#my horse secrets exposed... | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

querenciasturniolo · 8 months

Note

chris or matt x fem!reader please !!! i legitimately cannot choose between them for my life so you can choose :) maybe reader’s also like an influencer and they have this secret sort of relationship for a while and its all super fluffy, but fans are already starting to speculate that they’re together and stuff, and then at the end they finally go public with a hard launch and/or live and everyone in the comments ( or chat if it’s a live ) is going FERAL

p.s. also i’ve loved your works for so long you DO NOT UNDERSTAND and i’ve finally gathered up the courage to send in a message even tho it’s sent in with a request !

hard launch ⮕ m.s.

word count: 911

warnings: swearing

summary: request

a/n: STOP YOU’RE SO SWEET 😭 please don’t be scared of me, i promise i don’t bite HAHAHA, ily are you kidding me 🫶🏻😭 also this was so fucking cute, i’m obsessed fr

everything written is completely fictional. the people i write for are written with characteristics and mannerisms that i made for them, this is in no way depicting what would actually happen in real life.

Watching Matt stream always had your heart stuttering in your chest.

The theme for Hogwarts Legacy was playing as he was adjusting his camera, your eyes watching him closely and trying to fight the smile stretching across your face. You were sure the viewers could see you staring, considering you were sitting in the chair directly next to him, on camera. His eyes dropped from the screen as he grabbed his controller.

“Alright guys, so, we’re playing Hogwarts Legacy tonight, but I have a special guest with me, as you all can see.” He turned his head and met your eyes, his own smile growing and his cheeks tingeing pink as he caught you already staring. Introduce yourself, he mouthed. You turned to face the camera, grinning wider than before as your eyes scanned over the chat.

“Hey guys, I’m the guest, obviously. My name is Y/n.” You said.

did anyone else see the way she was staring at matt ? they’re in love, confirmed

she’s so real, i’d be staring too

i can’t even handle this, she’s so cute

“Basically, Y/n’s going to play while I tell her what to do. She’s never held a controller in her life.” Matt teased, his eyes flickering between the screen and the chat as you pressed the button to start the game.

“Wait, I have to create a whole character?” You asked, glancing over at Matt as he placed the headset over your ears. He chuckled and nodded.

“Yes, you have to create a whole character, is that not what you were expecting when you begged me to play this game?” He teased. You rolled your eyes and adjusted the headset, making sure the ear that was on his side was exposed so you could hear him.

“This is ridiculous, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me I had to create an entire chara—oh my God I can have pink hair, I take it back.” You rambled, scrambling through the hair colors. Matt’s laugh next to you had you grinning as your eyes flickered between the screen and the chat.

this banter is only proving my point that they’re in love

i’m so glad she’s streaming with him this is so funny

has anyone else noticed that matt hasn’t looked at the screen once

You glanced over at Matt, meeting his eyes immediately. You couldn’t help but mirror his smile as you shook your head and faced the screen again. You created your character, groaning when you realized you had to go through a thousand cut scenes, even though you were thrilled to be playing this game.

“I never understood why you can’t see those weird horse things until that dude gets eaten by the dragon.” Matt said, catching your attention enough for you to glance at him with wide eyes and a slack jaw. You sighed through your nose and shook your head.

“I forgot, you’re a fake fan.” You said, interrupting him before he could fire back. “They’re thestrals, you can only see them if you’ve witnessed death, but they’re always there.” You explained, Matt furrowing his eyebrows as you faced the screen again.

y/n being a harry potter fan was not on my docket, but i’m not complaining

her humbling matt has got to be the funniest fucking thing i’ve ever seen in my life

i love this

The entire time you were going through the beginning quests, you and Matt had bickered back and forth, your smile wide with each comeback you shot at him. It wasn’t until a knock on Matt’s door that the two of you stopped talking. You paused the game, but Matt scoffed and unpaused it.

“You keep playing.” He demanded playfully, your own scoff leaving your lips as you shook your head and continued. Chris peeked his head into the door.

“Food’s here, just thought you guys should know.” He said, Matt nodding his head. Chris left the room, and Matt turned to you.

“I’ll go get it.” He said, standing from the chair as you turned to face him. Before you could process it, he leaned down and pressed his lips to yours firmly and turned to leave the room. You smiled and shook your head before facing the screen and realizing what just happened.

oh mY GOD I FUCKING KNEW IT

DID ANYONE ELSE SEE THAT ??????

WHAT IS GOING ON MATT JUST KISSED HER ON FUCKING STREAM

You ignored the chat, trying to play it off and completely move past what happened, thinking that Matt did it on instinct. Chats were flying in at such a rapid pace that it felt as though everything on the screen was lagging. It was completely screwing up how you were playing, not only your racing heart and shaking hands on the controller.

You completely short circuited, having no idea what to do as Matt walked back into his room. He was laughing at something Chris had said as he sat down next to you and glanced over at the chat.

“Oh.”

You looked over at him and raised your eyebrows, your skin on fire as you watched his eyes scan over the rapid chats flying in at once.

“Yeah.” You said, Matt finally meeting your eyes with pink cheeks. He smiled and shrugged his shoulders, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to your nose before he sat back and grinned widely.

“I guess that was one hell of a hard launch, huh?”

tags: @strniolo , @ssturniolo , @thetriplets3 , @stvrni0lo , @gabbylovesreading , @dwntwn-strnlo , @tylerscreat0r , @toyourloves , @lvrsparadise , @angelcake-222 , @20nugs , @obsessivencrazy , @lollibumblebee , @stargirlv0id , @jellybeanbby , @idontexistman , @emssturniolo , @soursturniolo , @bernardenjoyer , @mxqdii , @leah-loves-lilies , @mattsnutsack , @champangekisses , @floofparker , @lovelysturniolo

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo blurb #matt sturniolo fic #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo #the sturniolos #the sturniolo triplets #querenciasturniolo

1K notes · View notes

ceilidho · 3 months

Text

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 15)

first chapter >> last chapter

Sleep eludes you. You toss and turn that first night, not used to sleeping on your own. Every sound makes you jump. When the sky goes black and the bushes rustle with the breeze, you have to double check the locks on the doors no less than three times, fastening it with the wooden bolt just to be safe.

Without John around, the world is twice as loud; crickets chirp raucous melodies, buzzing so loud that sometimes you swear there must be one on the pillow right beside your head, and, in the distance, an owl hoots at an interval so irregular that each screech tugs you back from the brink of sleep. The house groans as it settles into itself; the first time you hear it, you spring upright in bed, heartbeat erratic, certain that it’s the sound of someone coming up the porch steps.

You collapse back onto the mattress with a huff when you finally recognize the sound for what it is.

You don’t sleep well that night. Dawn finds you awake before its arrival. The songbirds keep you from drifting off back to sleep when the first wispy rays of sunlight creep over the horizon, and you lie in bed until the possibility of sleep is well behind you. That makes you huff, bitter over the loss.

Again, the day is slow to come over you. It seems almost reluctant to really get going, the sunlight clear and the air brisk but the day itself slow moving. An early morning chill forces you to don heavier garments than usual.

After breakfast, you take Buttercup into the paddock to run around, watching her from the edge of the pen, humming to yourself under your breath.

Most of the morning is spent cleaning and doing chores around the house. You muck the stables, feed the horses, scrub the dirty laundry on the washboard before hanging it up on the line, weed the garden, and promise yourself that next week you’ll work up the energy to boil linseed oil to polish and oil the furniture. As it is, you stagger into the kitchen around midday for lunch, sticky with sweat.

Kate comes up the path on horseback not too long after that, a large swooped hat perched precariously on her head. She has to hold it in place by the brim to keep it from flying off. You watch her from the window at first, drying your hands from the quick wash you gave them after finishing your lunch.

“I ought to start making new friends,” you quip when she takes a seat next to you on the porch swing.

“Sick of my company already?” she laughs.

“Well, a girl’s gotta have options.”

She snorts at that, tipping her hat lower on her head to shade her eyes from the sun. It has the effect of cutting a wide shadow across her face, leaving only a swath of white teeth exposed.

Her beauty has always come as an afterthought. Tanned, freckled skin, and hair like golden wheat. But you look now and you see something different than the woman you’re used to seeing, and it dawns on you that what you’re seeing now is a version of Kate divorced from the idea of her that you’d always had in your head. Almost fuller; more robust.

You tear your eyes away only when she catches you staring and cocks an eyebrow.

She coaxes you into saddling Buttercup up and accompanying her on a trail ride. Part of you resists initially, still wounded from your last ride, and when Kate presses you for more information, you reluctantly divulge, recounting the events from the weeks prior with a tremble in your voice. She nods only once while you speak, keeping her comments to herself. That she must have already known doesn’t surprise you; she’d insinuated as much only the other week.

You’d be wise to not keep secrets from Kate in the future, you realize. Best to keep someone as omniscient as her on your side.

After some encouragement, she talks you into a leisurely stroll and even helps you dress Buttercup in the stables. The dizzying spell of apprehension settles over you like a heavy fog up until you blink and realize that the two of you have been riding beside each other in silence for the better part of a half mile.

The fear doesn’t entirely evaporate, however. Any sudden dip in the terrain or unexpected noise from Buttercup makes you start. You take several breaks to breathe and walk around. At the top of a hill, you ask Kate in a voice verging on shrill if you can take a break and dismount before she’s even answered you.

“She can sense if you’re on edge,” Kate reminds you, nodding to where Buttercup grazes in a nearby patch of grass.

“Well, I can’t help that much. I am on edge.”

She tips her head back to look at the sky and sighs before looking back at you. “Sit down for a bit then. It’s not a race.”

And you do, for a spell. You sit and rest with your back against the trunk of a tree that branches high above you, the canopy blotting out any sunlight save for the tendril thin strands that sink through like stones in water.

You’re striking a delicate balance between the needs of the flesh and the needs of the soul. What the soul wants is to push itself beyond the boundaries that formerly enclosed it; after a lifetime of servitude and desires suppressed, even a simple trail ride feels momentous. What the flesh wants, however, is to shade in the shade until the urge to retch wears off.

The walk takes the two of you by a farm with a large, fenced-in enclosure. A couple houses sit around the enclosure. The smell of the livestock is pungent at first and your nose wrinkles as you approach the farm, but you adjust after a time.

Recent weeks so far from home have spoiled you; back in the city, the pungent stench of waste and manure was commonplace, the sour cloak of tobacco stinking up the alehouses and alleyways as much as the parlors and lounges. You’d adjusted to it back then as well.

The grazing cows rumble and low behind the fence. It’s a pleasant bucolic scene, one lifted straight from a painting that you swear you’ve seen before, though the artist’s name escapes you.

Looking out into antediluvian pastures sets your heart at ease. When the farmer wanders out of the barn to greet the two of you, the two of you join him and his wife for coffee in the big house.

For a brief period of time, it’s like stepping out of your body; there’s no impetus to get a move on, and inertia doesn’t set in like a rolling fog leaving you stranded in no man’s land. Nothing like the late evenings lying in bed in your aunt and uncle’s apartment, staring up at the pockmarked ceiling and praying for something to change.

You, simply, have a coffee.

After bidding them farewell, the bulk of the afternoon is spent at Kate’s house, a tiny plot of land just outside of town surrounded by fields of ochre prairie grass. You’re wiped by the end of the ride, sweat running in rivulets down your back. While Kate brings the horses into her little stable to let them rest and eat, you fill up the porcelain bowl in her bathroom with water to wash your face.

It’s quiet. You help with a few affairs around the house and you learn, to your own internal amusement, that Kate hums through her chores. Soap stops by in the early evening to drop off Kate’s mail and stays for supper, glad for the company. You watch bemusedly as he scarfs down three corned beef sandwiches with ease, mildly nauseated by the way he talks with his mouth full.

“Can he even breathe?” you hiss to Kate while Soap is busy shoveling food into his gob.

She nods, unbothered by the display in front of her. “You should see him when he’s actually hungry.”

You pale when he belches, pushing your plate away from you.

“Ye tell yer man when he’s back what a good job I’ve done, Mrs. Price,” he says, licking a leaking trail of sauce off his thumb.

“Won’t the town still standing be sufficient evidence?”

“Aye, but it’s sweeter comin’ from the missus, ye dinnae think?”

Incorrigible boy. You shake your head, acquiescing even if only to get him to shut up. That mollifies him, gets him crowing about the raise he’ll get, or the commendation. You think he’ll start going on about lofty aspirations towards sheriffdom, but he never quite gets to that point. You wonder if the rest of your life will be similarly composed of assumptions that fall flat when you look at them too hard.

He takes you home at the end of the night as a favor to Kate, who watches you from the door until she disappears into the faraway. You only have to yell at Soap twice to slow down when he tries to goad you into a faster gallop.

You sleep better that night, but only just. This time, it’s the empty spot beside you on the bed that bothers you. His pillow is cold when you reach over to touch it. Your hand lingers on the pillow; there’s a passing thought that maybe the warmth of your hand will transfer into the pillow and trick you in sleep. You have another passing thought that maybe somewhere out there, wherever John is, he’ll feel a phantom hand creep across the bed to cup his cheek.

The blooming flower of daylight comes again to wake you up and the cycle starts anew.

The chores never end, but there’s some comfort in routine. Regularity breeds familiarity. Any contempt has long been bled out of you, almost without you even noticing.

The days pass slowly. A horse-drawn carriage. A robin nestled in the branches of a pine tree sings at evening twilight. You look up to find it stark against the dark green needles, the fir’s red heart.

A neighbor comes by with fresh strawberries that you eat from the bowl out in the sun, lying down in the grass by the paddock. You suck the juice out of a big one when you bite into it and it drips messy down your chin. When the achenes fleck off, you wipe them off on your dress.

Though you half expect Kate to come by, she never does. Perhaps she’s busy in town. You remind yourself that the brevity of your friendship can hardly measure up to competing priorities. Minding the shop, for instance, or stopping by to check on other acquaintances.

And then the waiting ends when you see a dark shadow on the horizon that you recognize all at once as a man on horseback headed towards the house.

Elation clambers up your throat. You very nearly shout at the sheer sight of him, but at the last second, you manage to reign it in.

You wave at John from the porch when you can finally make out the face of the man riding up the path. Despite the euphoric wave that washes over you at the sight of him, you feign composure, keeping your butt planted on the porch swing until he dismounts and heads down the path towards you.

There's something striking about watching him from a distance. Like Kate, you see him now from a new angle, an added weight to him. When he lumbers up the porch steps, you don't just see the man that dragged you to the court house and forced you to marry him, but a man in his prime. Square, masculine jaw; thick thighed. Something in your belly stirs when he rolls his shoulders back, accentuating the breadth of them.

When he reaches you, he grips you under the arms to pull you up, but your arms wind around his neck without any coaxing, meeting him halfway. Every inch of your body presses into his, and he smells and feels exactly as you remembered.

“Been missing you like hell, sweetheart,” John rasps into your ear.

“Missed you too,” you mutter, lips smushed into a kiss against his cheek.

And you did, didn’t you? You can say it for once without worrying that you’ll fall apart.

The two of you stumble into the house in a daze. Your hands are already trembling well before you fist them into John’s hair to drag him into a kiss. Desperation claws up your throat, need choking you when you go to tell him how much you missed him. You missed him bone deep.

He pulls away briefly, chuckling when you whine. “Darlin’, can I at least get cleaned up? I’m a mess.”

His beard has grown since you last kissed him, the mutton chops more pronounced now. It scratches your lips and cheeks when you tug him back down for a deeper kiss. He can clean himself later as far as you’re concerned. You’ve gone three days now without your husband and you can’t go a second more.

You can feel his smile when he breaks the kiss again. “Honey—”

“No,” you cut him off, a whine threading your voice. You tighten your arms around his neck, pushing your bosom into his chest. “Please, John, don’t make me wait; I can’t—”

“Alright, alright,” John sighs, and then hunches slightly to fit his hands under your thighs and hike you up his body until your legs wind around his waist. “Poor girl. Never seen you this needy before. You missed me that bad?”

“Yes,” you answer succinctly, already pressing kisses into the sweaty skin of his neck and his cheeks. His arms shake when he laughs.

He nearly trips up the stairs when you suck at the salty skin of his neck.

John smiles amusedly when you whip your dress off, nearly getting tangled in it before letting it pile on the floor by the bed.

In a different time, your eagerness might embarrass you, but you’re well beyond that now. It’s impossible to hear that distant voice in your head shrieking modesty when your husband watches you indulgently and unbuttons his shirt so slowly that you nearly bark at him to hurry it up. And then you actually do when he goes to fold his shirt instead of simply tossing it to the floor.

He laughs; it sends frissons of heat down your spine.

It’s unclear who pursues and who is pursued this time. All you know is that you either push him onto the bed or he pulls you down with him, clothes long since stripped and piled onto the floor. Your hands sink into the meat of his chest when you sit astride his lap, wet folds grinding on the hard shaft jutting up between his legs. John hisses through clenched teeth, already worked up, fit to burst. You wonder if he tended to himself at all on his trip, whether he even had time.

The hands tightening around your waist tell you that, whether or not he did, it’s inconsequential now when faced with the thing he’s been wanting most.

Your instinct is to lift your hips and line his member up with your sopping entrance before sinking down, but John surprises you by shifting up the bed and dragging you with him, not stopping until your pussy is hovering over his mouth.

It’s easy to panic over that, easy to grow skittish. You start when the flat of his tongue runs up the seam of your cunt, the only thing keeping you from tumbling off the bed altogether being the big hands clamped around your hips.

“You try to keep your pussy off my face and I’ll give you a licking you won’t like anywhere near as much,” John warns, and then pulls you down onto his face without further ado.

Your back arches at the first lick, his tongue burrowing into your hole, softened by the slick leaking out of you. His lips and tongue work you over until you’re a shivering, coiled mess on top of his face, hands braced against the wall and toes burrowing into the mattress.

A stiff tongue stabs up into your hole. The groan he lets out at the taste of you vibrates through you, making you clench around his tongue.

You’ve never been much of a drinker, but you feel drunk now, grinding on his mouth. Hands running through his hair. Blissed out, sex leaking, throbbing. Shameful noises pouring out of you unbidden, your inhibitions packed up and long gone by now. His upper lip glistens with your juices and when his eyes blink open, they’re nearly black with desire.

The hands on your bottom holding you over his head grip into you good and tight. He readjusts his hold on you whenever you try to pull off his face, yanking you back down and digging his fingers in harder, the tips wedged between your cheeks. You practically yowl when a finger prods at your back hole, worrying over the puckered flesh.

The time for gentle words is far beyond him. When you glance down between your legs, his hair is matted with sweat and disheveled, a flush high on his cheekbones. Blue eyes peer out through slits, locked on the dripping mess between your thighs. His nose presses hard into your pubic bone when he pulls you down onto his waiting mouth, lips parting and tongue sawing over your clit. That part you can’t see, but you feel the wet slide of his tongue over your slit.

You come with a finger lodged knuckle deep in your ass and his tongue rolling over your clit, coaxing it from you. Your whole body pulses and shivers. Chuckling to himself when you go dumb during it, slumped over him and panting hard. Tears dripping down your cheeks that John cleans up himself with his tongue when he drags you back down his chest and rolls the two of you over.

“God, you look so pretty like this, honey,” he coos when he’s got you under him, pinching your cheeks between his fingers until your lips go plump and pursed.

When he drags you into a kiss, his tongue still tastes of you.

He takes you on your back after that, knees over his shoulders and bending you in ways you didn’t think possible. Whatever control he had before is gone now. He thrusts in to the hilt the second he gets you flat on your back, taking three days of frustration out on you, near punching your cervix with the head of his cock.

“There we go— fuck—” John growls. “C’mon, squeeze me tight, honey; make me come in your pretty fuckin’ pussy.”

You feel like a creature turned inside of itself. All high yips, sharp pangs of pleasure, an ache in your hips that you know instinctively will worsen by morning, and a deep seated, unquenchable need. He mates you like a beast in heat, jaw clenched and brows furrowed; when your eyelids slip shut, he growls at you to keep them open, and you do only to find him staring down at you with that indelible, maddening intensity of his.

“Nngh, John—John—” you gasp.

“Just a little, darlin’—shh, c’mon, just take it. Like that, yes—that’s it.”

A dark urge flutters under your skin, blinking its eyes open. You stare up at him through half lidded eyes. “Gonna come in me and give me a baby, John?”

His eyes go black. “I’m gonna fill this tight cunt right up, you keep talking like that.”

You reach up to rake your hands through his hair. "Please give me a baby, John. Give me it, please."

His hips snap forward, knocking the breath out of you. He pounds into you with renewed vigor, lost in it, your nipples tagging his chest with every thrust.

If you could peel back your skin and tuck him into your ribcage, you would. He’s already in you anyway; everywhere it counts. Leathery musk wafting under your nose, sweat-slicked skin, his spend deep in your cunt and leaking out around his throbbing cock, the heat steaming off him and warming you from the outside in and inside out. His come spurts into you hot and viscous, so deep that you swear you can taste it at the back of your throat.

In the aftermath, you curl up against his chest and he traces a finger lazily up and down your spine.

“You’ve been so patient with me.” You don’t know what prompts you to say that, but you know it’s been sitting in your chest and waiting for you to put it to words.

His fingers pause in their ministrations, his hand resting flat on your back. “Patient?”

“Don’t play dumb, John. It doesn’t suit you.”

“Got some nerve accusing me of playing dumb,” he chuckles softly, leaning down to butt his forehead against yours.

You nearly go cross eyed. Doe eyed. Treacle tart soft in your chest. You wonder if you’ll look back on this someday in fear and awe, and think that is the very moment when you finally let him in.

This is how love suffuses into the girl: you wake up gasping to find it staring down at you.

You’re brave enough now to ask what it is that you need. The world flashes briefly before you: in it, you see every possible version of a girl, how she goes from animal skin to teeth glinting in the night. She is perforated and vibrating; lacunae as the voice drips back into the sea, papyrus crackling hot in the fire.

Maybe new love flounders again against the rhythms of the old, the song of you now sleeping beneath an alder tree, thickening with lemon and honey.

“I’m going to…—you know I’ll tell you. I just need time.”

“Darlin’, I know. There’s no use for rushing things. It happens when it happens,” John murmurs. He drops a bristly kiss on your forehead.

“…And if it doesn’t happen?”

He shrugs. “Then it doesn’t happen.”

It’s a shock when love finds you because you don’t expect it. You’d open the door to anything else in a heartbeat, but it’s love that finds you cowering under the stairs.

Love is not something you’ve ever touched, not even grazed. You recognize the insidious rot of lust or the gnarled grip of possession, but love? That has yet evaded your attempts on it. Not that you’ve ever given it a good go.

But now, when you think of it, it looks at you through blue eyes.

You sleep on it. You don’t contemplate when it’ll happen only because you know it’s inevitable. Your lips have already grown loose. When he eats you out in the early morning hours after a good night’s sleep for once since John left, you have to swallow back the wails of I love you, I love you, tell me you love me, please, please.

Your lips part, lax. Only sinking your mouth down over his turgid length after he’s made you come keeps you from accidentally saying the words. The soft, grunted fuck he lets out at that empties out any thought in your head.

Desperate times, desperate measures.

If John knows, he jealously guards your secret. Would take it to his grave you think. Just for him and you to know. Any temerity from the night before is squashed in the light of day, and you sit across from him at the table during breakfast wishing that he could hear the words in your head, if only so you didn’t have to say it out loud.

God bites the lip when you want it most to part. Isn’t that just the nature of life?

John leaves you off at the general store as always, dropping a peck to your lips before heading out on his way, but when you wander inside, you find Miles behind the counter instead of Kate. That dims the excitement in your chest a tad. It’s no fault of his, but you’d hoped to regale Kate with the revelation you’d had the night previous, omitting some of the lewder details. Instead you’ll be forced to wait until she’s back in town. When you ask Miles when abouts that’ll be, he shrugs, unable to give you a definite answer.

“Visiting a friend, she said,” he tells you, and you blink like you don’t know exactly what that means.

Her absence leaves you in a lurch though, little else to do but wander around the store. You’d leave entirely and try to find something else to occupy your time, but you feel a bit foolish coming in just to leave right away, though you’re sure Miles wouldn’t care either way. Still, you tell yourself you’ll linger for a few minutes before heading out to the library or down the road for a coffee at the inn.

The bell over the door jingles, but you pay it no mind.

You linger in the aisle with the fruit preserves and canned fish, gazing into the bottles. Tins with hand-drawn labels, branded packaging. On another shelf, you find oyster crackers, National Biscuit Company on the label. Nabisco. If Kate were minding the shop, you’d pop your head around the aisle to ask her what corned beef brand she used the other day.

The sound of spurs jangling from behind you makes you frown and turn your head.

A hand clamps down over your mouth, muffling the yelp that leaps instinctively from your throat, and you go shock cold when the blunt muzzle of a pistol wedges against the small of your back.

“Bet you thought you were clever gettin’ me out of town, didn’t you, girl?”

Your eyes widen.

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #price x reader #price x you #john price x reader #price/reader #john price/reader #captain john price

964 notes · View notes

lorei-writes · 7 months

Text

Character Thoughts: Character Design #1 - Chevalier, Gilbert, Leon

My personal outlook on the character design choices in Pri is that the primary objective of the artist behind them was to reflect personality of the suitor rather than to fit within any specific time period. As such, it becomes a question... What can be read from their looks?

Images were sourced from @acrispyapple 's blog.

Chevalier

Chevalier's colour scheme is all black and white, with subtle golden touches. It is fairly simplistic and may draw forward the image of a white tiger -- a ferocious although rare beast. It creates a frightening backdrop for any blood that may be spilled... and accurately enough, may serve as a reflection of a binary logic mindset.

Asymmetric cape allows for greater freedom of movement. The arm he draws his sword with is not going to be restrained under the weight of fabric. His boots look suitable for horse riding and the cut of his jacket, I believe, is meant to resemble military uniforms of centuries prior. Chevalier is covered from his fingertips to his very neck -- there isn't a vulnerability exposed in him. He is vigilant, he is ready to act, he is guarded. His skin will not be first to be cut, poison will not enter his system without struggle, his hand will not slip on the hilt of his sword even as it grows slick from crimson. Chevalier is a knight.

But through and through, he is also royalty. The haft at his hip could be called subtly ornate, albeit the material it's been made of makes it more so "humbly" opulent. The gold he dons speaks of riches, as does the fur at his collar. He's a commander. He is a noble. His position clearly separates him from others.

Chevalier is eye-catching. And were he involved in battle? You'd fear what you'd see. As you should.

Gilbert

Black, white and gold also follow Gilbert around. However, if in Chevalier's case it could have been argued that the split between darkness and light was even, then Gilbert is the dark itself. The rest are merely accents. They do not reveal much of his mystery, do not offer anything past sparse commentary on it... And I believe they aren't supposed to. Gilbert is the unknown. He is threatening and he is very clear about it.

The orders at his chest, the cut of the lapels, his boots -- it is hard not to see signs of Gilbert being involved with military. However, his clothes have clearly not been designed for ease of movement. They seem heavy, like he could get twisted in them at any moment and collapse, not to mention the heat. Long and heavily adorned with patterned accents, gold, they speak of might... But of that becoming of a commander, not a person who fights themselves. The cravat at his neck is yet another sign of how far removed he is from direct action. It is both a liability in combat and a sign of status.

Gloves, cane and eyepatch. Why should a person of his age need them? Surely, this question comes with simple answers... But are they quite correct? There's a dissonance there. You can see his secrets, but it does not mean they will be revealed to you. He, after all, too is guarded.

Leon

Another character dressed in black! But... Leon's is different, isn't it? It speaks of mystery, of secrets, surely, but when combined with noble gold and warm red... It is almost as if he wanted to say "I wish I could tell you, but I cannot". Even if not everything can be made clear, it is evident his actions are underlined with royal scarlet of high ideals.

Leon is a hero. You can see it in his wear -- it is much too informal to place him among the military, but it undeniably shows power and readiness to take up direct action. The guard at his shoulder may be complex, but the same cannot be said about the design of the hilt at his hip. It is simple, so much so that it begs to ask who else could wield it. If that is his weapon of choice, how far above a common knight does Leon see himself? Or... does he consider himself to be above them at all?

Based on the quality of his clothing and detail put into it alone, it is evident that Leon is not a person you may pass on the streets. However, his hands are out there, completely unprotected. And the way he wears his cape? His belts? The sash? It is utterly proper. Even if the lapels of his jacket do not follow any standards for uniforms, it is still buttoned up as it should be. Relaxed (or as relaxed as it may be for royalty), it gives him a laid-back, reliable appearance. The lion insignia clearly signifies who he is.

What are you hiding, Leon? We are at arm's length. You shine too bright... Yet you also mean us no harm.

#chevalier michel #ikepri chevalier #ikemen prince chevalier #ikepri #ikemen prince #ikemen series #leon dompteur #ikepri leon #ikemen prince leon #gilbert von obsidian #ikepri gilbert #ikemen prince gilbert

221 notes · View notes

eiightysixbaby · 7 months

Note

HEYYYYYYYY i have a request forrrr toxic! eddie 👏👏👏👏👏 can we have him manipulate reader into staying w him like i just had this thought okay so either he like sneaks his phone and records orrrrr he goes live on HER insta so her hoes can see snd when she finds out shes mad but hes like 🙂

oh and this is all while they are hu

i guess this is more modern! eddie but who better to ask UR MY FAV WRITER IN EXISTENCE

you’re so sweet 🥹 thanks for the request. I hope I did this justice, toxic!eddie is kind of new territory for me. 🫶🏻

18+ only! toxic/manipulative eddie. do not read if this makes you uncomfy! secret recording during sex, blackmail, unprotected piv, creampie

Eddie can feel you slipping away. It’s only the slightest bit, but he can sense it. He was scared this day would come, when you’d get sick of him, decide that one of the other guys who fawn over you was more worthy of your attention.

And he knows it’s fucked up, his incessant need to have you in his grasp, but he can’t control it. You’re everything to him, the perfect girl. If he’s honest he’s not always sure how you ended up falling for him at all, but he’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He can’t stomach losing you, and so he simply won’t.

You’re snippier when you arrive at his trailer this time, shorter in your responses. He knows you like the back of his hand, though, and he’s using it to his advantage. Turning you to putty right on his sofa, making you weaker for him until you’re begging him to fuck you. This is how it usually goes; you come over or he goes to yours, maybe you’ll watch a movie or order a pizza, smoke a joint, but it always ends with him inside of you. It’s arguably his favorite place to be, ever. And how dare you think you could take this luxury from him.

Carrying you to his room, he lays you down on his mattress, undoing the belt on his jeans with haste. You set your phone on his bedside table, pulling your shirt over your head and exposing your pretty tits. No bra, tonight. It’s like you’re trying to hurry this along.

Once he’s shirtless, pants pushed down far enough to free his aching cock, he moves to hover over you, necklace dangling in your face as he starts to kiss you. It’s rough, bitey, his teeth pulling at your bottom lip. His tongue prods into your mouth, licking at yours and making you arch your back, craving more from him. His lips trail downward, sucking harsh marks into your neck and collarbone.

You wriggle in his grasp. “Ed,” you whine, gasping when his teeth dig harder into your sensitive skin.

“Don’t act like you can’t handle this,” he growls, low and raspy as he moves down to your breasts.

He plays with them only for a moment, pinching at your nipples before sucking on them. You’re impatient, wanting him to fuck you already, and he can sense the urgency in the way you keep raising your hips to meet his.

“Bein’ such a fuckin’ brat today,” he says, sitting back on his heels. “Get on all fours for me, now.”

You oblige, nodding pathetically, stripping out of your pants and underwear before positioning yourself how he’d asked.

He strokes his cock where he sits behind you, his free hand caressing the globes of your ass. Two fingers dip into your folds, collecting some of the wetness that threatens to drip down your thighs. “So fucking wet,” he chuckles, smug, before lining himself up with your entrance.

He pushes in, nearly all the way, punching the air from your lungs. You grip his bedsheets tightly in your fists, crying out his name. God, he loves having you like this. Completely pliant for him, soaked and screaming. He starts his thrusts slow, torturously so. You wiggle your hips, whining beneath him, trying to get him to move faster.

He doesn’t like it, the way you seem to be in a hurry.

As if on cue, he watches your phone screen light up. You’re paying it no mind, nearly delirious where your face presses into his pillow. But he watches intently as another guy’s name appears on the screen, attempting to call you. The call is followed up by a couple of texts, someone desperately seeking your attention. He recognizes the name, because he’s seen you texting him before, when you thought he wasn’t looking.

A threat. A threat to Eddie’s time with you. And so he does something he knows he shouldn’t.

Keeping his pace so as not to alert you, he reaches beside him where his phone lays face down on the mattress. Opening the camera, he presses record, smacking your ass to start the video off nicely. You’re a moaning mess, and he makes sure the camera captures the way his cock drives in and out of you, your cream pooling around the base of his shaft. He gives it to you harder, more relentlessly, anything to keep you from turning around and catching him red handed.

“Fuuuuuuuck you suck my cock in so well,” Eddie groans, punching shrill noises from your mouth with each thrust he gives you.

You, blissfully unaware of his recording, are practically drooling on the pillow beneath you. Hurtling towards your release, crying out his name over and over again like a prayer.

You had to admit, you’d miss this after tonight.

Within a few minutes, both you and Eddie are tumbling over the edge, your walls clenching around him as he fills you with his cum. Every bit caught on camera, sure to document the way his seed drips from you and how his fingers fuck it back in.

He sets his phone down discreetly, cutting off the video, moving towards you to kiss you. You barely let him peck the corner of your mouth before you’re sliding off of the bed, finding your scattered clothing to redress.

“What’re you doing?” he asks, his voice laced with something you can’t place. He pulls up his jeans, securing the belt as he watches you.

“I need to go, Eddie,” you say, pulling your shirt over your head.

“Where are you going?” he moves to stand with you, his frame towering over you. His eyes are dark, expression stern.

“Why does it matter? I’m going out, Eddie.” you huff, trying to move around him. “And we need to stop doing this. I can’t have this kind of relationship with you anymore,” you say.

It’s kind of cute, how you think he’s just going to accept that. It’s also cute how you think he believes you want to be done with him. The way your thighs press together when he steps closer to you tells him otherwise.

“Do you have a date?”

“It’s none of your business, Eddie,” you snap, reaching to grab your phone from his nightstand, but he stops you with a firm hand around your wrist.

“If you leave right now, that date isn’t going to go very well,” he challenges, and your face scrunches in confusion.

“What?”

Picking up his phone, he unlocks it, and he sees your eyes start to widen in panic.

“I took this little video,” he starts, turning the screen to you and pressing play. “And if you leave right now, I’ll send this to every other fucking guy you’re talking to.”

“What… what the fuck,” you whisper, hands reaching up to run through your hair. “What the fuck Eddie!? You recorded us?” your voice grows louder, shaking your head in disbelief. “You’re fucking sick,” you spit, and he has the audacity to laugh.

“Sweetheart, you think anyone can give it to you better than I can? You think I don’t notice how you completely fold for me?” he pouts, tilting your chin up with his index finger. “In fact, I bet you’re soaking your panties all over again thinking about everyone seeing our little sex tape.”

You swallow, lips parting and closing again, lost for words. The sickest part is that he’s right, you ache for him all over again. No one could do it like he does.

“I’ll cancel the date. I’ll text him right now and tell him I’m not coming,” you say meekly, nearly trembling under Eddie’s intense stare.

“Good girl.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fanfic

217 notes · View notes

i-dont-even-know-anymore976 · 2 months

Text

things i need from season 8

the diaz sisters - at this point the only thing that can help eddie is the not-so-silent judgement of a younger sister. ideally, one of them will show up and be like "you left chris with mum and dad?????? wtf??" and for him to flounder while she tells him chris is now spending the summer with his other aunt and cousins while she deals with whatever "this is" as she makes vague gestures towards him

a pet for buck - maybe dog but honestly i think he should adopt a number of the ugliest cats you've ever seen and have it be an ongoing joke that no-one ever sees the same cat so you don't know how many he has (truthfully i want someone to give that man a baby but ugly cats are the next best thing) (if we could get one shot of him [and tommy😉] waking up in a bed completely covered in cats it would make my year)

karen to be allowed one free punch at councilwoman ortez (and obvi to get mara back)

hen also gets a free shot but i almost feel karen deserves it more - she puts up with so much shit

taylor kelly redemption - maybe its just that i imprinted on her like a baby duckling but i want them to bring taylor back and have her do an expose on ortez & gerard

recast michael and bring him back - give bobby back his friend and let them resume their shenanigans!!!! honestly maybe they do the initial research into ortez&gerard and poor taylor has to work with them to make it into an actual news story

previously stated monster truck accident

more ravi - i need a ravi, begins episode more than i need oxygen

just like more silly calls - a toddler who's got their leg stuck in a stair railing, a grown man stuck up a tree trying to get down a cat (the cat jumps down easily by itself right in the middle of the rescue), MOUNTED POLICE!!!! i have just recently learnt that there are mounted police in LA (thank you the rookie) and WHY we haven't had a call with them and buck being a secret horse whisperer i'll never know but i need it

athena/bobby honeymoon redo - they deserve one nice vacation okay!!!!!

hostage-negotiator!may - i think the actress has gone to uni (good for her) and i also don't know how long it takes to learn to be a hostage-negotiator but i just think that she would be good at it and it would be fun (also i really just want may back! i love and miss her 😭)

and more jee!!!!! i love her too!!! and the enormous wendy house i hope buck, eddie, and tommy build for her

61 notes · View notes

monstersandmaw · 1 year

Note

Werewolves who think they're lap dogs despite looking like what would happen if the canine family tried to evolve a shire horse

My hand slipped and this happened, since it so perfectly fits the character.

Here's Teo and his boyfriend from the Wolfmaw story (spoiler free). I loved your shire horse comment!! Made me giggle.

___

“No.”

The enormous, honey coloured wolf sitting on the floor between the sofa and the television looked up at him with huge, dark chocolate eyes, and cocked his head, ears pricked.

“Ohhh no. Do not… Do not. Do. That.” His resolve crumbled even as he kept looking down at him. “Please…”

Teo’s tail thumped once.

“No.”

That ‘no’ sounded suspiciously like a ‘yes but don’t make me say it’, and Teo knew it.

His jaws parted and his tongue lolled out in a happy smile, and in a swift, victorious motion, he reared up and plopped his paws down on the slender thighs of his patient and extraordinarily lenient boyfriend.

Without waiting to be swatted away by an elegant hand, Teo sprang up onto the couch and nuzzled furiously against his hip, wagging and shuffling to find the perfect spot.

“You’re shedding. Everywhere,” came that sultry voice that was aiming for unimpressed, but it carried secret volumes of fondness that only Teo knew was there. Vampires, after all, were not supposed to be seen with werewolves, let alone dating them.

Teo sneezed and wiggled around onto his back, his paws in the air and his belly completely exposed. God, if anyone in the pack saw him now, they’d have kicked him out probably. No, Luca would never let that happen, but still.

Grudgingly, a pale hand extended down to him and scratched along the line of his ribs and up his chest, catching him just-so. His right hind leg beat a rapid tattoo against the sofa arm and he tipped his head right back to expose his chin and neck too, groaning with ecstasy at the barrage of delicious sensations.

“Dear God, remind me why I adore you?” the vampire purred.

Teo sneezed again and opened one whisky-gold eye to regard the porcelain face regarding him with one pale eyebrow raised. Laughing his silent, wolfish laugh, Teo twisted to lap his tongue against the fingers of the hand that had been scratching behind his ear, and he heard a gentle, fond sigh. “You’re a menace, Teo.”

Teo nipped him for that, but only gently.

Leaning forwards, the vampire left a kiss on the tip of his nose. “I really do, you know?” he said, sounding wistful. “Adore you.”

Teo wiggled deeper into his lap and turned onto his side so he could cuddle him too. Vampires might be cold, but this one was far from heartless.

Teo had his back to the door, and had just exposed his belly to a creature that was probably twice as deadly as he was, and he couldn’t have been happier or felt safer.

“You’re still an overgrown menace of a lapdog.”

Teo just wagged his tail and got even comfier with his head across his thighs.

Wolfmaw is a WIP at the moment and you can find out more about it here.

#werewolf #werewolf headcanons #werewolf x vampire #mlm exophilia #wolfmaw story

256 notes · View notes

frenchkisstheabyss · 1 year

Text

| ❤️ | The Headless Horseman | ❤️ |

| Pairing | boyfriend!woozi x fem!reader w/ a cameo by fanboy hoshi

| Summary | Your secret identity as a street racer is exposed when your boyfriend's best friend, a superfan of yours, unknowingly drags him to one of your races.

| Genre | fluff w/ an eyedrop of angst

| Word Count | 2.4k

| Warnings | drinking, kissing, general adult situations

| A/N | @rainisawriter put in a request for this specific storyline and theme ages ago so love you forever for waiting 10 years for me to get my life together and finish it. I know you wanted something fun so I went for it. Hope you like it!

“Come in. Sit. Sit. Sit” Hoshi insists, gesturing toward the couch he’s had Woozi trapped on for the past five minutes. Grabbing your beer from the coffee table, you flop down on the couch beside Woozi, throwing your legs across his lap. “What’s his deal?” you tilt your head to whisper into your boyfriend’s ear. Woozi wraps an arm around you, bringing you into one of his infamously cozy hugs. “It’s the street racing thing again. Something about a headless houseman.” “Horseman!” Hoshi corrects, pacing the floor in front of you.

This is as excited as you’ve ever seen him and, as amusing as it is, he’ll set fire to your carpet if he keeps pacing like this. “Alright, alright. Take a breath and tell us about this Headless Hou..." "Horse, baby” Woozi whispers, resting his head on your shoulder. “Horseman.” Hoshi stops in his tracks, waiting for one of you to poke fun at him. When neither of you does, he sits down on the edge of the coffee table, leaning in a bit like an older brother about to torture his siblings with a scary story.

“Okay, so, she’s…” “She?” Woozi interrupts, “I thought it was a man.” “Yes, she!” Hoshi continues, “She was the best street racer in the underground. They called her the Headless Horseman because she always wore a helmet to hide her identity. No one and I mean no one has ever been able to figure out who she is.” For a fleeting moment, the playful expression on your face turns to one of panic. It’s a blink and you miss it kind of panic. The guys blinked. They missed it. But your sweaty palms and racing heart didn’t.

“So...what? You plan on solving the mystery?” The question comes out sharper than you intended. “You’ve always been good at things like that” you add, attempting to soften the impact. “Oh,” he smiles, surprised but flattered, “Thank you but no. I’ve tried though. She was my favorite for a long time. Still is. I’ve never seen anyone drive like that before. It got to the point where most guys hated racing her because she was unbeatable.”

“What happened?” Woozi asks, more invested in the tale than he anticipated.

“Hmm?”

“You keep saying ‘was’ like something happened.”

Hoshi’s eyes widen, “Yeah, well, uh, she disappeared.”

“Disappeared like died?”

“Disappeared like into thin air. Some people thought she died. Others thought she just quit but there’s been talk...” “Of?” you ask, fiddling with the rose quartz ring dangling from the silver chain around your neck. It was a gift from Woozi for your birthday that you never take off for anything. You reach for it whenever you need comfort and it's never failed you even once. “A comeback at tonight's race. That something happened to bring her back and now the Headless Horseman will ride again.”

The way that he tells it, this really is starting to feel like a horror story. Especially for you. The only one here with something to hide. “I was thinking of going to check the race out and I thought...” “No” you and Woozi groan in unison. “No?” “No” Woozi repeats, “I’m not going with you to an illegal street race to chase an urban legend. What if it gets raided? My baby’s too pretty for jail.” You can’t help but blush, kissing him on the cheek, “No, you’re too pretty for jail.” Woozi starts to blush too and the overload of cuteness makes Hoshi want to vomit.

“You guys never wanna do anything fun” he pouts, “It’s one race.” Getting up from the couch, you stretch your limbs, letting out a yawn. “The threat of jail time aside, I’m exhausted so I’m heading to bed. Why don’t you boys go find something safe to do?” You glance back and forth between the two of them, making it clear that your question had, in fact, been an order. “Yes, ma’am” Hoshi mumbles, forcing a smile when you pinch his cheeks.

You lean in to give Woozi a goodnight kiss and his arms are around you again, nearly dragging you back down onto the couch. He’d come crawl into bed with you if he could but he’d feel bad leaving his best friend hanging and you’d never ask him to do that. “Goodnight, my love” you sing, skipping off to the bedroom. “Goodnight!” Woozi shouts down the hall, his eyes lingering where you once were. Hoshi takes your spot on the couch, batting his eyelashes at Woozi, “Goodnight, my love.”

A part of you, every part of you if you're being honest with yourself, feels bad for keeping this from your boyfriend. He’s your best friend. Your partner in crime. You share everything. Everything but this. There was once a time when racing was the only way that you could feel alive. When you weren’t behind the wheel, burning down the winding roads the local cops were too corrupt to monitor, life felt empty. If the only thrill you could get had to come from risking your life you were willing to do it but falling for Woozi changed all of that.

With him, you felt genuine love for the first time. He made colors brighter, melodies sweeter, and food more flavorful. You finally had something that made you love your life without putting it on the line so you quit and never looked back. At least not until an old friend came asking you for a favor. Keeping your identity a secret was no small feat. Your success relied heavily upon the few women you'd grown close to on the scene.

One in particular, a fellow racer, was as sweet as could be but had a gambling streak that got her into trouble more often than not. Her most recent run-in was with a new racer. One just as good as you were. Some might say better. She put her car up against his and lost it. A man with an ego impossible to satisfy, he would’ve happily raced her again just to see her suffer. There was no way she’d beat him though, she knew that, but you could. You could’ve turned her down. Maybe you should’ve but it's too late for second thoughts now.

Your opponent’s heavily modified muscle car screeches to a halt beside yours at the starting line. He winks at you, blowing a kiss, “I’ve heard a lot about you sweet thing. You’ve got quite the reputation. Too bad I’m gonna have to ruin it.” The roar of the crowd, hundreds of people gathered around for the return of a legend, drowns out whatever he says next. “Hey!” your friend shouts, tapping the hood of your car. When you turn to her she jiggles your seatbelt, and checks that your helmet’s secure, “Kick his ass.”

The flag girl dips between the cars, taking her position just beyond the starting line. You grasp the ring around your neck for good luck before taking one last look at the smug face of your opponent. Kick his ass? Not a problem.

Pushing his way to the back of the crowd, Woozi holds his phone to his head and listens as it rings once, twice, three times. Hoshi sneaks up on him, snatching the phone away. “What are you doing?” Hoshi asks, ending the call and holding the phone up out of Woozi’s reach. He’s tempted to try to grab it but, with this height difference, it’d be a waste of energy. “I told her we were going to Mingyu’s place. I have to let her know there was a change of plans.” “Oh my god, you’re so whipped.” “At least I’m not single” Woozi snaps, “Now give me my phone!”

The tearing of rubber against pavement sends clouds of smoke into the night sky, drawing the immediate attention of everyone around them. “Look, she won’t care that you came with me. She’s not like that but she’ll kill you if you wake her up. So just relax and have fun” Hoshi begs, “I’ll tell her it was all my fault. I promise.” As much as Woozi hates to admit it, Hoshi’s made several valid points, the most important of all that you’d rip his head off if he woke you up. “Fine. Whatever.”

“Yes!” Hoshi yells, dragging him back to the front of the crowd just in time to see the cars disappear down the road. At first, Woozi struggles to get comfortable. Hanging out at the edge of an abandoned highway after midnight wasn’t on his 2023 bucket list for fun things to do. As time goes on though, he finds himself having fun, knocking back drinks, and meeting some of Hoshi’s other friends. The adrenaline that pumps through the drivers during lap after lap bleeds into the audience, into him, and he understands now why Hoshi gets so pumped to come to these things.

As the end of the final lap approaches one car closes in on the other. It’s so close, we’re talking splitting hairs close, and then it’s not at all. The Headless Horseman picks up an unreal amount of speed, flying past the other car and ripping through the finish line. A celebration erupts amongst the masses who bet in favor of the Horseman while the few who didn’t prepare for financial ruin. It doesn’t matter to you either way. You’re so high off the thrill of being behind the wheel again that everything around you exists only as a blur of color.

As you make your way out of the car, smiling faces come to congratulate you. Shaking your hand. Hugging you. Patting you on the back. You rush them along, desperate to find yourself an isolated corner where you can get this helmet off before you suffocate. “Horseman!” Hoshi cheers, cutting in front of you before you have time to escape. It can’t be. You must be hallucinating. It really is too hot under this helmet. “So nice to meet you. You were amazing! This is my friend---” he rambles, pulling Woozi over by the collar, “It’s his first time.”

In the old days, the mafia used to put cement blocks on dead bodies before they threw them in the ocean to make sure they didn’t resurface before they became fish food. The sight of your boyfriend standing in front of you makes you want to run but the invisible cement bricks hardened around your ankles won’t let you. You’re fish food. “Hi” Woozi waves, his cheeks rosy from one too many drinks, “You did really well out there.” “I, uh, thanks,” you say in a high-pitched voice, attempting to conceal your own.

Like magic, the weight lifts from your ankles and you start to make a run for it only you aren’t moving. Something else is holding you back, a hand around your wrist. Woozi’s hand. “Where’d you get that?” he asks, eyeing the ring dangling from your neck. You pull away again. It’s no use. He won’t let up. Hoshi takes a closer look at you, the gears turning until it clicks, “No way. I can't believe it. This is just like in those spy movies. Are you a spy? Wait, don't tell me! No, tell me!”

Ignoring his best friend's enthusiasm, Woozi digs his phone out of Hoshi’s pocket and dials your number. There’s nothing you can do besides stand by as the ringtone you personalized for him sounds in your jacket pocket. The tightness in your chest is unbearable. This is how you die. You pop your helmet off, tossing it to the ground. Woozi pours his drink out beside it, his brain too scrambled to add another sip of vodka into the mix, “I’m too drunk for this.”

Waking up the next morning you find the bed empty and your house quiet enough to hear a pin drop. You’d come home separately last night. You in your car and Woozi in Hoshi’s. Actually, when you stop to think about it, you aren’t sure Woozi came home at all. From the looks of things, he hasn’t. His keys aren’t on the nightstand and his shoes aren’t by the front door. The usual scent of him cooking Saturday morning breakfast doesn’t fill the apartment and…

“Aah!” you scream, tripping and falling onto something soft. Well, someone. The body of your severely hungover boyfriend is stretched out on the kitchen floor, keys in hand and shoes still on his feet. Carefully rolling off of him, you make no attempt at getting up from the floor. You just lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling as vulnerable as you ever have. “Where am I?” he mumbles, wiping the drool from his cheek. He lifts his head up, squinting to look around the kitchen before lying back down.

“You okay? You need anything?” you ask, knowing how tough hangovers are on him. “From you or the Horseman?” “Really? Is that how we’re handling this?” “Last I checked I wasn’t the one living a double life.” You can’t even argue with him. He’s right. If you found out he’d hidden something from you, no matter how small, you’d be irritated too. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Sitting up, you bury your face in your hands, letting a symphony of frustration spill out. “It’s a part of me I wanted to bury. I only dug it up to help a friend” you admit, “I was afraid if you knew it might change how you see me.”

Woozi sits up, releasing a few pained groans of his own, “Change how I see you? Nothing could ever change how I see you. I need you to trust me enough to believe that.” “I do. I just…I get in my own head sometimes and I don’t know. I’m so sorry.” Woozi kisses you, the lingering sweetness of some late-night snack he must’ve eaten coating your lips. “It’s okay. Apology accepted…under one condition.” You perk up, prepared to do whatever it takes to make things right, “Whatever you want. Just say the word.”

Leaning back against the refrigerator, he makes space for you to sit between his legs, “Tell me everything from the start.” “Everything?” you ask, sliding over to him, “Well, it all started when…” You lay your head on his chest, gearing up to spill every detail of your origin story, only to be met with the sound of light snoring. You contemplate waking him up but decide he’s in need of some rest and, with Hoshi no doubt on his way to make you tell this same story all over again, you let yourself drift off with him, figuring you do too if you plan to survive that.

#woozi x reader #woozi x you #woozi fluff #woozi angst #seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #seventeen fluff #svt x reader #svt x you #svt fluff

243 notes · View notes

galvanizedfriend · 4 months

Text

WIP Wednesday

Posting something for WIP Weds in the hopes to get back on my writing horse. It's been tough lately, friends. This is another snippet of Speed Dating. Not directly after this, but some time later.

Anyway, hopes and prayers for me, my dudes. 😔 I need to write again. Also, about this snippet: jealous!klaroline is my not-so-secret guilty pleasure, I shall not apologize.

Conversation began to flow more freely. Rebekah and Elijah started poking at Camille as though she were a creature from a different planet, both evidently curious about Niklaus' girlfriend. Rebekah knew of her, but they were yet to meet. Cami is graceful and smart and lovely in ways she’d never been before, not to Caroline, and they all seem fascinated. Fits right in with Klaus’ family. Fits right in next to Klaus, with a hand around his elbow.

It makes Caroline sick to her stomach. She hates it. More than she hates Dr. Saltzman’s lectures, more than she hates last week’s tofu, more than she hates getting puked on by drunkards during her shifts. She hates it with every fiber of her being, so freaking much she can almost feel the revulsion singing her bones.

Above anything else, she hates how it makes her feel found out, exposed, rubbing the truth of her feelings in her face until she can no longer deny it: Caroline is infected with jealousy.

Up until that moment, she had felt it in short bursts - acute, but fleeting. It was manageable. Debatable, even. But tonight, has completely destroyed all of her defenses. The harsh, cold truth of it crashed down upon her like a giant wave. Every time Klaus even so much as looks at Camille, speaks to her, whenever his hand accidentally brushes up against hers because she’s sitting way too freaking close to him, Caroline feels an irrational spike of murderous anger, followed by an insane and uncontrollable need to throw something heavy across the room.

She wants to scream.

Something nasty balls in her throat and makes it impossible for her to continue to socialize. The forged indifference she’s worn all night is about to crack. She is locked in battle for her dignity and being positively massacred.

She needs a drink. Six drinks. Maybe more. Fast. Anything to dull out the brash reaction threatening to come out.

Before anyone can point out that she could just order directly from their booth, she excuses herself and slips out. Funny how she seems to be the only one to notice how utterly unbreathable the air is.

Away from prying eyes, she abandons the cocktails in favor of something more effectively numbing. She downs a shot of whiskey all at once, and then asks for another. When she signals for a third one, the bartender gives her a look. The lonely girl getting hammered at the bar is looking for trouble look.

"I just had dinner with my roommate, whom I may or may not have feelings for, and his siblings, while they get introduced to his girlfriend, ok? I'm having a really bad night, so I'd appreciate it if you could just pour me a shot and kept the judgment to yourself."

The guy shrugs. "Suit yourself."

"Thank you."

The alcohol is meant to melt down the anxious knots in her stomach, dial down her spiking nerves back to acceptable levels, but the first immediate effect is a different one. The prickly discomfort morphs into a kind of ache, dull but heavier. This sudden uncontrollable need to be the object of Klaus' attention, the reason behind his smiles, the theme of all his stories, gains sharper, clearer contours.

The extreme anxiety she's experiencing, she concludes, is illumination. The kind that comes with a heavy object falling on your head and cracking your skull wide open. This visceral reaction is the answer to all the questions she's been mulling over incessantly for months now. Suddenly, Caroline no longer feels crazy; she feels heartbroken.

#klaroline #yokan writes #wip wednesday #klaroline wip wednesday #klaroline fanfiction #kc fanfiction #kc fic #LE SIGH #😔 this bout of writers block is such a bitch friends #i stare are my blank document for hours and cannot start a single sentence #so annoying #i think my brain is broken

46 notes · View notes

sad-sweet-cowboah · 1 year

Text

Secrets of The Moon

Summary: As much as you'd like to try, you just couldn't escape the hungry predator in the night.

Warnings: This post contains CNC, aka consensual non-consent. If you have any issues or triggers associating, please do not read any further!!

Word Count: 2,771

A/N: So....this is something that has been brewing in the back of my mind for a while and debated on writing it, well I'm certainly glad I did. Hope you guys all enjoy!

Howling winds tore through the underbrush, stirring the leaves. Snaps of twigs and dried bracken echoed against the forest floor. Hooves like thunder provided a quick melody, filling your ears to match your racing heart.

Sweaty palms gripped the worn leather reins as you leaned forward like a jockey, urging your mare faster and faster the despite the difficulty navigating the barely lit forest path before you. Her mane whipped against your face as you squinted ahead, hoping the dense trees would allow proper cover. Your eyes watered, blurring any hope for a clear path.

You blinked and shook your head in a desperate attempt to see once again. The effort proved almost futile; yet somehow your trusty horse knew where to go. She galloped between the trees effortlessly, even startling you with a jump—enough to allow you to miraculously get your bearings.

It wasn’t until the hooves echoed loud, much louder than you anticipated—only to realize you were not alone.

Your heart plummeted. Digging your heels into your mare’s ribs, she leapt again, clearing what looked like a large fallen tree. A split second of silence encompassed you, followed by the snort of another steed, in the distance.

You didn’t dare glance behind you in fear of what you’d see, but you already knew.

Still, you wanted to escape. Even when that window was narrowing with each passing second and the forest becoming denser was forcing your horse to dodge and veer.

But by God’s grace, an opening manifested ahead. You steered toward it, hoping the straightaway would push more distance between you and your pursuer. Standing in the saddle and leaning almost completely against your horse’s outstretched neck, you could almost feel the moonlight on your skin.

You broke through the tree line into what appeared to be a field. Even when it allowed better vision for yourself, perhaps you could figure a way to—

“You ain’t runnin’ from me.”

That voice shook you to your core, echoing through your bones. You hissed out a swear and pleaded for your mare to go faster, even with the roaring beast giving it her all beneath you.

Within a few strides you’d reached halfway across the field, bathing in the silver moonlight lighting the forest like a beacon. All you had to do was disappear into the tree line for an advantage. The temptation of glancing behind you taunted you like a shadow, even though you knew your predator was hot on your heels.

A literal shadow chasing you through the night, following your frantic footsteps nearly in-sync. Your hopes to get away diminished more with each fleeting second.

Something passed over your gaze, and the next thing you knew, the splintering fibers of a rope tightened on your torso, ripping your hands from the reins. Your horse slowed immediately from the slack, and you wriggled helplessly in the saddle. One strong yank sent you tumbling off the side, the breath stolen from your lungs as you landed in the tall grass below.

While you gasped for air, the soft thud of worn boots traveled through the earth beneath you. Rowels clinked within their holdings, stepping oh so slowly until his unholy presence loomed over you.

Frantically, you flexed your arms in a last feeble attempt to escape, the twine of the rope digging painfully into your exposed flesh. It proved fruitless; gloved hands grabbed at your wrists, forcing them together behind your back.

“No!” You cried out, so desperately trying to free yourself from his grip. Your predator was unfortunately much stronger than you, and could easily snap you like a twig.

“Shut up,” he growled, your wrists bound tightly in his seemingly expert grasp.

That voice, so dangerously low and snarling like a grizzly bear. A man not to be trifled with, a man that’d sooner bury a bullet in your skull than ask why you had the gall to look at him the wrong way.

But if you were to die, you’d die fighting.

“Fuck you,” you shot over your shoulder, mustering any sort of venom in your voice despite your position.

From the corner of your eye, the man’s own beady eyes beneath the brim of his worn leather hat looked surprised.

“Fuck me?” He drawled, a grin splitting his face. “Now that ain’t polite, lil’ missy.”

“Fuck you!” You repeated, throwing your hips up in a feeble attempt to force yourself forward. Strong hands squeezed around your waist, dragging you back with what seemed like comically little effort.

A tsk-tsk was heard, along with a dark snicker. “You gave me a lotta trouble chasin’ ya down,” he leaned over, his hot breath ghosting across your ear. “I oughta fuck you.” his torso pressed against yours, the unmistakable strain beneath his jeans painfully apparent.

Your heart dropped, swinging your head back to give him a pleading look. “N-no!” you whined, every forethought of defiance leaving your system. “Just turn me in, please!”

The grin he still held was sickening. A cat cornering a frightened mouse, quickly extinguishing any hope of running freely before facing their bitter fate. His right hand left your waist to caress the curve of your hip, the gentle touch nearly betraying his rough exterior. It only lasted a split second before he grabbed a fistful of your skirt, yanking it down to reveal your drawers.

You squeezed your legs together as hard as you could, biting your lip to offer whatever resistance to prevent him from going further, even if it just meant for a few seconds. He didn’t like that, shoving his hands between your thighs and splitting them apart with ease, pushing them far enough to make you wince from the stretch.

He was not so kind to your underwear, tucking his fingers beneath the waistband and ripping them free, the poor fabric never standing a chance. The cool air hit your exposed bottom like a slap, showing you to the world above.

Your pursuer let out a breath of air behind him, no doubt selfishly enjoying the view. His fingers daringly intruded your slit, cold and thick and rough against your warm, velvet skin.

“Oh my,” he purred. “Seems like you’re enjoyin’ this.”

Your face burned. You wanted to deny it, wanted to shout another obscenity for even defiling you in such a manner, but your body betrayed you too well. Bucking your hips to free yourself only made his invasion much easier, his fingers easily welcomed into your soaked inner walls.

“You takin’ me that well already?” he chuckled, his other hand holding you still while he began to pump his digits in and out.

The sensation was oh-so delicious, your body trembled from the pleasure beginning to build, swiping away any higher thought of still attempting to escape this dangerous man. A moan bubbled in your throat, but you managed to staunch it before it passed your teeth. What were you doing?

“You like that, ya dirty whore?”

You kept silent.

A swift smack on your ass made you cry out, the fresh sting making you wince.

“Answer my question,” he growled, “Do ya like that, ya dirty whore?”

You swallowed, closing your eyes in shame and burying your face into the grass. Finally, you uttered a soft, “...yes.”

The hand holding you left its place to find your jaw, wrenching your head to force you to look at him. “I can’t hear you, girl.”

His fingers began to curl, dragging against a particular sensitive spot that forced out an involuntary moan. “Y-yes!” you mewled. “Yes, I like it!”

The look of satisfaction almost made you want to slap him in the face if you weren’t bound right now.

“That’s what I thought,” he chuckled again, releasing your jaw to smack your ass again.

You hissed in response, and quickly forgot about the pain the faster he went. Another moan escaped your throat, your hips quivering for more. The absolute ravage he bestowed upon you had you forgetting about the hunt, the chase, whittling down to the pure animalistic instinct.

Your body was beyond harmonizing with your mind anymore, instead hurtling toward that blissful sensation dawning upon you with a rush of warmth deep in your belly. It was a losing battle; giving in to your dark, twisted desire. It coiled in your guts like a constricting snake, pulling you the precipice—

The implosion was immense, erupting, spilling like hot lava throughout your nether regions. Your body tensed and shuddered, heart pounding wildly inside your ribcage. The sound you uttered would put a harlot to shame, singing only to the wilderness around you.

“God damn,”

The lewd slick of his fingers exiting your soaked entrance suddenly made you feel empty. Muscle spasms began to ease with the wane of your climax, leaving you both satisfied and utterly ashamed.

A muted thud of something heavy hitting the ground pulled you from your quick bliss. Turning your head, the handle of his six-shooter gleamed in its holster, which now sat in the grass along along with the rest of his gun belt.

He himself was already unbuttoning his jeans in haste. The bulge straining against the black denim finally released, revealing—

Oh, lord.

Your eyes widened in shock. He was certainly girthy; veins spidering along the length, tracing to the bulbous red tip, a pearl of pre-cum illuminated in the silvery moonbeam. “No…please,” you pleaded, mustering every effort to appease his merciful side, if that even existed. “Please don’t take me like this!”

The chuckle that passed his smirking lips was all that told you your attempt was wasted. “Don’t think so, y’ little whore,” he grabbed your hips again, yanking you back to feel him prod your soaked lower lips. “Seems like you’re more than ready for me.”

Before you could answer, he plunged himself in, your body giving no resistance. You winced initially, your walls stretching almost uncomfortably to accommodate his width, filling you to the brim.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his voice nearly stuttering. “So damn tight...”

You were once again robbed of a chance to respond before he pulled back and slammed his hips forward, sending forth a wave of absolute knee-trembling ecstasy. He soon picked up a rhythm as rough as his personality, driving himself deep with abandon.

The force was driving air out of your lungs, your breathless gasps the only sound you were able to form. There was no hope; the remaining speckle diminishing the moment he invaded your body. He chased you down, defiled you, humiliated you with your own pleasure. Any sane woman would plead for an end.

But you were at his complete mercy, even at your state of helplessness, you could not be more aroused. The way he thrusted, drawing out every inch of pure carnal desire once locked away.

You moaned lewdly, closing your eyes and letting that same desire take over, a second climax soon on the rise. You hadn’t realized one of his hands moved until it snaked into your hair, knotting his fingers in it and yanking your head back. Your eyes flew open to stare at the night sky above.

“C’mon now, you gotta be louder than that,” he hissed to you. “Don’t be shy.”

And shy you were not. With a gulp of the cool air you made it known to the stars and heavens, surely carrying into the snowy peaks of Ambarino. Some small part of you was thankful you were away from any form of civilization.

“That’s a good girl,”

Those words. That hoarse, low voice, thick with sex and passion. The praise settled like hot coffee in your belly, warming and igniting and stirring, hurtling you toward another—

It crashed upon you at an instant, a blast of energy bringing forth the intensity of the heated sun during midday of New Austin, rocking your entire body so hard that you would have melted into the Earth itself. The forest and its inhabitants were no stranger to your voice now, unashamedly announcing every bit of pure erotic, animalistic desire.

Any minimal control you had over your body had been lost to the reaches of your orgasm, its ribbons allowing only a slow release. Recovery wasn’t an option as a finger immediately located the nub of sensitive flesh between your folds. Tears sprung to your eyes as the overstimulation hit, and you pleaded for an end.

He was persistent. Evil, even. Your cries fell upon deaf ears the way he played you like an old fiddle. You writhed in his grasp vainly for an escape, only for your tresses to be released and you suddenly pinned down by his free hand without a break in his rhythm. “I know you got another in ya,” he huffed, leaning down so closely you could feel his breath again. “Show me.”

Jesus, when will this torture end?

Did you even want it to end?

No.

As much as you wanted to escape his touch, your body had other plans. Your third peak swallowed you whole, encapsulating you and filling your veins with fire. Your lungs weakly expelled a noise, having no chance of recovery from the previous.

“That’s it,” he praised in that same tone, finally allowing you to recover despite still pile-driving you. His hand returned to its previous place on your hip, pulling you back and closer. With your legs now folded beneath your torso, the new angle was heavenly.

His breath shuddered, his voice strained. He was close. The walls around this dangerous, tough man began to fall with the ascent to his own finish. All you could do was lay there, the muscles in your arms flexing helplessly, still tightly bound behind your back. The fibrous grass and gritty earth were rough against your face.

The need for him to fill you up was desperate, a burning desire to hold every drop of his spend. The minuscule sanity you had left ought to be utterly disgusted, but at that moment, you couldn’t care less.

“Arthur,” you gasped out his name, finally breaking from the character you’d so meticulously held together. You turned your head to look him in the eye. “F-fill me up, please!”

Something snapped in the outlaw, the grunt he unleashed oddly vulnerable, negating the abrasive exterior he’d presented himself with. With one deep shove, his head jolted back towards the sky, appearing almost wolfish with the way he called out his peak.

His hips stuttered against yours weakly, and then the air stilled. The roaring pounding of your heart finally subsided, and the melodic sounds of nature resumed around the two of you.

Arthur slid out of you, the emptiness followed with a rush of hot fluid dripping from your abused entrance. You sighed at the feeling, resting your head against the ground.

His eyes, no longer holding a glint of danger, softened as he gazed upon you. A small smile warmed his chiseled features.. “You okay?” he asked quietly. “I didn’t hurt ya, darlin’?”

“No, not at all,” you assured him, although you were certain to be plagued with soreness in the morning, especially from being pulled off your horse. The sting of the rope on your wrists made itself known on your wrists as you failed to sit up.

Arthur didn’t hesitate, reaching for his knife from the fallen gun belt and made quick work of releasing you. As soon as you were on your knees, his fingers ran down your arm, undoubtedly observing any potential wounds. Your eyes followed his and noted just some red markings and nothing more.

You smiled, reaching to wrap your arms around his neck. “How’d I do?” you simply asked.

“Amazin’,” he responded with a lopsided grin. “Real convincin’. Good thing it’s jus’ us two out here, or else I’m sure someone woulda come runnin’.”

You hummed in response, satisfied with his answer. “Glad I can please, Mr. Morgan,” you were glad he’d agreed to this initially. At first he was hesitant, understandably so as not to harm you. But after much convincing, he eventually relented.

Maybe now this would become a regular occurrence, if he enjoyed it well enough. “Did you like it?”

The grin he sported turned hungry. He placed his hands at your hips and pulled you flush, seating you on his still naked lap. “Ain’t gonna deny, I loved seein’ ya all tied up n’ helpless...” his lips trailed along your jawline to your lips, kissing you tenderly for a moment before pulling back slightly. “Beggin’ for me to fill ya up, that’s somethin’ else.”

Oh yes, it would be something to look forward to.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x reader smut

293 notes · View notes

riddles-n-games · 24 days

Text

Exposed

Pairing: N/A Summary: Grayson gets to enjoy a late start for once with his best girl, Tiramisu. Unfortunately, someone decides to spoil that dreamless sleep and expose his closely guarded secret. Puppy cuddles are therapeutic for the soul. Sue him. Length: Moderate Story Type: One Shot

A/N: Hey guys, sorry this is a bit late but this is my dedication to Grayson's birthday appreciation. Originally this was supposed to be a bonus fic after I released my second horse fic but as you can see that hasn't happened so I thought why not just get it done for his bday? (Ok, I know it's past his birthday but ignore that.)

Disaster struck, tragedy ensued. He was discovered, his secret exposed. The world would know his wrath but world domination would have to wait a bit because at the moment, there was still a snuggly bundle curled up next to him asleep in his arms. He smiled down at her.

Tiramisu Panini Hawthorne. The Hawthorne puppy was not so small anymore as she was five months old now but she was just as wriggly, happy, and fluffier than ever. And also a backstabber by choosing him as her favorite Hawthorne which must have been the reason for the flash breakin that woke him. He heard sniggering and hushed voices down the hall which meant two suspects; Xander and Jameson. On an infamous night when a certain incident occurred perhaps involving the tightest pair of leather pants in existence, videos and photos were taken and posted that unfortunately went viral.

While he managed to deep clean the Internet in only the way Grayson Hawthorne could, the original menac-posters still had the content saved to their devices, several of them. He feared how much new blackmail material they got away with this time. He would scour every corner, surface and dark web, deep cleaning the Internet of all footage just like the first time. He’d get his revenge, he just had to bide his time.

Grayson would not be dubbed Mr. Cuddles and yes, he would decline the puppy interview to keep his sanity, no matter how many hearts were broken or the adorableness of the pups. He would not yield. This was a call to war; a total and absolute declaration. In such a case, Hawthornes loved getting down in the dirt and Grayson didn’t mind getting his hands dirty to get things squared. Playing dirty meant gloves off; that was the Hawthorne way. So maybe his homicidal mother was right about something after all.

But till then he’d relax in his bed and enjoy a late morning for once, though the photographer in him was now itching for a photo. The rays of sunlight coming in through the blinds, the way it lit up the carpet and the left side of his bed, the adorable puppy snoozing happily under his comforter- Ah yes, her. She would be his subject but he was too comfortable to get up and he didn’t want to disturb her. Besides, growing puppies still need plenty of sleep. “Just don’t grow up too quickly,” he whispered. The photoshoot could happen later.

Suddenly, Tiramisu shifted in his arms and started pawing at his chest, whimpering as the swiping got faster. Nightmare? Note to self, look into dog dreaming. “Shh, girl. You’re alright.”

Grayson moved away to avoid getting scratched and quickly turned her over so that her legs were away from him, hugging her tight and readjusting the blanket over them. When he got resettled, he brought a hand to her ear and rubbed gentle circles into the fur with his thumb. He loved her ears; they were super soft, curly, fluffy, and floppy. Oh how time went by; it was funny, he mused, how attached to the puppy he became after a few short months. Who knew that all it took was a puppy to single-handedly turn Grayson Hawthorne into a pile of mush?

Yes, so he was wrapped around her cute little paw. He’d hurt anyone who dared make a move. But it’d taken being at his lowest to get where he was now.

After Atonement Night, he often found her wandering his wing or lying down at the foot of his door, waiting to be let in. Her tail would instantly start wagging when he approached and those forlorn puppy eyes would stare deep into his soul, so hopeful that he’d let her in and how could he say no to that face?

He’d sigh a little dramatically and just before he unlocked the door, she’d get up, waiting expectantly as he scanned the hall for uninvited visitors and extra cameras. When he opened the door, he would pause so she could go in first and prance right past him, heading for his closet. It confused him as to what the pup found so interesting there as he would set down his stuff on and around the desk before heading for the ensuite. Most times he’d leave her be as there were spare clothes in the bathroom but one time he forgot so when he entered the closet, he found her wrapped in old shirts and socks with one of his slippers in her possession. He wasn’t sure what to make of it but she looked too cute and innocent with those big eyes that he just had to take a picture.

Some weeks passed and the pattern continued; every time he checked on her, she had his slipper and rested on a particular shirt that he discovered was from his HCD days. She also started staying late into the night in his room, sleeping at the foot of his bed right next to his slippers; another photo op. Eventually that too changed as when he woke early to swim, a chocolate brown lump would greet him at the edge of his bed which often got him smiling to himself. He would do his best to slip out of bed without disturbing her and before he left, scratched behind her ears and placed a fluffy blanket on top of her.

It didn’t take long for him to jump the gun and when he finally caught her sneaking onto the bed one night, he called to her and patted the spot next to him. Tiramisu had all too eagerly bounded toward him, all happy tail wags and pants before she laid her head on his side and settled down.

When she fell asleep, Grayson stayed awake, stroking her fur and staring at the ceiling, deep in thought. For the first time he’d realized that something about him was changing; he’d been careless. No, not in a bad way but he hadn’t been paying much attention to his actions for once, at least, in regards to the puppy. Though he remained his usual controlled self wherever he was in the House and in his wing with Tiramisu in tow, he hadn’t bothered acting removed or unaffected by her happy presence. He could just be. Sure, he wasn’t around her much those first few weeks but he hadn’t been cold or distanced when they were alone. It was just that the little happy accidents had finally gotten the ball rolling and pushed them together to start bonding properly. He never relaxed that quickly around anybody so it was a shock to him how quickly he adapted to being laid back and receptive to her in his privacy, his safe space. She made him happier, more smiley (that was still something he didn’t want to easily admit); that was when he knew Xander had been right. No wall was too high or too strong for her to knock down with just a blink of her big eyes. But Xan would never get to know that unless he ran out of secrets to share during Chutes and Ladders which he doubted would ever happen. But most important of all, she made him feel carefree.

For so long, he had to keep his guard up and be perfect; that was his curse as heir apparent. Former heir apparent. Eve and Emily, they’d been awful lapses in judgment but dwelling on the past did nothing to wash away the sins. And he’d been learning to let that go, slowly. Spending time with the puppy in his room helped that progress and relieved the ache of responsibility off his shoulders. With Tiramisu, he finally felt that long needed peace and it was nice that she had no expectations of that sort. All she needed was food, water, sleep, and play while all she wanted was a bit of attention, snuggles, walks, and love. Grayson knew he could give that much because what was a dog’s duty as man’s best friend in comparison?

They were expected to be loyal, trusting, fearless, protective, playful, and loving. They had to give all of themselves to their purpose and one could beat them, hurt them, scare them into submission, break them completely and a dog would still give and give and give in hopes that they would be enough for their owner’s expectations. That they would be worthy of just a bit of affection that their owner could spare no matter what they went through because it was in their nature. And hadn’t that been him his entire life thus far?

He’d given and given more every time as he bent over backwards trying to please his grandfather and the world as the heir, as the second eldest, as the one with the brightest future of all his brothers. He dedicated himself wholly; heart, body, mind, and soul to perfecting each talent, every skill, every part of his being to be the perfect well-oiled machine of control. And it was all for naught. But that hadn’t been Avery’s fault. It was just that begged the question, What now? What to do with his life after all he’d been promised and told to do so he could become the rightful successor worthy of his grandfather’s place was ripped right from under him? He didn’t know. The foundation wasn’t going to need him forever and he dropped Harvard so what next?

The chocolate Labradoodle obscured that and he’d been immensely thankful for it. She reminded him that there was a time and a place and maybe where he needed to be was just in the right now. He could do that and he would have her to keep that new motto going. Having a new pet in Hawthorne House in general had been good; it gave him and his brothers a change of pace. He looked into the science of pet therapy and the specifics of having a dog as said therapeutic animal. It had to be done from a secret laptop to ensure Xan wouldn’t snoop; he already had too many hacked gadgets, even an old camera! At first, it had been mild interest but the more papers he read and explanations from credited sources, he became more and more invested. It was very a Hawthorne thing for him to do. But in the end, it did serve a purpose as he shifted from needing everything to be perfect.

When he went home after working into the night at the office and he was too tired to properly function, he gladly scooped up the puppy and leaned his head against her neck as he fell asleep. He didn’t care that he shouldn’t need a cuddle buddy. He started keeping a bag of her favorite treats in a desk drawer and got a dog bed complete with a little pillow and the old swim athletics shirt. Grayson had realized his scent was still on the shirt since he hadn’t washed that one in a long time and she liked his smell so he let her have it. There was also a little basket with some toys wrapped in an old pillowcase but her favorite thing was still his slipper which he amended by getting a new pair so the other single slipper would be hers as well if she wanted. He even came up with a special secret nickname for her that he’d use when no one was around and used it indulgently; Misu. Funny enough, he found out that it was also a real thing, a Korean beverage made of grain powder.

On sleepless nights, he would start telling her about his day which eventually led to him admitting his fears out loud and whispering his worst secrets in the dark. At first, he tried to refrain but when he forced him to say it, he felt better. It didn’t have to be this way anymore. He could have something better, something he wanted. And anyways, it wasn’t like Tiramisu was going to say anything but knowing that he could confess without fear of judgment or anyone knowing yet before he was ready to share, he felt relief. So much so that sometimes he could feel the sting of tears prickling at the corners of his eyes but he’d swiped them away before they could become fully formed. He wasn’t there yet in his emotional acceptance. Long story short, since then, she’d become his closest confidante and as of the moment, favorite family member.

At some point in his mindless reminiscing, somebody had woken up. Grayson had been stroking her fur, letting his hand glide through the curls and when he once again reached the top of her head, he felt eyes on him. He turned his head and saw Tiramisu looking at him in that innocent way that dogs did when they were expecting something. He smiled. “Hi girl, did you sleep well?”

She butted her head against his palm gently as he stroked the side of her snout. Then, she got up and shook herself off before stepping over him and sniffed curiously at his neck and shoulders. He scratched her neck in response.

“We had some very rude intruders this morning, Misu. Wanna help me get back at them? You distract and I will set up cameras.”

She licked his nose. He chuckled.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

A/N: Well, hope you enjoyed that. See you in the next one. But before I forget, I'm thinking of starting a tag list. Let me know if you want to be put on it for my next fic. Bye!

Bonus:

These were some earlier tries (don't even ask about the dozens of awful attempts which will stay there to purposefully haunt me) that were among my faves. Unfortunately, different AI generators either couldn't get Grayson to look like a young man WITHOUT a beard (they insisted that be a feature almost every time) or they messed up the chocolate brown of Tiramisu. Not to mention the extra limbs, eugh.

#grayson davenport hawthorne #grayson hawthorne #tiramisu panini hawthorne #tiramisu #hawthorne brothers #the inheritance games fanfics #tig fanfiction #the inheritance games #the final gambit #tig #tfg

26 notes · View notes

fanfics4world · 1 month

Text

Chapter 2 - Night Encounter

Skye's room was plunged in gloom, illuminated only by the silver moonlight filtering through the velvet curtains. The air was heavy with anticipation as Skye stood in front of the mirror.

The long-tailed black gown fitted her figure like a second skin. The white corset, delicately embroidered with silver threads, enhanced her waist and highlighted her cleavage. Mother-of-pearl buttons glittered along the bodice, and Skye made sure each one was perfectly fastened.

Black leather trousers clung to her legs, and tall white boots completed the ensemble.

Her hair was pulled back in a low bun with 2 side braids, exposing the silver piercings that adorned her right ear.

She also wore earrings from which hung a small diamond heart on a silver chain.

Skye looked at herself in the mirror, adjusting the white corset carefully. The moonlight outlined her figure when she heard a voice behind her.

"Where are you going all dressed up at this hour, your highness?"

Skye pursed her lips. The damned smokeball always appeared at the worst time. Through the reflection in the mirror, she saw the Cheshire Cat, Chessur, his smirk hovering in the air.

"Why don't you evaporate somewhere else, Chess?"

The cat blinked, as if considering the question. Then his smile widened.

"Because, my dear Skye, this is my favorite place to pop up. Besides, where would the fun be if I didn't bother you at the most inopportune times?"

Skye rolled her eyes. Chessur always had an answer for everything.

She turned to confront Chessur, but he was gone. Only a faint trail of smoke remained. It was then that Chessur appeared leaning on her shoulder.

"So, are you going to tell me where you're going, princess?"

"None of your business."

Chessur decided to get on her nerves, standing in front of her. "I'm not sure the queen feels the same way," he said.

Skye gritted her teeth. There were limits to her patience. She drew her sword quickly and tried to cut the cat in half, but it vanished again, leaving Skye cutting a faint trail of smoke.

"My, my... What a temper," Chessur replied behind her. Skye was sure that someday this damn cat would drive her crazy. She sighed and sheathed her sword again, turning to confront Chessur.

"You're not going to say anything to the queen, or anyone else, not a word. Because if you don't, I swear on the jabberwacky I'll find a way to evaporate you forever."

Without waiting any longer, she turned and walked out of the room, leaving the cat and his floating smile behind.

After her confrontation with the Cheshire Cat, Skye moved stealthily through the corridors of the palace. The moon still illuminated her path, and every shadow seemed to whisper a secret to her. The doors to the guest rooms were closed, and guards patrolled the corridors.

Skye remembered a secret passage she had discovered years ago. It led to the library, where a seemingly ordinary bookshelf concealed a back door. Knowledge of that passage had served her well on more than one occasion.

Her heart pounding, Skye reached the library. She pushed the bookshelf carefully, revealing the hidden door. The passageway was narrow and dark, but Skye advanced without hesitation. The damp air and smell of antiquity enveloped her as she descended a stone staircase.

Finally, she emerged into a garden behind the palace. She could not risk taking a horse from the royal stables; if any of the guards noticed that any of the horses were missing, her plans could go wrong.

So she started walking towards the border through the forest, going through the village would be quicker, but also riskier.

The forest closed in around her, the trees forming a canopy of leaves that barely let the moonlight through. Skye plodded forward, the crunch of branches beneath her boots echoing in the stillness of the night. But she was not alone.

She didn't need to turn to know who it was. Bander was following her. His yellow eyes glowed in the shadows, and his dark fur blended into the undergrowth.

"I know it's you, Bander."

With a sigh, Skye turned, facing the imposing animal. Bander emerged from the trees, his gaze sad and his ears flat. He looked embarrassed at having been discovered.

"What are you doing here, Bander?" asked Skye.

Bander let out a soft grunt, as if searching for the right words. Skye knew he couldn't speak, but his expression said more than enough.

"No, you're not coming with me," replied Skye, Bander tried to put on his best puppy dog eyes, which made Skye smile. She reached over and petted him. "Sorry big guy, but I can't let you near the Queen of Hearts castle, it's too dangerous" Skye said, Bander whined, clearly disgusted by the answer. Skye sighed.

"Fine, you can accompany me to the border, but nothing more, then go home," Skye said, and Bander wagged his tail, happy with the deal. Bander was about to give her a lick, but Skye jumped away.

"Not today big guy, I have to make myself presentable for Bridget," replied Skye, "Come on, let's go, I have a dance to attend."

The walk to the border was quiet. Skye looked down every so often to check that her outfit looked good, she wanted to impress Bridget. There was something about the encounter that morning, something that made Skye feel different, it was the first time in a long time that she felt like she really lived, that encounter felt real, Bridget wasn't pretending, she wasn't looking to get close to her for her power, considering she was a princess too.

Skye had grown up in a home marked by expectations and perfection, a home where she didn't fit in, because to her mother's chagrin, she wasn't perfect. She was impulsive, rebellious, adventurous and always getting into trouble or looking for trouble, and in a world where perfection was demanded, she was the only black dot on a sheet of paper.

But Bridget's feelings were genuine, after all, she had asked her to her mother's ball. How could she refuse, how could she say no to experiencing that feeling of reality again.

When they reached the border, Skye said goodbye to Bander before approaching the secret passageway in the wall, covered by a curtain of ivy that concealed an opening in the border.

She still remembers how she discovered that escape for her life, it was a day like any other, she had argued with her mother, who wanted to organise a dinner with her court, and wanted Skye to wear one of her tight dresses with hundreds of unnecessary jewels, instead of wearing her usual leather jackets and comfortable clothes.

"You have to look presentable for once Skye. Is that so hard?" she said. "Behave like a princess for once and pretend, if only for one night, that you're part of royalty, part of this family."

That was the last straw, Skye ran out of her room, ignoring her mother, who was shouting her name, and escaped from the palace, managing to easily throw off the pursuing guards.

She ran into the forest, letting her feet guide her, she was too angry to think of a place to go, then she came to the border wall. And that only made her angrier, she knew there was no escape from her world, no place to run. They had closed the door on her freedom, limiting it.

In her outburst, she threw a stone at one of the ivy-covered areas of the wall, but it didn't bounce off, it went right through.

Skye, confused, reached over, and with her hand moved the ivy curtain, there was a hole, big enough for even Bander to fit through.

She looked back for a moment, hesitant to cross to the other side, but perhaps this could be the doorway to the freedom she desired. So she stepped through the gap in the wall, eventually finding another curtain of ivy, hiding the hole at the other side.

And when she stepped through it, her breath caught. The landscape was beautiful, full of vibrant colours, something she never thought she could see.

She knew that crossing the border meant she was in the Kingdom of Hearts, but she didn't care, this was her escape route to freedom.

From that day on, crossing the border into the other kingdom became a regular occurrence, day or night.

Now she was facing her secret entrance, no longer crossing the border to explore, she was crossing the border to meet Bridget at a royal ball, with that girl with the pink hair and the smile that Skye wouldn't mind seeing every day of her life.

She was worth the risk.

Bridget stood in front of the mirror while one of her maids finished adjusting her dress.

It was a light shade of pink, sleeveless, with a ruffled skirt that came to just below her knees. It had a flower pattern in a darker shade of pink. Bridget was nervous, she hoped this dress would impress Skye.

She didn't even know why she felt this way, but she wanted to surprise Skye. Her thoughts drifted to Skye's figure, that snow white hair, her blue eyes that lived up to her name, her melodic laugh, and those lips that-

Bridget blushed and cursed herself for thinking about such things. It hadn't even been a day since she'd met Skye, but there was something about her that made Bridget want to see her soon, to hear that laugh every day, and to feel something inside her warm up again knowing that she'd made that angelic sound.

Bridget smiled unconsciously, drawing the attention of a new figure in her room, she had been so deep in thought that she hadn't noticed who had entered.

"You seem very happy today, my dear."

Bridget looked through the reflection of the mirror at her mother, who was watching her with a mixture of affection and curiosity. Bridget couldn't help but blush.

"I'm just happy for the ball," Bridget replied, there was no way to explain to her mother that her happiness had been brought about by a certain white-haired princess who had crossed the border to explore her kingdom.

Her mother hummed at the answer, she knew her daughter was like a radiant sun, full of kindness and joy, but this joy was different, she was excited, and she was sure there was more to it.

"Is there someone waiting for you tonight?" her mother asked. Bridget didn't want to lie to her, so she decided to blurt out a half-truth. "Maybe," she merely replied. Which made her mother raise an eyebrow curiously, a knowing smile on her face.

"May I know who is?" her mother tried. Bridget smiled, "I'm afraid not, besides, I don't know if she'll show up, I invited her to the dance, but she might not come, maybe she doesn't think I'm worth it, maybe-"

Her mother got up and walked over to her daughter as she raved. She held her face in her hands, interrupting Bridget's monologue.

"Darling, I assure you that any second with you is completely worth it, and I am sure that if she knows how to value you, she will show up, and if she doesn't, it's because she doesn't know how to see the best when it's right in front of her. And in that case, I want first and last name," her mother said.

Bridget hugged her, melting into her mother's affection.

After saying goodbye to her mother, Bridget finished fixing her hair, preferring to let her wavy pink hair fall over her shoulders. She carefully placed her tiara on her head, and smiled at her reflection in the mirror.

Bridget fiddled with the hem of her skirt as she waited in the palace gardens. The ball had already begun, and she stood for a while greeting the court and her mother's guests, then wandered away from the crowd towards the gardens, but not before receiving a knowing glance from her mother.

She stood in front of the small palace pond, fireflies flew over the water and the sky, making it look like she was surrounded by hundreds of lights.

"Wow cupcake, you have to stop stealing my breath if you want me to live."

Bridget turned to look at Skye, and in that moment, she was the one who stole Bridget's breath.

Her eyes roamed Skye's figure from head to toe, the black long-tailed suit fitted her figure as if it was made just for her. The white corset, delicately embroidered with silver threads, enhanced her waist and highlighted her cleavage, causing a slight blush to form on Bridget's cheeks.

Black leather trousers clung to her legs, and tall white boots completed the ensemble.

Her hair was pulled back in a low bun with 2 side braids, exposing her full face, and damn, if Bridget already thought Skye was beautiful, this only doubled her thoughts.

"I hope I didn't take too long, it took me longer than I expected to dodge the guards," said Skye as she approached. And it was then that Bridget became aware again of the reality they were in, their worlds were separated by a border, their families were enemies and even this sneaking meeting was a reflection of the rift that separated them.

The sound of music coming from the ballroom was like an echo, but it was loud enough to keep up with the rhythm of the song.

"Well, what do you say princess, may I have this dance?" Skye made a graceful reference as she held out her hand for Bridget to take.

Princess… Even though Skye had called her that before, there was something in her tone, something that Bridget was sure that if what Skye wanted to get her as hot as an oven, she was getting it.

Bridget, with a slight blush, accepted Skye's hand. "It will be a pleasure, your highness," she replied, the nickname making Skye giggle, a light, melodic laugh for Bridget.

Oh girl, you're going to be my ruin.

Skye pulled Bridget to her, her hands finding their place on Bridget's hips, and Bridget's arms tightened around Skye's neck, as if they were two pieces of a puzzle that had just fit together.

They began to dance, moving to the music, as if the whole world had disappeared and only the two of them existed.

For Bridget, each step was a revelation. She felt the firmness of her grip and the gentleness with which she guided her. Her thoughts swirled, wondering how someone who should be her enemy could make her feel so safe, so understood. Every turn and every movement seemed synchronized, as if they had been dancing together all their lives.

Skye, for her part, couldn't take her eyes off Bridget. The light from the lanterns reflected in her brown eyes, and her smile was a beacon in the darkness. Skye caught herself wishing the dance would never end. In that intimate moment, she realized that Bridget could understand her in a way that no one else did.

The garden faded around them, and only the two of them were left, moving in perfect harmony. Bridget could feel Skye's heartbeat, and wondered if Skye could feel hers. The closeness was intoxicating, and for a moment, Bridget forgot all the tensions and conflicts surrounding them.

Skye was lost in her thoughts as well. Every time her eyes met Bridget's, she felt a deep connection, as if their souls were destined to meet. The music, the garden, everything faded in comparison to the intensity of that moment. Skye knew she was crossing a dangerous line, but she couldn't help it. She was drawn to Bridget in a way she had never experienced before.

The dance continued, and with each step, Skye and Bridget grew closer, not just physically, but emotionally. In that magical garden, under the light of the fireflies, they found a refuge in each other's arms, a place where they could be themselves without fear or reservation.

And so, as the music continued to play and the stars twinkled in the sky, Skye and Bridget realised that, despite everything, they seemed made for each other. In that intimate moment, dancing in the garden, they found a connection that would change their lives forever.

Bridget felt an irresistible urge. She leaned into Skye, their lips about to meet. Skye did the same, their hearts beating in unison, anticipating the kiss they so desired.

"Well, your highness. This I didn't expect."

Skye and Bridget broke off abruptly, turning to see the Cheshire Cat hovering behind them, his trademark grin lighting up the darkness. The moment had faded, but the spark between them still burned.

Oh... Skye was definitely going to evaporate this cat.

"What are you doing here Chess? I think it was pretty clear from our conversation that what I had to do was none of your business," said Skye.

Chessur evaporated, appearing over Bridget's shoulder. "In our conversation you forgot to mention that you had a date," Chessur replied, looking at Bridget with his trademark smile.

"I'm sure that went into 'None of your business'" said Skye. At that moment all she wanted was for the damn cat to disappear and resume her interrupted moment with Bridget.

"Well, your highness, I'm sorry to interrupt your moment, but I thought you should know that your mother knows of your absence and has deployed the royal guard to search for you," Chessur replied, Skye sighed, to her chagrin, she knew she had to get back.

She turned to Bridget, who was clearly not amused that her moment was going to end so soon.

"It's been a pleasure princess, but I must return to the White Kingdom," Skye apologised, a sad smile on her face.

Bridget nodded. "I understand," she said. Skye walked over to her and grabbed her hand. "Tomorrow I'll probably have a lot of explaining to do, but I want you to meet me in two days at the place where we first met" she said. Bridget felt a spark of hope ignite inside her at the promise of another meeting with Skye.

"I'll be there."

Skye smiled before she leaned closer to Bridget and placed a soft kiss on her cheek. "I'll be waiting for you, princess"

Skye disappeared into the darkness, the night hiding her like camouflage. And Bridget stood there, her hand reached for the spot on her cheek where Skye had kissed her, she couldn't stop a smile from spreading across her face, their moment may be over too soon, but the promise of that new encounter was enough for her.

Little did Bridget know that that secret meeting hadn't been so secret after all, a pair of eyes watched her from one of the palace balconies.

"Would you like to explain to me where you've been Skye?" her mother asked.

After crossing the border, Skye had intentionally let herself be found by her mother's guards near the castle. And they had taken her to the throne room, where her mother, with a tired look from staying up and a look that Skye knew could only mean one thing, disappointment, was waiting for her.

The room was adorned with silk tapestries and furniture carved from ebony wood. The throne, with its high back and embroidered cushions, stood in the centre. Her mother sat there, her snow-white gown contrasting with the dark velvet of the throne.

"I couldn't sleep, I went for a walk around" Skye lied, her mother sighed. "Out for a walk? Dressed in a halfway acceptable manner?", Skye couldn't help but roll her eyes, for once she was dressed up, even her mother didn't think it was good enough.

"Where did you go Skye?" her mother asked, she got up and started to walk over to her.

Skye lied again, it was clear this wasn't going to end well. ‘I was strolling through the gardens. I needed some fresh air.’

But her mother didn't believe her, "You can't lie to me. That's not the behaviour of a future queen" she said, it was clear that was all she cared about.

Skye pursed her lips, feeling the tension in the room. "I have done nothing wrong, mother"

Her mother watched her, her expression implacable. "Where have you really been? With who?" she asked, beginning to get fed up with her daughter's attitude.

"It's none of your business"

She should definitely look for a better answer.

Her mother grabbed her arm tightly. "It is! You are my daughter, and not only that, you are next in succession to the throne of the White Kingdom. You can't keep behaving like this. You must live up to your position" she said.

Skye clenched her fists, feeling anger bubbling up inside her. "Live up to what, your impossible expectations? I don't want to be like you, mother. I don't want to be queen"

Her mother grabbed her by the collar of her robe, her voice low and dangerous. "You must learn to rule, to make hard decisions. You can't spend your life wandering the kingdom and doing as you please" she said.

Skye let go, her gaze defiant. "I don't want to rule like you. I don't want to be a puppet in your hands. You've always wanted to mold me in your image, but I'm not yours"

The sound echoed through the room, and Skye felt the sting on her cheek, it hurt far more than Skye remembered.

She holds herself in place, her cheek burning and her chest aching as she fights her instinct to cry.

She won't give her mother the pleasure of knowing she made her cry.

"I wish you hadn't been my mother. I wish I had not been born in this kingdom"

Her mother grabbed her by the wrist, her eyes defiant. "This isn't over, Skye. You can't escape your destiny"

Skye let go abruptly. "Yes, it is over"

And without looking back, she stalked out of the throne room, leaving her mother staring blankly into the darkness.

"So Princess Bridget of Hearts? It's clear you like danger your highness" said Chessur, Skye watched him through her dressing table mirror as she finished removing her hair, the red mark on her cheek was evident, it stood out thanks to her pale skin, but if Chessur saw it, he preferred not to say anything.

"For your sake Chess, I hope you keep your mouth shut" growled Skye.

But we were talking about the Cheshire cat, for whom not telling a secret was as irresistible as a ball of wool.

Masterlist

#descendants the rise of red #bridget descendants #bridget #princess red #descendantsriseofred #descendants #queen of hearts #bridget x oc #cinderella #wlw #glg #disney #alternative history #original character #time travel #fluff #angst

24 notes · View notes

feyhunter78 · 10 months

Text

Among the Sun Ch 16

Description: Miguel and you attempt to become friends, so he introduces you to his daughter. Ch 16

Miguel breathes in the scent of your hair, buries his nose in it, basks in the feel of your form against his. He has missed you, missed your touch, your gaze, your voice directed towards him. He feels raw, cracked open and exposed, his flesh and secrets bare for you to pick through. But you treat him with such care, stitch up his wounds with a tender touch, your voice soothing as you do so.

Friends, you will attempt to speak to each other as friends once more. He is a man, half monster, ruler of the strongest empire, and yet he feels giddy at the prospect. It is shameful, but he cares not, he will do all you ask if it ensures you will no longer turn away from him.

“Miguel, are your eggs not to your liking?” You ask, your fork full of the very same food.

He shakes his head, leaving his thoughts and returning to his place across from you. “No, they are good, I was merely lost in thought.”

“Dare I ask what about?” You smile at him, gods he has missed your smile.

He answers your question with one of his own. “Do you wish to meet my daughter?”

You freeze, and he fears he has misspoken, perhaps it is too early.

“I do not wish to disappoint her.” You say quietly, laying your fork down.

“How could you disappoint her? My horizon, you are incapable of disappointing any living being.” The truth, his truth, rolls off his tongue easily, as easily as her newest title of adoration does.

My horizon, that is truly what you are. The one in which he finds rest, the one he seeks out each and every day, the one who his every actions begin and end with.

“You do not know that.” You say, a ravishingly beautiful look of bashfulness comes across your face.

“I do, she will adore you as I do.” Though, he will have to be sure to tell Gabi that she must not yet call you mother, for fear it will send you fleeing.

“If you are certain…” You say, twisting your cloth napkin in your hands.

“I am, we shall visit her after we have finished eating.”

He bids you to wait outside, explains he must prepare her for visitors, remind her to speak in the common tongue, so you are able to understand her.

Gabi lights up when he enters, tiny hands reaching out for him. “Papá! Papá! Is it time to play? Can we go see the horses?”

He scoops her into his arms, wiping a small bit of jam from her cheek. “Perhaps later, mija, first there is someone you must meet.”

“The princess?” Gabi asks, squirming in his arms, attempting to get down and dash to the door.

“Wait, wait, mija, we must speak.” He says gently.

She pouts at him but stops squirming.

“The princess is not like you and I; she scares more easily, so you must be gentle with her, she does not know she is your mamá yet, but she will soon.”

Gabi’s eyes water, and it is as if he has been stabbed, the knife plunged deep, twisted then pulled out slowly. “She does not want to be my mamá?”

“No, no, mija, she does, she simply does not remember.”

Gabi’s brows furrow, but her tears dry up. “Why?”

“Magic.”

“What kind?”

“I do not know.”

“You know all things, Papá.”

Miguel chuckles and brushes a kiss to her forehead. “I do not know this, but I swear to you, I will try to find an answer for you.”

She nods, and wraps her arms around his neck, burying her face in the crook of it. “Can I see her?”

“Yes, if you would like.” He rests his hand on her upper back, walking towards the door.

“Yes, please.” Gabi says, raising her head slightly, her tiny horns bumping against his chin.

Miguel bites back a wince and opens the door, beckoning you forward. “Y/N, meet my daughter, Princess Gabrielle of Nueva York.”

You smile softly, coming to stand on one side of Miguel, putting yourself in Gabi’s eyeline. “Good morning, princess.”

“Good morning.” Gabi mumbles, hiding her face in Miguel’s neck once more.

He laughs, rubbing her back reassuringly. “Why do you hide? I believed you wished to meet Princess Y/N.”

You make a cooing sound, and his heart flutters at the soft expression on your face.

“She is shy, forgive her.” Miguel says.

You shake your head, smiling. “No need, it can be quite frightening meeting new faces.”

“Gabi, do you wish to show y/n the gifts I brought you?” He asks, urging her to engage with you.

She perks up at the mention of her gifts and nods.

He lets her down, and she grabs your hand, leading you over to a large chest.

“Papá, open please.” Gabi says, waiting for him to open her toy chest.

Miguel does as she asks, then steps back and lets her present each and every toy to you, detailing its name, origin, and importance to her.

You listen patiently, asking questions that cause giggles to burst forth from his daughter, and soon you have Gabi in your arms, her eyes closed as she sleeps soundly on your shoulder.

“She is quite lovely, an intelligent girl.” You say, your voice soft as you sway back and forth with Gabi.

“Bright for her age, I have spared no expense in her education, she will be empress, after you.”

You smile and move towards Gabi’s bed, gently setting her down.

Once she has settled, you both exit her room, Miguel closing the door gently behind him.

“Do tell me if I have pushed too far.” He says, worry creeping in. Perhaps he has rushed this.

You shake your head, resting on hand on his bicep. “No, you have not. I enjoyed my time with her, and you.”

The tension in his body begins to slowly dissipate. “I am glad.”

You clasp your hands in front of you. “I have been meaning to ask you, regarding memories of mine that I have been attempting to piece together…”

“Please, ask, and I will attempt to answer to the best of my abilities.” He offers you his arm and leads you back towards your chambers. New chambers he has gifted you, proper ones, ones with no tunnels, most importantly.

“You said it was your mother who cursed you, but I do not remember ever hearing you speak of such things when we were younger.”

Miguel casts his eyes about the hall. “I did not wish to scare you, or perhaps lead you to believe that the curse could be broken.”

“The rumor was that the previous empress cursed you?”

“She attempted to, but my mother’s deal took precedence.”

You nod, and fall silent, continuing to walk alongside him.

“There is no cure, no reversal of the curse, a deal was struck while I was still in my mother’s womb, she wished to see her blood on the throne.”

You shiver. “To seek out such foul beings, to curse your child, I cannot imagine.”

“Neither can I.” He says, voice quiet, a hollow feeling in his chest.

“Where is your mother now?”

“Dead, the price of the curse.” He remembers the rasp of her breathing, the blackened skin, the poison coursing through her veins, it had haunted his dreams, the very image burned into his eyelids until you finally returned.

You stop short, turning on your heel, your eyes soft, brimming with sorrow. “Oh, Miguel, I am so sorry.”

He shakes his head, his hand coming up to cradle your cheek. “Do not be, she was a selfish woman, there was none to blame for her death but her.”

You mimic his movements, your palm cool against his cheek. “Still, grief is a specter that haunts all who live and love.”

He leans into your touch, eyes fluttering closed, his tail wrapping around your ankle, an unintentional action, but one you do not shun. “I do not fear specters, not while you are beside me.”

Your words are quiet, he nearly misses them, too absorbed in the feel of your skin against his. “Nor do I.”

TL: @not-aya, @belos-simp69, @deputy-videogamer, @sxnasbitch, @minimari415, @syndrlla97, @gejo333, @lady-necromancer, @zeyzeys-stuff, @tayleighuh, @loser-alert, @envyjmoney, @allysunny, @princessloveweird, @freehentai, @xlittlebubx-blog, @berry-potchy, @drefear, @jkthinkstoomuch, @ihateuguys, @yuuotosaka3, @queenofroses22, @ray-rook, @lollipopin, @faexsins, @drefear, @scorpihoooe

#meg's writing #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #ats #among the sun #halfdemon!miguel #princess!reader #emperor!miguel #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel ohara x y/n #miguel ohara x you

79 notes · View notes