finding the smell of opium and sake wafting off his uncle repulsive.

Masking on a smile, he nods. “Thank you, uncle. Your support means everything to me under these circumstances.”

Standing at close to six feet, the old, wizened man was no different from his whorehound of a brother—Satoru’s father. Women of all ages were not exempted from his list of atrocious taste, lending to his fearsome reputation.

Michizane bellows a laugh and gestures to the captives. “Why, I had a great time speaking to Lord Kozume. Or, shall I call him Kozume from now on.” Laughing at his own joke, the rest of the room chuckles, taking a leaf from his exuberance. Following suit, Gojo exhales a small laugh.

“It seems you have done so, uncle.”

The great lord slaps a hand to his fat belly, chuckling to himself. “Well, what shall it be tonight? An execution? A wedding? A fight?”

Always prepared for the worst, Gojo tries to steer the situation back into safer waters. There will be no more bloodshed for the foreseeable future; he was done smelling like the rusted tang for days on end.

“Perhaps, a discussion,” he entreats. His uncle snorts, but indulges in his nephew’s whims, signalling for his men to cut through the ropes binding Lord Kozume and the woman. She curls into a ball the second her hands are free, forehead pressed to the floor, begging for mercy.

Kozume is far more prouder than her, and sits rigid, shaking his head when a cup is offered to him.

“No. I wish to be level-headed.” His voice is deep and low; commanding yet kind. The voice of a leader.

Gojo blinks and remembers Suguru is beside him. He gestures to the girl and his general needs no more cues. Going to her side, Geto snaps his fingers for a cup of water and receives it from a servant; pushes it into her quivering hands. She straightens, and it disturbs him how red-rimmed her eyes are, and yet, she sheds no tears.

Kozume does not wait for his cue. He continues. “The Nagamachi lands are yours. The fiefs are now part of the great Gojo house and I humbly ask you to spare the lives of my daughter and mine.”

Satoru slides his gaze to the girl again.

The old man winces, as if he’s in pain, and reaches for his daughter, grabbing her by the shoulders. This close, Gojo can see the fear in her eyes, how the corners of her lips tremble.

By no means was he a naive man to the horrors of war, but he never had to witness an innocent’s expression up close. Satoru almost feels like the walls are closing in on him, and he tries to look away. But, something about her draws his attention back and back again—like a red splash of paint on a white cloth he cannot possibly ignore.

“Fine,” Michizane seats himself on the dais, looking down on the father and daughter. “Let us resume our discussion now with the eyes of every Gojo ancestor looking down upon us.”

At his words, the girl glances up, gazing upon the tapestries depicting the heroes of his boyhood, splashing across the ceiling as they continue on their bloody conquest to raise the emperor’s mark across the southern lands. She sees the blood, the mangled bodies, and drops her gaze; too close to the truth for comfort.

“My nephew, Satoru, as you know, is the head of the Gojo clan after his father’s death two years ago. He is in need of a wife and I have picked one out for him. The great Lady Ayako from a noble family under our flag.” Michizane glances at the girl. “Though you promised me your daughter is fair of face and from great blood, that blood now comes at a cost and I will not be at peace if she is under our roof. Hence, I have decided to wed her off to Lieutenant Luaya, who is one of the most fiercely loyal men I know.”

Gojo has to stop himself from physically recoiling. Luaya is a brute and a devil. He catches sight of the mentioned man puffing his chest out, looking pleased to be bestowed a blessing by the great Lord Michizane. She will never survive a night with him, Satoru thinks. In fact, none of his wives had ever survived for long.

His uncle was sending her right to her early grave.

As if sensing the change in the room, the young woman raises her head, and sees Luaya who’s smiling at her; the glint of his canine teeth bouncing off the light from the sconces overhead reminds him of a wolf scenting fresh meat.

Satoru does not know what overcomes him—he is barely a kind or empathetic man. But, the punishment for Lord Kozume’s rebellion is far too much.

He would have to watch by the sidelines as his daughter gets murdered in cold blood and that is no fair compensation for a man who readily surrendered to their forces. This inhumane treatment of their subjects had to come to a stop—Gojo would no longer stand for such cruelty his father and uncle perpetuated.

“Luaya will do no such thing.” Every eye in the room is on him as Satoru stands, crossing his arms right in front of him. The cup of sake hovering close to his uncle’s lips stops in mid-motion.

Whatever trick Michizane expects his nephew to pull, it was not this.

“I shall wed her—Lord Kozume’s daughter.”

Those piercing blue eyes land right on your shocked face, unwavering and resolute.

“We will be wed tonight.”

a/n: 👀 i hope u guys loved this new revamp of entangled !! it came to me as inspo from my recent trip to kyoto and i had to continue the bewitched universe for my sanity's sake lol

also if u didn't know, this series was previously discontinued due to low interaction and feedback, so if u want to see how gojo and y/n's story play out, please do consider dropping some feedback or a reblog to help keep the inspo going <3

©️lalunanymph. do not copy, repost or claim as your own. do not take elements from my story without prior permission.

#🦢writes #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #daimyo!gojo satoru #gojo satoru angst #gojo angst #jujutsu kaisen series #jjk series #jujutsu kaisen #series: entangled

465 notes · View notes

misshoneyimhome · 11 months ago

Note

Can i please ask a small scenario of luke hughes finishing first and he is so embarrassed and cute and hides his face in readers face and neck. Reader is so calm and sweet to him. Thanks love 🥰

Okay okay, so this was very brief! And also my first time writing about Luke Hughes... and I know I said no players born after 2001, but what can I say, I do like a challenge 🙈 Though I do feel like I violated him...

Hope it's alright love 😉🤍

Warnings; 18+ smut; protected sex (p in v);

Word count; 1.5K

・✶ ｡ﾟ

Practice makes perfect | Luke Hughes 🖋️⚡️

"What a game, huh?" you exclaimed with excitement as you greeted Luke, who was coming out of the locker room after the New Jersey game against the Blackhawks.

"It was alright," the young defensemen simply smiled in response.

"Alright? Luke, you played amazingly tonight," you embraced him in a hug, smiling up at your tall boyfriend, feeling he deserved more praise.

"Thanks," he flashed you a sweet, humble smile, wrapping his long arms around your body. Tucking you into him before letting you go and admiring your beautiful face. "So, what's the plan now?"

You could sense a slight hint of nervousness in his question, considering that you and Luke had only recently started seeing each other.

You had gotten to know him platonically during the summer, and as the regular season progressed, you slowly grew closer. However, your relationship was still fairly new.

"Coming over to your place?" you timidly suggested in a sweet voice, and Luke couldn’t help but return your joy. You always had a way of making him weak in the knees, from the very first moment he laid eyes on you, where he mentally had to kick himself multiple times for taking so long to ask you out.

"Definitely!"

And there you were, entwined on his sofa, celebrating the night's victory, with his 6'2" frame leaning over you. Your fingers intertwined in his brown curls as his lips caressed yours, his tongue gently seeking entrance, meeting yours with hunger.

The room was dimly lit, with the soft glow of a lamp casting a warm ambiance. The celebration continued with the faint sound of the TV playing highlights of the game in the background. The scent of victory lingered in the air, mixed with the comforting aroma of the takeout you both had enjoyed earlier.

"Easy, Luke," you chuckled lightly into the kiss, feeling his desire growing, along with impatience and almost neediness. "Slow down, we've got time."

"Sorry, babe," he breathed out with a light smile. "I'm just so..."

"Turned on?" you asked, your eyes glancing downwards to his very hard member, concealed in his sweats.

"Yeah," he softly admitted before once again pressing his mouth onto yours. Although he did try to slow down a little, it was rather difficult for him.

You were one of the most gorgeous and sweet girls he'd ever met. His hockey career always making it difficult to date like a regular teenager, and as a young adult having to take life seriously now, it hadn't gotten any easier.

But then you came around. And though he wasn't exactly a virgin when the two of you met, he might still have been on the less experienced side. Again, his hard work to reach the same level of career as his brothers had limited his social life. Which also meant his intimate time with girls.

And as you felt his rather sizeable length, firm against your inner thigh, you knew he was too worked up to slow down any further.

"Bedroom, Luke..." you breathed in between his sloppy kisses, and before long, he guided you to his room, where he swiftly pulled his shirt over his head, exposing his toned hockey torso, while you discarded your own blouse. Trousers went next, and not many seconds passed before you were back in the same position, your legs on each side of Luke as he hovered over you, lips connected, bodies growing warmer with every touch, creating friction, and sweat.

Yet, despite his deep need to feel himself reaching the much-anticipated climax, Luke was still trying his best to focus on you.

So, as you shared the passionate kiss, his fingers found the edge of your knickers, gently sneaking a finger inside as he located your entrance, poking and teasing before sliding it in.

Soft moans escaped your lips as you felt the pleasure he was causing, and you slowly developed an impatient need for more, which was given to you with a second finger.

And as Luke skilfully fingered you, something he'd, of course, learned from his older brothers, he too felt the impending surge of pleasure within him. The room filled with the heady mix of desire and intimacy, creating a space where time seemed to stand still, solely dedicated to the symphony of your shared sensations.

His cock was already dripping with pre-cum, creating a small damp patch in his boxers as he felt it throbbing, almost pulsating, craving to be touched.

"Yes, Luke," you moaned softly as you felt his fingers massaging your walls.

But with every pump, he felt himself in more need to feel those walls around his length instead. So, as impatience took over, he withdrew his fingers, leaving you feeling a void as he shifted his position, pulled off his boxers, and then returned to tuck down your underwear.

His facial expression was so serious, much like when he was playing hockey - focused and determined. Yet, this time, he also seemed desperate to be touched and in need to reach his peak.

Reaching over to the nightstand where Jack had been kind enough to place a few condoms as a joke, he took out the little packaging. However, as he seemed to fumble with it, you offered him a helping hand.

"Here, let me," you smiled up at him as you took out the latex and gently wrapped his length, causing little squirms from the boy above you, as your touch made him feel the sense of pleasure he was craving.

And then swiftly, he returned to missionary once more and let the tip of his member gently touch and tease your tight entrance.

"Slowly, love," you tried with a soft whisper. However, as Luke eased himself into your depth, your whisper quickly turned into a moan instead, feeling his long shaft filling your warmth.

"Shit..." he breathed out, slowly beginning to rock his hips, letting his cock glide in and out of you as he stimulated your walls. The room echoed with the sounds of your shared passion, a harmony of gasps, moans, and the rhythmic dance of bodies entwined in the heat of the moment. The intensity grew, the connection deepening with every thrust, creating a heated atmosphere.

"That's it, Luke..." you moaned in between breaths as he found a solid pace, thrusting and hitting the very end of your depth. Your hands finding his locks that you could pull on as you felt the building of an orgasm once again within.

However, the more Luke felt stimulated, the more he increased his speed. His thrusts slowly grew eager and more forceful as he got closer to his climax, still feeling the rush of a win from the match as he pounded into you.

And you felt him getting sloppier. His eyes shutting close as he desperately fought not to reach the peak, trying his best to have you come with him. Carefully he listened to your moans as you were about to let yourself give in to an orgasm as well.

"Yes, baby... I'm close... please come with me..." Luke almost cried out.

And you were almost there with him.

But as you were about to announce your climax, the tightening of your core around Luke's shaft had him involuntarily come a little too close to his peak. And with a deep, uncontrollable grunt, he let himself go, spilling his release into the latex as he felt the rush take over.

"Fuck..." Luke shouted, letting go of the last drops, his body trembling as he almost collapsed and fell with his face into the crook of your neck. The room was filled with the aftermath of passion, both of you catching your breath in the shared intimacy of the moment. The echoes of pleasure lingered in the air, creating a sense of vulnerability.

You let the silence fill the room as Luke slowly gained control of his heavy breaths, his body lying on top of you as he let out a deep sigh.

"I'm so sorry, babe..." he timidly mumbled into your skin, and you couldn't help but form a soft smile on your lips.

"It's okay, Luke," you tried to comfort him with a soft tone of voice, gently stroking your fingers through his hair before he lifted his head to look at you.

"No, it's not okay... you didn't get to come first, baby... you know I always want that," he whispered softly, his eyes darting from side to side as he kept apologising.

But you merely offered him another light chuckle and caressed his cheek. "Hey, it was your night tonight... after the thrill from the game, and how eager we both were, it makes sense it didn't take long."

“Still… I feel bad about not making you come…”

Once more, you just flashed him a soft smile.

“Well, I guess we’ll just have to do it again – you know what they say: practice makes perfect.”

And your words seemed to slowly reassure him as you both remained in the relaxed position, comforting each other while keeping your eyes locked onto his. Eventually, he accepted your words and withdrew himself from your embrace.

Though you had to admit feeling a little disappointed, having been so close to your peak, you were also okay with how Luke came to his release. He had made you feel good after all, and it truly brought you joy to please him.

#my asks #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes smut #nhl smut #new jersey devils imagine

1K notes · View notes

uncookedfeeler · 22 days ago

Text

How it all started 👹

Jessi x Reader

Tags : 5k, smut

Loyalty is a deep and enduring commitment that manifests itself in trust, respect and support. It implies a sense of obligation and responsibility where each individual acts in the best interests of the other. This bond, which grows stronger with each passing week, month and year, is the cornerstone of any successful partnership.

For the investor, it's the guarantee of a long-term financial investment, not without risk of course, but also the exclusivity of every opportunity linked to the person being supported.

For the celebrity, it's the guarantee of permanent and intangible financial support, as long as the terms of the contract are respected, as well as access to other resources in the eventuality of difficulties.

It's been a busy few weeks for you, and as the number of visitors to your establishments increases, so does your workload. The financial returns are excellent, your customers seem satisfied with your services on both sides, and there's no sign of a downturn in business, which in a way doesn't bother you and the last thing you want to see right now is problems like scandal.

Scandals are an integral part of the industry in which you do business, and you are no stranger to them yourself. Before you implemented a 'zero' policy in your establishment, there were a number of outbursts from investors who were a little too physical with your customers, which earned you some minor concerns, but also a great deal of respect and trust for the way you handled these problems.

And nothing prepared you for the one that set the nation alight last night, incriminating your oldest client and long-time friend. So you arranged a meeting with this person.

It's not uncommon for you to appear in public at your favourite club, enjoying your own service and waving to the many clients and staff who fill the place. Amid discreet glances and whispers, you sit down at a table in the middle of the room and lean back.

Quickly, one of your employees, accompanied by the manager, appears in front of you to serve you.

"Welcome sir, I'm sorry I didn't come to greet you myself", says the manager in a hurry, the little man looks rather stressed and his face doesn't remind you of anything, probably a newcomer, you think.

The young woman next to him, much more stoic, bends down slightly to greet you.

"Good evening, sir, how are you? A double with ice as usual?" The familiar tone seems to disturb the manager, who is about to reprimand her.

"Yes, please, Seola," you say, smiling at the spectacle unfolding before you, and after taking your order, the young woman gives her manager a dark look of authority before returning to the bar.

"I'm sorry sir, I'll make sure she's disciplined, please excuse her", the manager says to you, bowing to show his respect.

"Haha, don't worry newbie, even if you're her boss she'll give you a hard time" you give the manager a light pat on the back before letting him disappear from your sight.

Shortly afterwards, Seola appears with your drink and sits down opposite you as if nothing had happened.

"So what's he been saying since yesterday?" you ask her in a low voice.

"People seem worried, the fact that it happened right outside the bar doesn't help, especially with the media attention of the scandal", she replies, matching the volume of your voice.

"It's not good at all, is it?"

"Not really, people here know she's directly connected to you, so we need to solve the problem quickly, at least internally"

"Leave it to me, sorry for the trouble"

The young woman gets up and goes back to her work, information gathering is crucial in your field and people like Seola, who are your ears within your walls, make it a lot easier.

And just as you're enjoying your drink with a clear mind, you hear the sound of heels tapping in the distance, then the surrounding noise falls to a deadly silence, and without even looking in the right direction, you know who's just entered the room, and quickly all eyes follow the progress of the woman who appears behind you and finally sits down opposite you where Seola was just a minute ago.

Under the red and dim light of the room, a small woman with long light brown hair appears, wearing a strappy purple outfit that accentuates her huge breasts, slightly hidden by a large sparkling crystal heart necklace. Her make-up is striking, with heavy eye shadow and a bold lip, giving her a pouty look.

"Sit down Jessica" you say firmly and loudly so that the whole room can clearly hear your order, supported by your furious expression, the young woman obeys without saying a word except for a simple one:

"Oppa ... I" that comes weakly from her trembling voice.

It's a show of dominance that you are preparing to display to your audience. Jessi, the woman with such a charismatic and strong image, is crushed under your authority and you intend to make an example of her.

With a simple, dramatic wave of your hand, you ask one of the waiters to bring a glass of water to your table and, leaning back in your armchair, you light a cigarette, even though it's forbidden inside, but no one will dare reprimand you, given the way things have turned out.

The woman keeps her legs together, doesn't dare look at you, and stares at the glass of water in front of her. She's obviously waiting for you to start your scolding, as usual. But this time she's gone too far and you stare at her for several long minutes.

"Oppa, I... I didn't mean to cause so much trouble, The kid came out of nowhere and my friend just overreacted. It's not like I pushed him myself" The young woman finally breaks the silence and looks up at you for the first time.

You don't know where to start, the situation is so bad from every angle, so you just listen.

"Of course I feel sorry for the boy, but with the CCTV and now the police questioning, it's just nonsense. People really do have time on their hands".

You already knew she wasn't the most mature of the bunch, but her reasoning is completely wrong, so you take the lead.

"Is that all you've got to say to me?" Anger slowly builds inside you, from the tension and adrenaline pumping through you.

"YOUR FUCKING FRIEND HIT A CHILD, A MINOR, IN FRONT OF MY ESTABLISHMENT, FOR GOD'S SAKE!" You throw your half-empty glass down, shattering it into a million pieces as it hits the floor. You continue to make large movements towards Jessi, explaining:

"LISTEN TO ME, JESSICA, I AM TIRED OF CLEANING UP AFTER YOU. YOU PUT MY BUSINESS AND EVERYONE AROUND US AT RISK WITH YOUR BULLSHIT".

"Oppa, I'm sorry, sit down." Her voice shaking, she also stands up to try and calm you down, but to no effect.

In your exaggerated anger, you rip off his collar, throw it on the table and grab his face, squeezing his cheeks hard.

"NOW YOU'RE GOING TO LISTEN TO ME VERY CAREFULLY, YOU'RE GOING TO SORT OUT THIS PROBLEM WITH THE POLICE AND THEN YOU'RE GOING TO LEAVE YOUR LABEL AND MAKE YOURSELF VERY SMALL BECAUSE I SWEAR TO YOU, IF I SEE YOUR UGLY FACE ON TV AGAIN, WE'RE REALLY GOING TO HAVE A PROBLEM".

The pressure and violence of your words overwhelms Jessi, who begins to cry her eyes out, her make-up suffering the effects and running down her face. From the outside, the scene seems to have shocked your audience, who are witnessing a public humiliation, but that's all it takes to show that you're still in control of the situation.

You let go of the woman's face, still in shock, and you can see in her eyes that she is terrified and didn't expect this when she arrived.

"Go and freshen up in a private room, I'll join you in 5 minutes, we haven't finished our discussion yet," you order her, snapping your fingers, and the young woman complies before disappearing from the main room,

You turn to your staff to apologise for the mess and you do the same to everyone in the room, the audience seems to have been captivated by the scene, leaving a feeling of respect but also fear. Finally, you make your way to the corridor where the private rooms are located.

Access to the corridor is controlled by scanning a membership card to open a sliding-door that blends seamlessly into the wall. Although entry to your establishments is already by selection, those who wish can pay to gain access to these private rooms.

Once the door is open, you enter a corridor about twenty metres long, with several doors on either side. Each of these rooms is numbered and equipped for total privacy. As you walk along with your hands in your pockets, one of the doors on your left unlocks and you see one of your clients and former idol, Ms Seolhyun, step out:

"Good evening, Madame. I hope you're having a lovely evening? Everything going well inside?" you say with a warm smile as you stop in front of door N°4, greeting her with a simple nod.

“Good evening, Sir! Everything's going great... I..I just need to go to the toilet, thank you so much for your concern!”, replies the young woman as she leans over to greet you, her large breasts on full display.

You notice the delightful sweat on her face and her gorgeous, slightly flushed complexion. You even take the time to pull up the strap of her dress that has slipped off her shoulder, being careful not to drop the access card that is stuck between her two magnificent boobs. Then you move aside to let her pass.

You discreetly peek inside and see one of your old friends, Mr Hang, sitting on the sofa at the back of the room, enjoying the mouth of a short-haired woman while playing with the breasts of another.

You shut the door yourself with your foot until you hear the click of the latch, sealing the privacy of your clients once again, and make your way back to the room next door, wearing No. 6, you take your hands out of your pockets and pull the belt out of your trousers before wrapping it around your hand. Gently, you scan your card again on the badger by the door and enter the room.

You move slowly into the room, your footsteps echoing lightly on the tiles, each inch adding gravity to the moment, and stop before a kneeling Jessi, her eyes fixed on the floor.

Without a word, you drop your belt at her feet, immediately attracting the young woman's attention, her gaze rising towards you with the anxiety she is trying to hide.

You walk past her, staring at her coldly, and sit down on the beige leather bench just behind Jessi, who is still kneeling. She now has her back to you, emphasising the vulnerability of her posture in the face of your lack of response.

And for the first time since you entered, you start talking to her :

“Come here, darling” you say in a soft, affectionate voice and you see her obey without hesitation. She leans towards the belt on the floor, clutching it between her teeth with total obedience, in a show of deliberate submission. As she moves towards you on all fours, her eyes lowered, she seems to be aware of your penetrating gaze, which follows her without distraction, detailing her every move with silent satisfaction.

Finally, she reaches the seat and gently lifts her head to offer you your belt, her eyes tentatively searching your gaze for reassurance. In that suspended moment, you reach for your belt, then gently loop the strap around her neck, adjusting the buckle with cold precision. The belt tightens just enough to remind her of her existence without compromising her breathing. You take care to use the notch, deliberately drilled a little lower, adapted for this precise use.

“There you go” you murmur in a low, confident voice, Jessi's eyes rise slowly towards you, filled with unreserved submission, but also with a deep and palpable desire, the young woman is waiting for you to set your devotion on her.

“I'm sorry, my darling, for what I did before in front of everyone”, you gently reach out your hand to her, letting your fingers caress her still red cheek with tenderness, your thumb caressing it in a slow gesture, as if you wanted to erase your mistake, the young woman in her vulnerability closes her eyes and slowly lets her head rest on your thigh.

“But... you've been very naughty today and daddy needs to give you a little punishment, do me a favour and take off my trousers” and without further do the young woman complies and starts unbuttoning your trousers and then pulling off your underpants to free your semi-hard cock.

Jessi wraps her fingers around your shaft, gently stroking it to the head in a few thrusts. Then she extends her tongue and slides it along the underside of your cock, from the base to the tip. You let out a soft moan, your head falling back. "Go on girl, just like that..."

She swirls her tongue around your bulbous head, licking the beads of pre-cum dripping from the tip. Then she wraps her lips around it and sucks hard, lowering her head until the glans touches the back of her throat.

"Mmmmh! Now I recognise my little Jessica..." You gasp slightly as Jessi begins to rock her head back and forth, sucking on you with deep desire. One hand cupping and stroking your swollen balls as she works your shaft with her lips and tongue.

In no time at all, your cock is soaked in saliva and throbbing against the roof of her mouth. Jessi gives your swollen head a few more licks before pulling out. "Mmm do you like it when I do this daddy? Let me take care of your big cock a little longer.

She stays on her knees and slowly slides the straps of her tight dress to the side, exposing her huge tits as they bounce under the effect of gravity. You look at her lustfully and your cock continues to harden as they begin to push against each other.

She takes your thick shaft and presses it between her soft mounds, wrapping it in warm, soft flesh, squeezing her breasts around it and sliding it up and down. You just watch blissfully as your cock disappears between the flesh of her breasts, again and again.

Jessi continues to fuck you slowly and sensually, occasionally moving to suck the head of your cock before pushing it back into her cleavage. Her heavy breasts engulf it completely, your thick shaft disappearing each time before reappearing glistening with sweat. The wet, obscene sounds of her movements fill the room.

"What a needy little slut", you growl in approval as she gags and drools on your cock "You like choking on my big cock, don't you?" She hums in response, the vibrations making you roll your eyes.

Saliva drips down her chin as she works you, and you can't resist tangling your fingers in her soft hair, gripping it tightly as you begin to thrust into her mouth. "That's it, take it all in like a good girl", you command.

Jessi relaxes her throat, letting you push your cock deeper until you feel her nose pressing against your pubic bone. You hold her down, your heavy balls resting on her chin before you pull out. She gasps, tears stinging the corners of her eyes, only to see you thrust back in.

You use her mouth like a fleshlight, thrusting into her head and grunting with pleasure. Drool drips down her chin as she gags and chokes on your thick meat. But she was a fighter, she took everything you gave her.

Pulling back abruptly, you slap her face with your saliva-soaked cock, leaving traces of her own saliva on her cheeks. "Open up you little slut," you say, lifting her chin with the tip. "Ah!" Jessi screams as you thrust your cock back into her open mouth. As you start to thrust, you pull on the belt around her neck, tightening it just enough to make her dizzy. Her eyes roll back and she moans like a whore.

Holding her neck tightly, you finally let go of her hair and start slapping her fake tits hard, the impact of your thrusts leaving red marks on her body and you really let go, brutally fucking her face. Her throat swells obscenely with each deep thrust.

"Take it, you cock hungry bitch!" you growl, punctuating your words with particularly vicious thrusts. "Choke on my cock!"

Tears stream down her face as she chokes and spits, her throat convulsing around you, you can feel her dizziness from the lack of air and the rough treatment. But you don't care. All you care about is using your property for your pleasure.

Just before you spit your load, you pull out and point your cock at her face. Jessi manages to get her hands up just in time to grab your thick, heavy balls and stroke your cock as I come. Shot after shot of hot, sticky cum splashes into her face, coating her cheeks, nose and open mouth. She swallows as much as she can but it drips down her chin and onto her breasts.

"Tsk tsk, you're a mess", you say, chuckling darkly as you pull yourself in "Get up and take your dress off, we're going to have a chat while I claim your little pussy again".

Jessi stands up on shaky legs, her tiny body glistening with sweat and cum. Her once innocent face is now covered in your thick, sticky cum. Tears stream down her cheeks as the reality of what has just happened begins to sink in. She looks up at you with pleading eyes, silently begging you to comfort and reassure her.

You pull her towards you, hold her trembling body in your arms and let her rest on your shoulder. "Shhh, it's all right, my little girl", you coo softly, running your fingers through her tangled hair "I'm sorry, Daddy, I was naughty, I didn't mean any harm".

You slowly let her sit on you, her little body spreading out as you stroked her back. Her breasts, now covered with your fingerprints, rise with each shuddering breath. You lean down and take a stiff nipple between your lips, sucking and swirling your tongue around the sensitive bud. A soft moan escapes her as you lavish your attention on her abused breasts.

You align your still rock hard cock with her fully soaked pussy. With a slow, deep thrust, you bury yourself inside her, moaning as you feel her silky walls tighten around you. She lets out a cry, a mixture of pleasure and pain, as you thrust your thick cock into her cunt.

You begin to move, establishing a steady rhythm that makes her pussy throb around your throbbing cock. Her hands come to grip your shoulders, her nails digging into your skin as you fuck her. Leaning down, you capture her lips in a passionate kiss, your tongue thrusting into her mouth to claim every inch of her.

Pulling away, you plant hot, mouth open kisses along her neck before latching onto her pulse point and sucking hard to leave your mark. She arched her back against you, her hips undulating in response to your deep, powerful thrusts. The wet sound of skin against skin echoes around the room, mingling with her moans of need.

"Sounds like someone needed that", you growl into her ear. "Your pussy is really tight, is it my big cock you miss so much?" Grabbing her hips hard enough to leave bruises, you thrust into her, the force of your thrusts bouncing her off your thighs.

Reaching between her spread thighs, you find her sensitive clit and begin to rub tight circles over the swollen bud. She lets out a high-pitched squeal, her head bobbing from side to side as you pull her closer to the edge. Her pussy begins to ripple and quiver around your cock, signalling her impending orgasm.

"That's it baby, let yourself go" you instruct as you pinch her clit between your fingers. "Play on my big cock like a good little slut". Her body tensed, her back on the table as her orgasm overwhelmed her. She begins to convulse, clear fluid gushing from her pussy, covering your cock and balls.

As you feel her tight pussy milking your cock, you let out a bestial grunt. Pulling out, you flip her stomach onto the table, grab your belt again, throw her head back and force your way into her still throbbing hole, giving her no time to come down from her euphoria.

You thrust into her with brutal, punishing strokes, the wet sounds of your cock sinking into her cum-soaked pussy obscenely loud. She moans and sobs, her battered body no match for your relentless assaults. The force of your thrusts shakes her entire body, her crushed tits swaying beneath her with each stroke of your hips.

Leaning over her, you bite her shoulder, growling and moaning like a wild beast as you thrust into her. Your balls slap against her clit with each thrust, bringing her to the brink of another earth-shattering orgasm.

"I'm going to cum, hold your pussy tight", you moan, your thrusts becoming erratic and you tug on your belt as your orgasm approaches. "I'm going to stuff my cum into this fertile pussy." You pound into her a few more times before thrusting deep and crashing against her womb. With a loud groan you explode, painting her insides with thick streams of hot cum.

You continue to rock inside her, driving your sperm into her quivering hole. She moans and gasps as your cock twitches inside her, each spurt sending sparks of pleasure and pain through her body.

Finally, exhausted, you collapse onto your back and pull her onto you. She lies limp, still impaled on your softening shaft, her mixed fluids flowing around your cock. You wrap your arms around her and hold her close as she kisses you lovingly, her small body shaking from the force of her orgasm.

"Shhh, it's all right now", you soothe her, covering her face and neck with soft kisses " I've missed your body, feeling your pussy milking me like that reminded me of all the times I got you pregnant, but we need to talk about what's next, darling". You whisper compliments in her ear until her breathing slowly calms down.

While you're still slumped on the bench, with Jessi resting on top of you, your phone buzzes with an incoming text message. Pulling it out of your pocket, you see that it's from your friend Mr Hang.

When you open the message, you are immediately greeted by an extremely obscene photo. In the shot, three young women - Seolhyun, Choa and Jimin are kneeling in front of the camera, their faces completely covered in huge ropes of thick, creamy cum. Each of their mouths is stretched around Mr Hang's huge semi-erect cock, obviously fresh from an aggressive blow job on its thick shaft. The bulging cockhead, coated in their saliva, glistens obscenely as it emerges between their lips. You can even see trickles of cum dripping from her chin and splashing onto her swollen breasts.

The sheer depravity of the photo makes your cock throb in Jessi's pussy. She moans and clenches around you in response to your arousal. A diabolical thought crosses your mind as to how to respond to Mr Hang's message.

Gently, you encourage Jessi to lift herself off your rigid pole. Cum immediately pours from her gaping hole, her stomach and thighs already soaked in the creamy cum you've pumped into her. It's at this moment that you realise just how much of your cum you've filled Jessica with - it's impossible not to get pregnant with such a load.

Moving surprisingly quickly for having just ejaculated inside her, Jessi collapses onto her back on the table and spreads her legs. Streams of pearly cum continue to ooze from her pussy, running down her slit and spreading over her tanned skin.

You reach out to steady Jessi's right ankle, lift her leg and use your other hand to tilt your phone for the shot. Through the lens you frame the perfect shot - Jessi's cum-filled pussy opening invitingly on the messy table, her swollen pussy lips smooth and glistening with your cum. Swirling ribbons of cum paint the insides of her thighs and the surface of the table a pure white.

You snap a few photos to immortalise the debauchery that followed your crude coupling, the obscene evidence of her well-trained hole. Pressing the screen, you send the most incriminating picture to Mr Hang in response to his obscene message, knowing that he will appreciate it.

As she rests her leg, she looks up at you coquettishly, her face flushed and her eyes heavy with desire. Your palm lands on her ass check with a resounding slap as you rub the pink imprint of your hand across her tanned skin.

"That's how I love you Jessica" you growl, your voice rough with lust. "And I'm far from finished with your wicked cunt, unless I change and hammer your arse".

Jessi moans in need and arching her back, presents her dripping cunt to you like a bitch in heat. You slap her arse again, leaving another red mark on her creamy cheeks. The way she moans and wiggles her hips fuels the fires of your excitement.

You push into Jessi's dripping pussy again as she lies on her stomach and spreads herself for you. "Remember that first night?" You ask, grunting as you sink deeper into her tight warmth. “When my little Jessica spread her legs for her daddy" She lifts her head and gives you a shy smile. "Oh yeah? You really remember our first time together ? When I signed that first contract?"

You grin, remembering clearly. "How could I forget? Eighteen years ago, you were this cheeky 17-year-old young rapper trying to make a name for yourself. So fucking eager and innocent, not realising what you were really getting into with me".

Jessi lets out a small laugh. "Innocent? Please, I knew exactly what I was getting into when I agreed to be your artist and personal fucktoy. I just had no idea how long you'd keep me around once you'd had your fun". Jessi moans, her back arching as she takes you completely inside her "Mmm yes, I'll never forget that Daddy", she moans. "You were so gentle... the first man to claim me completely".

You grip her hips tighter, your fingers digging into her soft flesh as you slap her roughly from behind. "And look at you now", you growl in approval. "My perfect little breeding slut. So eager for my cum."

"Always, my body and my womb belong to you," she says, thrusting herself back against you. "You're the only one who's ever satisfied me... who's ever filled me so well"

"Well, yes... that too. But also that you were the one. The girl I wanted to make mine forever," you slow your thrusts, savouring the feeling of her wet heat clutching you. "And I did. I've kept this tight pussy all to myself for eighteen years now."

"Mmm yeah, and what a crazy ride it's been..." Jessi muses, clutching my cock. "Like when I got knocked up, huh?"

You nod, remembering the panic and subsequent solution. "The first couple of times you told me you were pregnant, I nearly had a heart attack. I couldn't risk you carrying my child yet."

"Yep. Abortions and the morning-after pill have become my best friends'". She jokes dryly. "Although I suppose I should be grateful that you always went out of your way to help and support me afterwards".

You nod. "Yes, it's true. I could never get rid of that gorgeous bum, and I haven't even mentioned your tits" You punctuate the sentence with a hard slap on her hip.

Jessi yelps, then moans as she pushes herself back against me "Ffffuck, keep it up. I'll cum again if you do".

You smile and obey, picking up a relentless pace, watching her ass jiggle with each slam of your hips against hers. You slid one hand down her body to squeeze her tits as you fucked her mercilessly. "That's it, come for me Jessica. Squeeze my cock like the perfect little cock muff you are".

"Ungh, so close!" She gasps, the walls around you begin to throb, signalling her impending orgasm "Fuck, I'm coming again... I'm coming!"

Jessi's pussy tightened and she came with a loud moan, her whole body shaking with the force of her orgasm. The grip on her pussy was too strong and with a moan you buried yourself deep and came violently, shooting thick ropes of cum straight into her quivering pussy, still full from your previous load.

You collapsed together on the table, gasping for breath as the aftershocks rippled through us. After a moment you withdrew carefully, watching with satisfaction as your cum dripped out of her wet, saturated hole.

Jessi lay on her back and look at you with a lazy, satiated expression "Fuck, you really let it all out deep inside me, I'm not going to be able to get any more, look how my pussy is overflowing".

You giggle and take her in your arms. "Yes? Well, get used to it again. Because this body is still mine, as it has been for the last eighteen years. And I still have a long way to go before I'm done with it".

She smiled mischievously at you "Mmm, I love it when you get all dominant and take charge. I suppose this is the part where you stuff my pussy every day with your seed?"

You smile back and kiss her deeply, knowing she was right. "And I intend to keep this pussy mine for at least another eighteen years. At least. So get ready because the rules have changed, no more contraception or abortion, it's your turn to make me drink your milk, Mummy"

Your bedroom is softly illuminated by the glow of the bedside lamps. The air is thick with the musky scent of sex and sweat. Jessi lay on the king-size bed, her hair fanning out against the silk pillowcase. Her voluptuous body drenched in sweat, the marks of your passionate lovemaking visible on her ivory skin in the form of red scratches and love bites.

You stand over her, your handsome cock still semi-erect, glistening with a mixture of your combined juices. Her freshly crumpled contract, stained with traces of your thick, potent cum, lay forgotten at the foot of the bed, a testament to the depraved acts you'd just indulged in together.

"Please", Jessi moans, looking up at you with desperate, lustful eyes. "Come empty yourself inside me. I need to feel you come inside me again and again until my womb is filled with your seed."

She spreads her thighs in invitation, exposing her dripping, well-fucked pussy to your delight. "Make me pregnant, Daddyy. Now that my career is over, come and start my life as a mother. Please ravage me again!"

You tower over her, a predatory gleam in your eye as you watch the spectacle of debauchery before you. Your aching cock contracts and hardens at her shameless pleas, ready to deliver another massive load deep into her fertile young womb.

#Wicked club #jessi smut #kpop smut #male reader

173 notes · View notes

midnighvtm4ss · 5 months ago

Note

A scenario I often imagine is Arthur drawing you while you show him your favorite music. Him simply worshiping your body, making you his muse and capturing it in his journal forever ♡⁠˖

thank you so much for your request !

You’re my first request im super super excited !! I hope you like it and that I met your expectations even though it’s a quick read <3

highhonor!arthur morgan x f!reader

warnings: maybe a bit suggestive but mostly fluff, wrote this on my notes app so grammar errors for sure sorry :(

wc: 1.2k

“Wanna put some music on f’me sweetheart ?”

The deep rumble of Arthur’s voice muffled in the crook of your neck broke the silent shared bubble of intimacy that surrounded both your naked bodies.

His hands holding you close to him, tracing abstract shapes on your back as you both came down from your highs, a very well-deserved peace after the events of the past month.

The mood around your fellow camp members was slowly starting to get better after escaping the cold claws of Colter’s harsh climate, which trapped the gang in an endless white desert of snow for several weeks with little to no food and an abundance of regret regarding the failed robbery and the miraculous escape from Blackwater.

Although the evening air was still a bit chilly in Horseshoe Overlook camp, being only the early start of spring, one could sense hope warming all your hearts, melting away some of the sorrow and disappointment that the failed robbery and the loss of young Jenny and the Callander brothers left you.

Dutch, more than anyone else, clinging to this glimmer of hope, trying to keep everyone’s faith in the gang.

The wind whistling through the flaps of your and Arthur’s shared tent made a shiver run up your naked body as you made your way from your shared cot where you two were laying, to Dutch’s gramophone, which was opposite the bed, kindly lent to Arthur for a few days.

A small thin cloud of dust and dirt rose up from where your hands flipped through Dutch’s records, eyes scanning meticulously trying to find some of your favourite ones.

Behind you, you could hear the shifting sound of the thick cotton sheets as Arthur moved into a sitting position, his eyes automatically glued to your seductive form like a moth to a flame.

“A ha ! Here it is” you softly exclaimed as you finally found the record you were looking for, the one that never failed to put your mind at ease whenever Dutch would play it around camp.

Sliding it out of the wooden box, careful not to scratch it, you put it on.

As the soft melody of ‘The Flower Duet’ filled the rather small space of your tent you started to sway to the rhythm of the song.

“Sous le dôme épais, où le blanc jasmin à la rose s'assemble”

Turning back to look at Arthur, you found him already looking at you, his aqua irises mixing with yours for a second before quickly looking down his lap and scribbling in his worn leather journal, his face relaxed and a small hint of a smile making its way into his chapped lips.

“What you writing in there ?” you asked softly, body still swaying to the sweet rhythm of your favorite song, a shy smile creeping up your face.

“Nothin’, just some quick…” he took a moment to finish his sentence as he looked back at you, eyes flying to catch every single inch and detail of you.

How the light from the small lamp on the night table made your skin glow and your curves even more defined with the contrast from the darkness of the night sky outside, your french braids, all untidy from the intimacy shared before, shifting with every move you made.

In this moment in his eyes, you were the definition of a goddess, his poor mortal heart struggling to keep an even pace near you.

“…thoughts.” he exhaled the last word, licking his chapped lips before flipping through some pages of his journal seemingly filled with various sketches.

“Ah! Glissons en suivant doucement glissons, de son flot charmant”

As a comfortable silence fell between the two of you with only the soft melodic sound floating in the air and the scraping of Arthur’s pencil on paper you continue to sway, your mind floating away carried by the suave voice of the singer, unaware that the man sitting on your bed is engraving this peaceful and intimate moment forever on paper for his eyes and his heart only to see.

“Dans l'onde frémissante, d’une main nonchalante, gagnons le bord”

His eyes were bright and focused on how to draw your mesmerizing face, afraid of not portraying your unworldly beauty right on paper, so focused that he was slightly surprised when your soft arms wrapped around his torso as you climbed back to your cot, planting a small kiss on his bearded cheek making his heart skip a few beats.

As you rested your head on his shoulder you looked down on his lap expecting to find a doodle or a quick thought scribbled away in his perfect cursive handwriting, but instead, your eyes were met with a full sketched page of you dancing near the gramophone.

With cheeks of a deep red and wide eyes, you looked at Arthur, trying to say something but failing as your heart filled with even more adoration for the not so cold hearted outlaw beside you.

“Sous le dôme épais où le blanc jasmin, ah !Descendons, ensemble!”

Your relationship with Arthur was relatively new, barely six months, and in those six months of relationship you would often catch Arthur sitting somewhere quiet and isolated with his journal, sometimes writing stuff down or sometimes moving his pencil in quick strokes which you guessed were doodles of stuff he would see every day, but you would have never guessed how talented he was in his art.

“Well it ain’t much of a picture” he murmured, a faint, almost imperceptible blush covering the apple of his cheeks, feeling self conscious of his skills under your attentive gaze.

“Oh you silly man, it’s beautiful, Arthur” you quickly reprimanded him with an awestruck tone, your index finger gently caressing the drawing careful not to put much pressure and smudge the graphite version of you.

“Can I see more of your drawings ?” you asked him, meeting his unsure gaze which was already on you, with your hopeful lovesick one. After a quick internal struggle, he fully put his journal in your hands, giving you full permission to explore this new side of him.

As you flipped through the pages you started to see fewer drawings of plants, animals and views and more drawings of you, from portraits to full body.

He carefully captured in each drawing every single detail of you, your beauty stuck graphite to paper, making you look like a lady every painter would fight for the opportunity to draw.

With each passing page, you also noticed how some drawings featured you in more intimate moments, some when you were asleep or braiding your hair, but one in particular made you stop your flipping, heart racing as a deep blush rushed to your whole face.

On a rather empty page, on the left bottom corner there was a drawing of you naked, splayed on the bed, your expression one of pleasure with your hands seemingly caressing your body.

You stared at the drawing for a full five seconds before Arthur noticed what you were looking at and snatched closed his journal in embarrassment his eyes avoiding yours.

“Well, that’s for another time sweetheart.”

#.rira’s posting ౨ৎ ⋆#arthur morgan fic #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x you #rdr2 fanfic #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #rdr2 arthur morgan #red dead fandom #divider from @roseraris on tumblr

287 notes · View notes

blackleatherjacketz · 8 months ago

Text

Give In

Klaus Mikaelson x Female Reader

Summary: Klaus shows up out of the blue to remind you who you belong to.

Warnings: Mature Content, Mild Violence, Alcohol, Jealousy, Possessive Behavior, Klaus and his Mouth

Word Count: 1.4k+

Raucous voices from the drunken patrons on the patio echo against the vastness of the parking lot as you walk away from the crowd, having had enough of the holiday scene inside. Hand in hand with someone you’d only just met an hour before, you make your way out to your car until a feeling of dread suddenly washes over you. Unsure if it’s from all the green beer that you know you shouldn’t have drunk, the sensation intensifies as you get closer, tugging at your insides and prickling the fine hair on the backs of your arms with each step you take. You hear a heavy thud and a light moan, the alcohol dulling your senses just enough to keep you on your path as you turn toward where you had parked your car before you finally see him.

What the hell is he doing here?

“A local pub on St. Patrick’s Day? That’s very unlike you, now is it, darling?” Klaus licks the fresh blood off his lips as he approaches you and your guest, his hazel eyes aglow with a mixture of hunger and satisfaction before returning back to their natural hue. The limp body of the poor woman he had drained dry is just barely visible beneath the undercarriage of a Jeep as you attempt to take in your surroundings, damning the extra shot you took at the bar before walking outside with the man who had bought it for you.

“Who the hell is this guy? You know him?” Your new friend looks over at you, oblivious to the danger he’s in as a jealous shade of pink paints his cheeks.

“Klaus,” is all you can say as he steps closer, that all too familiar blend of fear and excitement tingling its way through your spine as if it’s your very first time seeing him.

It’s as if he’s capable of infecting the air around him with his mere presence, drawing out an innate response from your body every single time. You wish that you could blame it on compulsion, that you could somehow pass the buck onto his supernatural powers, but you both know he’s never had to use any of them on you before. You hate yourself for how weak you are for him, hate how your body instantly reacts to the mere sound of his voice or the glint in his eye like a dog in some sort of sick Pavlovian response. He could take whatever he wanted from you at any time he pleased, and you’d thank him for it.

And he knew that.

“The real question is… who the hell are you?” Klaus focuses his attention on your potential new bedfellow as he closes the gap between them, ignoring you for the moment as his fists find their way into the thin fabric of his novelty green t-shirt. With very little effort, he twists his grip on it, lifting the young man high into the air before staring menacingly into his eyes. “Well?”

“Alex.” He answers immediately, his voice shaking in sobering trepidation.

“And just how long have you been seeing my little witch, Alex?” His eyes darken as he compels the young man to tell him the truth, his dark tone just as threatening as it is curious.

“Witch? We just met tonight, I swear!” He lifts his hands up in surrender, not even bothering to look back at you for confirmation.

“You swear, hmmm?” He laughs to himself, that subtle amused chuckle rumbling in his chest before turning into a low growl, catching in his throat. “And just what were your intentions in bringing her out here like this, huh? Were you hoping to fuck her?”

“Klaus!” You scold in protest and take a step toward them, stopping only as he shoots you a deadly glare.

“Y…yes!” Alex admits freely, all the confidence and charisma he’d shown you inside disappearing in an instant.

“Good.” A sly grin slowly creeps across Klaus’ lips as Alex divulges his obvious intentions with you, fear trembling through his entire body and into his fingertips as they tremor sporadically. “She is rather tempting, isn’t she?”

Alex only whimpers in response, too afraid to say the wrong thing.

“You’re a bit young for her, don’t you think?” He grabs hold of his jaw and squeezes, turning his face from side to side to get a better look at his youthful features as he clicks his tongue in disapproval.

“I didn’t care about that.” Alex cries.

“No, I know. ‘Age is nothing but a number’ and all that, but she needs someone older, someone with experience who can take care of her, someone who can really give her what she needs... Do you think you’re that someone, Alex?” He raises an eyebrow as his grip on his chin tightens, making sure to cut the inside of his cheeks against his molars.

“No,” he can barely whisper at this point.

“Good boy, now why don’t you go back inside, have another drink and forget that you ever met her; forget all of this?” He brings him down closer to his face, their noses mere inches apart as his voice lightens just the slightest bit. “Now run along back inside and find someone your own age, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Alex mutters with a nod, scurrying off the second Klaus lowers him down and releases him from his grasp.

“Nose ring really does it for you, huh, love?” Klaus finally addresses you as Alex’s hurried footsteps fade off in the distance. “I didn’t take him as your type.”

“What are you doing here?” You fold your arms across your chest to put some distance between you, as if that will somehow help protect you from his deadly charms. “I thought you’d left town.”

“Well, now I’m back.” His tone shifts completely, his voice now like slowly melted caramel, dripping with the confidence you swear he was born with as it warms every inch of you, those perfect lips of his curling into a knowing smirk. “I thought you’d be happier to see me.”

“And I thought you would have at least called,” you counter coldly.

“Oh, you always fight me tooth and nail don’t you, darling?” He laughs to himself as he slowly saunters toward you. “Always trying to convince yourself that you don’t want me, that you don’t need me.” His hypnotic gaze grazes over your resistant frame before he gently brushes his knuckles against your cheek. “That you don’t belong to me.”

“Belong to you?” Your lips part as your heart begins to race beneath your nearly heaving chest, pumping your cheeks full of blood as the effect he has on you grows more urgent than you care to admit. “I don’t…”

“Shhh…” He stops you before you can finish your thought, grabbing hold of your chin and lifting it to face him. “Let’s drop the charade, shall we?” He takes his time to take in your features, his nearly blown out pupils dilating even more as they linger on your parting lips.

“Mmm hmm,” you try to answer as his intoxicating scent surrounds you, the sweet smell of cinnamon coated with smoky notes of bergamot flooding your senses.

It’s all over now.

“You’re my little witch… not his, not anyone else’s… mine,” he growls. His hand moves from your chin down to your throat, squeezing gently as he ghosts the promise of a kiss while opening his mouth against yours. He stares at you as his tongue languidly traces the outline of your lips just long enough to stifle your breath. “Right? Show me you understand.”

Your lips quiver as they glisten in his spit before you lean forward just enough to lick his in return, slowly savoring the hints of iron and salt until you can’t help but kiss him completely. You breathe him in, forgetting about how long it’s been since you’ve last touched him as he embraces the kiss with an unmatched fervor. You gasp as he presses his hips into yours, nearly knocking the wind out of you as a satisfied groan vibrates in his chest. You moan into his mouth as he clumsily backs you up against the nearest car as you try to catch your breath, that moisture already collecting between your thighs.

“That’s it, love,” he whispers, pressing those pouty lips of his against your chin and jawline as his other hand starts unbuttoning your jeans. “Give in to me like you always fucking do.”

----------