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mayhemories · 2 years ago

Note

Hi! Can I request a continuation of Teacher's Pet if you're okay doing it? reader takes the kids on a field trip to see whatever animal/cool thing in the rainforest (up to you) Neteyam and a couple warriors volunteer as chaperones to protect you and the kiddos for safety. He volunteered cuz duty but also saw this as a opportunity to get closer to reader 😈 During the field trip he notices one of the warriors try to flirt with Reader. Neteyam is SO jealous about this.

gif: @world-of-pandora

Teacher's Pet Pt. 2

Anon when I saw this request I nearly passed out bc I thought I had accidentally leaked a part of the plot to this chapter. Wtf great minds think alike <3 hope my vision was satisfying for you!! I'm incredibly anxious about this one not being as good as the first one.

Don’t attack me because this part took so long. I was travelling between continents, have two assignments due and writing multiple works at once 🫡 trying my absolute best here. Some of my tags are working and some are broken! I’m so sorry if you asked to be tagged and it did not work for you - it was not on purpose.

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Pairing: Neteyam Sully x Reader (James Cameron’s Avatar)

Requested: Yes | No

Warnings: Swearing. Reader is slightly harassed/made uncomfortable by a male character (Neteyam doesn’t let it last for long). Neteyam is an adult with adult thoughts, Reader is an adult with adult thoughts, albeit a little innocent (just in her nature).

Words: 3.2k

Author’s Notes: Direct continuation of Teacher’s Pet, you can find part one here ←

Taglist: @lilprettypetite @nyotamalfoy @weasleytwinwheezes @aonungs-tsahik @rainbowsocks @glitterandgoldfinds @bluealiensimp @melsunshine @ussoppl @wondxrgurll @luvlykrispy @myheartfollower @gloryavila @itssiaaax @mashiromochi @punkrockrogers @simpforboys @casiia @neytirqs @oh-austin @eywas-heir

Fic Taglist: @neteyamore @waaakemeeeup @tejas-kris @gardenofvows @nuhteyam @m4nd0l0r @bobojojoba69 @sydhersom @fanboyluvr @humbug5 @viviartsy @izzytheconosieur @dreamybiitch @heaven1oo4 @myheartfollower @agelsully @slythermania @neteyamyam15 @bealone-prm @okaylorrainee @koryianders @uwu-i-purple-you @jackiehollanderr @b-tchymoon @gloryavila @reneyahh

Continue reading under the cut:

It had been a week since dinner with the Sully’s, with your favourite student and her incredibly, incredibly attractive brother.

Neteyam.

His name has been running around your mind, stretching and weaving its way around every thought like a songchord every moment since you left his family home. You could not help but feel ashamed at the thoughts your mind had conjured regarding the warrior, regarding his hands and lips and strong arms. A blush broke out across your face, recollecting the private crevasses of your own mind, feeling as though everyone around you could see, could hear, what you dreamed of.

“y/n!” Neteyam yelled out to you before he could stop himself. He had just come home from rounds, and his visceral yearning for you could not be halted, if he did not see you immediately he probably would’ve ripped the entire village apart until your figure appeared. And how Eywa had blessed him with seeing your face straight away.

You spun, facing him, looking almost shocked that he had found you in the bustle of the afternoon. And, to his delight, he could’ve sworn that a light smile graced your beautiful face, in addition to a light, fading blush.

“Neteyam,” Your voice was so beautiful, so, so, so beautiful. Like a song Neteyam never grew sick of. “Can I help you with something?” You asked, gently. Head slightly cocked. Neteyam couldn’t help himself, his body reacting without his brain, his arm reaching for your own, resting it just above your elbow.

Your entire body felt like it had been set alight. Neteyam’s light grip on your arm made you feel numb, made you feel like you were floating. And how, how, were you supposed to listen, to comprehend anything he said to you?

“No, no, but I was uh-” Neteyam stuttured, he hated how unsure he was around you, how nervous you made him. “I was wondering if I could help you.” He finished.

Yes. Yes, he could. He could help you in so many ways that you wished you could voice to him.

“How so?” You tried to remain professional, remain calm. But Neteyam still hadn’t removed his damn hand and all you could think about was how you wanted his hands. Both of them. Everywhere.

Neteyam let out a nervous chuckle, his hand retreating from your arm, finding its home at the back of his neck. Something that you had clocked as a nervous tick, though you could never work out why someone like Neteyam, a handsome, strong and mighty warrior was nervous talking to you, a simple teacher.

“Tuk let it slip that you and the kids plan to visit the syaksyuk tomorrow,” Neteyam felt his cheeks start to burn. He felt like slapping himself in the face, he needed to wake up, needed to collect himself. His father and brother would laugh at him for this interaction, he knew it. “To go that far into the jungle, alone, looking after twenty-something kids is dangerous.”

You looked down at your feet, and Neteyam felt guilty, felt like he was scolding you. God, he wasn’t much better than his father.

Your mind was wheeling. You and the kids. You and the kids. You knew, realistically what Neteyam had been referring to. Was it so wrong to wish for him to mean something else by it, though? You and our kids. That was what your heart longed to hear one day.

“Would you chaperone us, Neteyam?” You asked sweetly. You tried to catch his strong eyeline, and when you did you felt the warm, flowing feeling pool in your chest. Looking at him was like taking your first breath after emerging from a pond, being around him was like feeling warmth after your marrow had been frozen. He made you feel so, so very alive. Alive and incandescent and important.

Maybe, maybe it was incredibly selfish of you that you used your students as a front, used his sister as an excuse to see him. But you chased that feeling, you sought out his defiblirating presence.

Neteyam felt like he was flying, felt like he was dying. Like he had flown too close to a tree and his actions had finally caught up to him. And here you were, offering him everything he has ever wanted, so simply, like it was nothing at all. Fuck, he loved you for it.

You made a reach for him, your own hand mirroring the placement he had on you only moments ago, desperate for that blood-pumping high.

“Only if you’re not busy of course-”

“Of course. It would be my pleasure-”

Neteyam and yourself had spoken at the same time. Two bashful morons who could obviously not contain themselves in eachothers presence. Well, thats what it felt like to Neteyam, anyway. Despite the fact that you were the most intelligent Na’vi he had anything to do with.

“I can bring a couple of hunters, if you’d like.” Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Why would he do that? Neteyam can’t help run his dumbass mouth, he had secured the situation and fumbled it within seconds. All he wanted was to have more moments with you, alone. Or alone as one can get with a gaggle of children at your feet.

Not that Neteyam minded seeing a bunch of children at your feet.

And just like that, that beautiful blooming, romanticism errurpted in your chest, it died. You felt naive, you thought that Neteyam was angling at a moment, somewhat, alone. But him being the perfect, golden man that he was, cared genuinely about your safety. Cared about your class’ safety. Eywa damn it, his sister’s safety. All over again, you felt yourself running amock in your own thoughts. Was it not incredibly kind that he would give up his time to chaperone you and your class? He would only offer if he cared. You did not stop the love that unfurled in your chest.

“Thank you, Neteyam.” You offered the man a smile, hoping he would sense your genuine excitement. “That’s extremely generous of you, I know how short on free time you are.”

Neteyam was so, so happy. He felt like crying. He just doesn’t understand how you do it. Neteyam, as if being controlled, like a ghost in his shell, let his hand find yours that laid still on his arm, covering your hand.

Everything was so effortless with you, so right. He did not just feel acknowledged or witnessed. But perceived, you saw him. Neteyam knew he was projecting. All he did know, though, was that he saw you. All he could wish for was that maybe, Eywa willing, you would see him too.

Lo’ak was getting increasingly more pissed off. Watching Neteyam pussyfoot around you was painful. At first, it was hilarious. So hilarious that even his Dad got in on it. Jake found himself leaning against a support beam, Lo’ak a hairsbreadth away from him. The two of them watching his eldest son, watching his baby boy absolutely make a fool of himself.

“I don’t know how much more of this I can take, Lo’ak.” Jake laughed lightly, shaking his head. Lo’ak had heard that sentence alot, usually in regard to his behaviour, but this time it was his father laughing at his older brother and Lo’ak was incredibly thankful he wasn’t on the end of it this time.

“It’s embarassing.” Lo’ak agreed.

Jake sighed. He didn’t realise how much Neteyam lacked in confidence. In the back of his mind, in the deep, dark part that Jake kept hidden, he couldn’t help to wonder if it was his fault that his eldest struggled to express himself.

“Neteyam!”

Immediately your hand flew to your side, a blush exploded across your face and ears, you did not know why you were embarrassed that Jake Sully had caught you and Neteyam out- you were doing nothing wrong, anyway.

But Neteyam’s mirroring blush said otherwise.

“Time for dinner, boy!” As quick as he announced his presence from a few tents away, Toruk Macto was gone, disappeared into the threshold of his own home.

“Bring your girlfriend!” Neteyam’s younger brother, Lo’ak called out. Following his father he quickly made himself scarse. You felt Neteyam grow rigid at the younger boy’s teasing words.

Your blush deepened, and you cursed yourself for turning into a blushing, dumbstruck girl everytime Neteyam was near.

“I’m uh,” Your heart fluttered everytime the precise, calculated warrior stuttured. “I’m sorry for them, they’re just teasing.” Neteyam looked sincre in his apology, but just as embarrassed as you had been.

You laughed, shooing him away. His searing presence had become too much.

“It’s alright, ma Neteyam.” You giggled, you were obviously unaware of what you had just said. Neteyam felt like a hunter going in for the kill with how aware of your words he was. He was enamoured. So fucking in love with you, it was beginning to hurt. “Go, go have a feast with your family.”

You smiled and Neteyam wanted to commit it to memory, etch it into his brain, a permanent reminder of your glowing nature.

“I’ll see you tomorrow!” Neteyam returned the smile, stalking his way to his family home.

And maybe it was his broad shoulders, or the way his braids moved as he walked. Maybe it was how confident he made you, or how much you wanted him, you didn’t know. But you could not stop the bold streak that only Neteyam could conjure:

“Neteyam!” You called out, the boy spun, halfway home, brow cocked. “It would be an honour to be your girlfriend, you know!” Echoing the words that his brother had teased him with, you decided not to stay to give him the satisfaction of the last word, you waved goodbye before ducking into your own tent.

Neteyam chuckled, like a young boy in trouble. All the way home.

Later that night, while he was trying to find sleep in his private quarters of his family home. Neteyam tossed and turned in his hammock. His thoughts chasing the ghostly figure of you in his minds eye. As he so often did. But this time, words that he would only imagine you saying were replaced with memory.

Ma Neteyam. Ma Neteyam. Ma Neteyam.

God. He wanted nothing more than to be yours. To court you, to mate you, to build a home, create a nest for your eventual tribe of children.

Normally at this point, Neteyam would start to feel guilty, to hold thoughts of you this way in his heart, and dirtier thoughts of you in his head. But as his hand snaked down between his legs, to his throbbing member, Neteyam dwelled on your parting words to him.

It would be an honour to be your girlfriend, you know.

And the guilt did not come for him.

“Children, before we head out to go see the beautiful syaksyuk, I want you all to say a big thank you.” You gestured to Neteyam, and the two other warriors he had conned into chaperoning you and your class. The four adults and twenty-two Na’vi children stood at the precipice of the wild jungle.

“Thank you Ayo’to,” Your class echoed as you placed your hands on the shoulder of the youngest Na’vi warrior that had joined you today, working your way down the line, behind the young men. “Thank you Marek,” you moved along to the shoulders of the next hunter. You found your hands stalling when you reached Neteyam. You went onto your tippy toes, your eyes just peaking over Neteyam’s broad shoulders, giggles rang out from the kids, as one of your hands found Neteyam’s shoulder, the other one wrapping around his taunt bicep.

“Thank you Neteyam.” You said, along with your kids, his honey eyes finding your own and you wished you could live in his line of sight forever.

You pulled away, after leaving your hands a beat too long. You ushered the children to follow you, as your chaperones dispersed themselves around. Smiling to yourself, as you realised that Neteyam bought up the rear, sticking incredibly close to the few children in the back of the group.

So fatherly, so protective, your heart swelled at the sight.

“Neteyam is my brother.” You heard Tuk whisper to another boy in the class, who was watching the man in awe. Smiling softly to yourself, you were so thankful that you had the confidence to accept Neteyam’s offer of protection in the first place.

Neteyam felt the smile plaster itself to his face, as he watched you teach the kids. He felt alive as your tail swished back and forth, happily. As you crouched down to be the same height as your students, to point out flora and fauna, to help them learn and love the gift of nature around them.

He could not help to think how stunning you looked, out here in the morning light of the jungle. How your big, bright eyes glittered when your students answered something right, or engaged in asking questions.

But to his dismay, the two young hunters Neteyam had pulled to help out, noticed your beauty too. And this soured his mood, greatly.

He felt livid as he watched Marek’s trained eyes find their target on your ass. He wanted to punch Ayo’to in his square, stupid face everytime he pulled a large leaf back for you. But, the worst part of it all was that this was Neteyam’s own fucking fault. He offered additional help, he picked these two grunts.

He was incredibly unhappy with his choices.

As you held a slender finger to your plush lips, signaling for the kids to be quiet as you ushered them into a clearing, Neteyam felt guilty for his sudden shift in mood. You were so stunning, so happy. You did not notice how the other two men treated you. You were so focused on the kids, on their education, on their happiness.

Neteyam felt a tug on his hand, Tuk had almost ignored him the whole walk, enraptured with everything you had said.

“What’s wrong Neteyam?” Tuk asked, her voice no louder than a whisper. Neteyam loved his sister, loved her keen eye for her family. He noticed that she shared that keen eye with you, too. Like you were her family, too.

“Shh, nothing, go sit with the others and listen to (y/n).” Neteyam urged Tuk on. The young girl quickly sat in the grass with the other children, their eyes trained on their teacher, despite their surroundings.

That was just another thing Neteyam found himself loving about you. Your ability to hold a room, to command attention without explicitly asking for it. He smiled to himself as he thought it was a great trait for a Tsahik.

“Kids we must be quiet, must be still as we wait for the syaksyuk.” You walked from the front of the class, to the back, watching them as every Na’vi child had their eyes glued to the tree canopy, waiting for any sign of the blue and yellow primates.

“You’re a great teacher.” One of the hunters, Marek, had suddenly appeared next to you, whispering in your right ear. "Maybe you could teach me something, sometime." You blushed at the young man’s comments, but it was not the same blush you held for Neteyam. It was different. You were in discomfort.

“Thank you,” You willed yourself to remain calm, remain professional, in a hushed voice to not scare away the syaksyuk, or be loud enough for the children to hear. “I appreciate that you’ve given time to assist me and my class today.” You kept your words clipped, hoping that your tone and lack of eye contact would push your feelings clearly.

Though you doubt the boy, the man, Marek, you doubted the fact that he cared much about your feelings.

“Is anyone courting you, (y/n)?” You felt the hunter’s hot breat fan across your neck, you felt like his prey, trapped against his chest and an invisible wall of professionalism standing behind your class. You knew there was nothing explicit in his question, outright. But it was the lewd undertones that had you nervous.

Where was Neteyam?

“I do not think that is an appropriate question, Marek.” You wished your words had not fallen out of your mouth, shakily, but they had. They had and now he knew you were nervous.

Where the fuck was Neteyam?

Neteyam was seeing red, was fuming.

Marek had crossed a line getting so close to you, that was a given. But as Neteyam watched the bead of sweat roll down your face, watch as your eyes flicked back and forth in front of you, that was enough.

Silently, as to not interrupt the children’s viewing of the syaksyuk, Neteyam made his way over.

He heard Marek ask about courting.

He heard your curt reply. But between your words he could hear your uneasy nature. He could hear the rising panic.

“You’re excused, Marek.” Neteyam put his hand out to you, relief flooded him as you quickly pulled yourself against his arm and chest, a beat away from Marek and his looming figure.

“But-” Neteyam cut the hunter off, sick of seeing his stupid face.

“I want you gone, now. Be quick and quiet about it.”

You felt like a fool, holding onto Neteyam’s strong hand for dear life. Marek wouldn’t have done anything to you here, not infront of the kids. But it was the fear of it, creeping around in the back of your mind that upset you, nonetheless.

“Yes Sir.”

You watched quietly as Marek fled through the brush of the jungle. Silent like the hunter he was. You watched as he pulled the other young hunter, Ayo’to along with him.

It was you, and Neteyam, and the kids, of course.

“Are you alright, ma (y/n)?” Neteyam asked softly, pulling your back to his toned chest, his chin resting on the top of your head, large, muscled arms snaking around your waist to hold you tightly against him. Protecting you from any harm.

You could not help but to lean into his touch, lean into your love for the man. You knew your brain would pick itself raw over the use of that prefix later, now was for you and him. Now was for your kids and the swinging syaksyuk that had appeared through the canopy.

You rested your hands on top of his own, “I’m alright now, ma Neteyam.” You whispered as the kids began to ooh and ahh at the syaksyuk. Giggling as the primates chattered through the trees.

You allowed yourself to laugh with the kids, allowed your mind to wander to the daydreams you have of loving Neteyam. Allowed yourself to conjure and image of your firstborn sitting on his father’s shoulders, enraptured with the world around them.

You let yourself feed into that dream as you felt Neteyam’s very real lips ghost over your hairline, above your left ear. He left nothing but a thought of a kiss there, and you felt that same blooming in your chest.

“Have dinner with me tonight.” Neteyam gently whispered once more, this time laying a tangible, corporeal kiss above your ear.

You could’ve folded, in half, then and there if it wasn’t for Neteyam’s strong hold.

“Anything you want, Neteyam.” You whispered back to him, cocking your head to look up at him. You noticed the muscle flick in his jaw as he looked ahead, pretending not to see your line of sight. Gently, you placed a small kiss on his jawbone. Featherlight, it could’ve vanished if he wished it to.

You hoped he did not wish it to.

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a-fools-circus · 1 year ago

Text

Salacious Want

Papa II/f!Reader

Desc: after confessing to Secondo how you've spent your time alone, he makes sure you know that the only person allowed to touch you is him Word Count: 6.3k Tags/Warnings: bondage, bdsm, impact play, degredation, edging/orgasm delay/denial, rough sex, vaginal fingering, p in v sex, choking, dom/sub, ownership, creampie, aftercare, bc aftercare is important and i want to showcase that i think Secondo fits the duality of being both a rough dom and a tender loving dom, please note that there is one moment when the reader claims to be overwhelmed, but every moment of sex beforehand and afterwards is consensual with both participants willing

this was originally intended to be a fic for Kinktober. obviously that didn't end up working out, BUT i still wanted to write this bc i liked the idea, and i've yet to give Secondo some love so here it is ! this ended up being very fun to write and way longer than intended so i think it's a win. Secondo stans i'm starting to understand you. enjoy babes <3

also available to read on ao3 here

Minors DNI/NSFW below the cut

It was only a few hours ago when you were sat in the shadowed corner of the confession booth. The only thing separating your figure from Secondo’s was the wooden lattice in the center.

Secondo had been preoccupied with his responsibilities all day. It wasn’t his fault—the workload came with his status as Papa. You didn’t blame him for it, and he was adamant to remind you that he would rather spend his time with you. But you were left on your own. You had to sate your desires—by yourself—in private whenever you had the time. It was boring after the second or third time. Your own touch wasn’t nearly the same as his.

You knew the risks that came with teasing him (most of which would come from him), but the opportunity presented itself perfectly when you realized that he would be hosting confession. You couldn’t help yourself. You had to do something to coerce him, to convince him to focus on you instead. Taunting him with the knowledge that he missed out on your pleasure seemed like the perfect way to rile him up.

Armed with your knowledge, you taunted him from your shadowed corner of the booth, detailing every aspect of your indulgence. Every sound you made, every fantasy that crossed your mind, every part of yourself that you touched—it all came forward in your own kind of confession.

Secondo was good at appearing disinterested. Annoyingly good. You could get on your knees and beg for an hour straight, and he wouldn’t bat an eye. He knew he could make you do whatever he wanted when you were desperate to be touched, and he used it to his advantage often.

But his silence from the other side of the confessional was more than feigned disinterest. You could practically feel the disapproval radiating through the lattice, somehow knowing he was staring with that stern gaze he only gave you. He was most intimidating when he was silent, but it was even more nerve-wracking not to be able to see his reaction.

You made it worse by reminding him of his responsibilities; he had to continue carrying out the rest of confession for the following Siblings. You made your way out, leaving him to stew in his frustration as he was forced to ignore the aching arousal between his legs. That was the nail in the coffin.

Once time granted him respite from his duties, he wasted no time finding you.

Now you were sat on your knees on his bed, bent over with your face in his silken sheets. You were completely bare except for the collar around your neck and the restraints that bound your arms behind your back. You were placed near the edge of the bed, instructed to “keep your ass in the air and stay still.”

You couldn’t see Secondo, but you could sense his steely gaze scanning every inch of your body as he stood behind you. There was no doubt he could see how wet you were; after what felt like hours of sitting here bound, you were getting desperate.

The click of his shoes on the hardwood floor is the only sound in the room. Every echo of the sound makes you throb, your holes clenching around nothing. You’re sure that sight is obvious to him, too. But he says nothing as he looks over your restrained body. The anticipation in the air is thick, heavy on your mind as you wait for him to do or say something—anything.

After what felt like an hour of staring, he finally reached a hand out to brush over your thigh. The cool texture of his leather glove surprises you. Secondo’s touch is featherlight, barely grazing your body as it slowly trails inward. His pace is maddening, and you know he’s doing it on purpose.

The trail of his hand stops when his fingers hover daringly close to the spot he knows you need him most. The space beside you on the mattress sinks as his knee comes to rest there. Secondo leans over you, still barely touching your skin.

“Who does this pussy belong to?” Your senses heighten as the sound of his voice finally caresses your eardrums. You tilt your head just enough to catch a glimpse of him.

He’d discarded his regalia at this point, now wearing only the black turtleneck and dress pants he sported underneath. Just the sight of him made you want to pounce on him and make up for lost time. But you contained your impulses, humoring his demands as the threat of his dominance made you ache.

You swallow hard. The face paint he hadn’t bothered to clean off only made him look more intimidating. “You,” you whisper back to him. “You, Papa.”

“Mm. Bene…” His husky-toned affirmation almost makes you whine. “Then why did you touch it without permission?”

Secondo’s words catch you off guard at first. You start to speak, a tiny squeak leaving your mouth, but the words fail to form. You look away in embarrassment. Your eyes catch on the obvious bulge that strains against the front of his pants.

Suddenly, he grabs a fistful of your hair, tugging firmly until your shoulders rise off of the mattress. Secondo leans in further, his breath warm against your ear. The scent of patchouli and tobacco floods your nostrils. “You will answer when I ask you a question, yes?” He growls, the sound of his voice rumbling in your ears.

You swallow hard, eyes fluttering shut at the pain on your scalp. “Yes, Papa—”

“Look at me.” You do exactly as he says, your body thrumming with desire as your eyes flicker up to meet his. “Why did you touch yourself without Papa’s permission?”

“Because, I…I was desperate, Papa.” Your heart pounds in your chest at your confession. Judging by the way he scoffs, you assume your response isn’t satisfactory.

“Desperate?” Secondo echoes. You nod in agreement. “What, desperate to make yourself cum just so you can tell me what a disobedient, needy whore you are?” The leather of his gloves squeaks as Secondo tightens his grip.

The degrading term sends a surge of arousal through you. The sensation is only heightened by his grip on your hair. “No, no, Papa…I…I just wanted to be touched. I really, really needed it.”

“Oh, is that it, piccolina? You just needed to be touched?” You nod fervently, humming a small “mm-hmm” in reply despite the blatant mockery in his tone. “Perhaps I should remind you how you taunted me, then. The way you told me how hot and wet you were when you fucked yourself? How you came so quickly by your own hand?”

Secondo punctuates his annoyance with another firm tug on your hair. You whine, hissing slightly at the soreness in your neck. “I…I didn’t mean it, Papa,” you manage to choke out. “I just…wanted you to know how much I missed you…How much I need you.”

“It sounds to me that the only thing you ‘need’ is a lesson in restraint, sì?”

A whine rumbles in your throat at his suggestion. You want to fight back, to argue and prove your point, but that would only garner more punishment. You nod in response before realizing your muteness is unsatisfactory. “Yes, Papa.”

Secondo releases your hair and you fall forward, your face planting into the sheets. He rises off of the bed to return to his place behind you. His hands run teasingly over your body with gentle brushes that give you goosebumps. A shiver runs down your spine as his hands move further down.

You barely feel two of his fingers glide through your slit, your wet arousal gathering on his digits. You don’t know when he removed his glove, but you relish in the warmth of his bare hand instead of the cool leather. Your hips roll towards his touch in an attempt to gain any of the friction he seems to deny you. Your wrists twist in their restraints. His fingers spread you open to reveal your entrance.

“Look how wet you are,” he taunts. The leash attached to your collar rustles before being pulled taut. Your head jerks back, your shoulders lifting off of the bed as your back arches. You can feel Secondo’s cock—hard and straining against his pants—as he presses against you. “Open.” You hear him growl.

The demand sends a wave of heat through you. You comply, but you’re barely able to part your lips before his hand moves away from your cunt and his fingers force their way down your throat. You fight off the urge to choke in order to remain obediently willing.

“You wished to show me how much you needed me, sì?” You nod, humming around his fingers. “Show me, then. Take my hand like you would take my cock.”

You eagerly heed Secondo’s words. Your mouth sucks and licks his fingers with enthusiasm, savoring the taste of your own arousal as it coats your tongue. You ignore the way your body aches from the awkward position he’s contorted you in. Saliva seeps from your lips and dribbles down your chin, escaping you as you swirl your tongue around his digits the same way you do with his cock.

“Greedy little mouth…” Secondo growls as he watches you intently. His hand stays firmly enveloped in your mouth as he presses his body against yours. You groan around his fingers when you feel his cock press against your ass. “Look at you, drooling all over yourself, pretending my cock is down your throat. You look so desperate.”

You shift on the bed, trying to clench your legs together in a desperate attempt for friction at the sound of his degrading tone. Secondo notices immediately. His hand slides out of your mouth, not caring that strands of saliva spill from your wet lips, and delivers a harsh smack to the swell of your ass. The sound echoes in the room. The sudden sting makes you cry out, your eyes widening in surprise.

A firm tug on the leash makes you choke momentarily. “Keep your legs spread,” Secondo growls, his hand reaching down to tug at your thigh and force your legs apart while the other pulls the leash taut. “If you can’t be good, you aren’t getting touched.”

Your hands tug at their restraints, fists clenching with frustration. “I’m…I’m sorry, Papa. I’ll be good, I promise. Please touch me, please.” Your words come out in a flurry, rushed and desperate, as you pant for breath.

Secondo’s hand releases the leash, allowing you to fall forward again. His hand immediately snakes around your waist to land on the space between your thighs. Saliva-wettened fingers land on your clit and swirl in agonizingly slow circles. Your breath catches in your throat, a shaky gasp leaving your lips. Your hips jerk into his hand as a silent encouragement.

Another sudden spank takes your breath away. His hand stops its movements and you whine. “Stay still. You’ll only take what I give you, sì?”

You nod, sighing dejectedly. “Yes, Papa.”

It takes all of your strength to keep your hips in place and resist the urge to grind into his hand when he continues to swirl his fingers. Your thighs tense and your mouth falls open with whimpers and moans.

Secondo barely increases his pace at the sound of your pleasure. Your hands ball into fists in their restraints, a low groan ripping from your throat. You curse, desperately using every ounce of control to keep your hips still.

“Mia piccola puttana…she can be good when she wants to be, hmm?” He tilts his head, watching your pleasure-contorted features. His hand speeds up slightly and you gasp.

“Yes…Papa…Fuck…”

“She likes it, doesn’t she?”

“Yes…Yes, Papa, I like it…” Warmth pools in your abdomen, winding tighter with each swirl of his fingers. Your thighs begin to shake as you lose the battle of staying still. Your hips thrust desperately forward, eager to hit the orgasm that lingers so close to fruition. “Please, Papa. It feels so good…fuck..!”

Secondo pulls his hand away mere seconds before the warmth spills over. You cry out, a high-pitched whine ripping from your throat as your orgasm slowly dissipates. Your hips buck forward as if trying to chase his touch.

“Why did you—?”

“You don’t deserve to cum yet.” His voice is stern, leaving no room for argument no matter how badly you want to. “Poverina…you did not think I would give you what you want that easily, did you?” Your lips part to respond, but the words get caught in your throat. “Such a greedy whore…you made yourself cum and you think you deserve it by my hand?”

“I’m…I’m sorry, Papa. I won’t do it again, I promise.” You whine, grinding your ass against him in a silent plea. The roll of your hips is slow as you feel the outline of his rigid length through his pants.

Another harsh slap comes down on the swell of your ass. You gasp, the sting coursing through you and halting your movements. “Now you think you deserve my cock?” Secondo’s grip digs into the skin of your hips as he accuses you, his grasp so tight you can almost feel the bruises begin to form.

“No, no, Papa. I don’t.”

“No, you don’t.” He taunts. His hand massages the red handprint blooming on your ass, soothing the lingering sting. “Are you going to start being good for Papa?”

“Yes! Yes, I’ll be good. I promise I’ll be good.”

“Bene…” He gropes your ass, the tight grip making the welts forming on your skin sting. “Now be a good girl and ask for it. Nicely.”

“Please, Papa…I want you to touch me. Please touch me.”

Secondo scoffs at your plea. “Now I know you can beg better than that.”

A whine builds in your throat, but you swallow hard to contain it. “Please, please, please, Papa. Please touch me. I need it so fucking bad.” You pant. “I need you. I need your touch. Please.”

Without warning, two fingers push past your entrance and stretch you open. You gasp at the sensation, cursing as Secondo pumps his fingers at an unrelenting pace that gives you no time to adjust or savor the feeling. Your nails dig into your palms as you whine at each thrust of his hand.

“Fuck! Yes, yes…” You cry out, your cunt throbbing around his fingers. “Thank you, Papa. Fuck me…”

Secondo’s other hand holds you in place, gripping your hip so tight you think it’ll leave bruises. His fingers curl, searching for that sweet spot that’ll leave you crying out. As soon as he hits it, you curse in a loud gasp, your back arching to push your hips into his touch. He massages the spot with each pump of his hand, sending waves of pleasure through you that make your toes curl.

“Fuck, Papa! Yes, yes, yes. Right there. Right there.” Your moans fill the room, your cries reverberating off the ornate walls. Each plea is louder than the last. Your arms tug at their restraints, your hands flexing, desperate to hold on to something, anything.

Secondo groans, his voice husky. “Desperate whore, all worked up by my hand. You love it, don’t you?” You nod and mutter a small “mm-hmm”, too overwhelmed with his pace to form a proper response. “Fottuta troia,” he growls, taking a fistful of your hair and tugging until your shoulders lift off the bed. He leans over you, his fingers still pumping with their unwaveringly strong pace. “You answer your Papa, sì?”

You wince, whining at the mixture of pain and pleasure that courses through you. “Yes, Papa. I…fuck—I’m sorry, Papa,” you manage to squeak out between moans.

“Tell me how much you like it. Tell me how good my hand feels.”

“It feels…so fucking good, Papa,” you whine. Your words aren’t enough, evident by the way he tugs on your hair again for encouragement. His lack of response has you on edge. “You fuck me so good. I-I love the way your hand feels in my pussy.”

The tight grip on your hair is unrelenting. The awkward position you’re held in makes your back sore, but the pleasure granted to you overrides any discomfort. Warmth builds in your abdomen yet again, swirling and coiling with the need for release. Your thighs tense, your walls tightening around his fingers as your pants grow quick and loud.

“Oh, fuck…I’m…P-please…” Your voice quivers as you beg. “Please, Papa, can I cum this time?”

Secondo nuzzles against your neck, his breath warm against your ear as he speaks. “Oh, dolcezza,” his words seem sweet, but you recognize the mocking in his tone. “Asking like that, you almost have me convinced.” His fingers pull out of you, a wet, squelching noise accompanying their retreat. “Almost.”

The whine that escapes you is even louder, even more desperate than before. “No, Papa…why did you…” You stammer and whine, unable to form a complete sentence. You almost feel like you could cry as the coil of warmth slowly dissipates. He releases your hair, a grunt escaping you as you fall forward onto the mattress and he moves away. “Please touch me again, I can’t…I need to cum.” Your hips roll in the air, desperate for some form of contact.

“You need it?” You hear him echo, almost as if he’s mocking your plea.

You nod your head and hum a small “mm-hmm” with a whine. “Yes, Papa, I need it. I need to cum so fucking bad.” You shiver when you feel his fingertips reconnect with your heat for just a moment, barely grazing over your folds. “Please, just keep fucking me. I was so close, I—”

Secondo cuts you off with a harsh spank, the sound echoing in the room. His hands hold tightly onto your hips, dragging you backward until your ass is flush against his body. And his achingly hard cock that strains behind his pants.

“Greedy whore thinks she deserves to cum already…” He mutters as his hands trace the swell of your ass.

“No…no, Papa, I didn’t mean that…” You pant, your breath heavy. “I just…fuck, I want it so bad. Please…”

He goes silent as his hands continue to trace gently over your skin. The silence heightens both your nerves and your desperation. Finally, his gruff voice breaks the silence. “Tell me again, cara: who does this pussy belong to?”

“You, Papa.”

“Bene.” He presses his body more firmly against you. A quiet whimper escapes your lips at the feeling of his cock so close yet trapped beneath layers. “This pussy is mine. Mine to use and fuck whenever I feel like it.”

“Yes, Papa.”

“Say it.”

“My…my pussy is yours, Papa. Yours to use, yours to fuck.” You swear you feel his cock throb behind his pants.

His torso presses against your restrained wrists as Secondo leans over you. If you weren’t so afraid of being punished and denied any longer, you’d grab ahold of his shirt and tug him closer. His hands move to your hips, where his nails dig into your skin. “You cum when I tell you to. When I decide you deserve it.” His voice is a sultry whisper, like a smooth velvet that wraps around your senses. It makes you want to forget about your own desires.

You nod, sighing at his words. “Yes, Papa.”

“If you pull another stunt like that—taunting me with your impatience—I’ll tie you up and make sure you don’t cum for hours. Do you understand?”

The thought makes you shiver in a mixture of arousal and fear. You swallow hard, nodding your head again. “Y-yes Papa…”

“Are you going to be good for Papa?” His hips roll against you, and while the friction isn’t stimulating for you, it makes you gasp nonetheless.

“Yes,” you choke out. “Yes, Papa. I’ll be good. I promise.”

“No more touching yourself without Papa’s permission, sì?”

“Yes, Papa.”

His hands squeeze your hips, but the gesture is more playful than painful. “Molto bene.”

Secondo ruts against you, dragging the bulge in his pants along the curve of your ass. He groans before moving to grind against your slick heat. The wetness of your arousal seeps through and stains the fabric of his pants. He couldn’t care less.

One of his hands slides up the arch of your back, avoiding your restrained wrists and caressing your spine. “You want Papa’s cock, sì?”

“Yes. Yes…please, Papa,” you whine breathlessly.

His other hand trails down your hip and over the swell of your ass before groping you firmly. His grasp is rough, making the welts that have formed from his spanks sting. “Beg for it, puttana.”

You sigh in frustration at his words. “Please, Papa. Please put your cock in me.” You fight with every ounce of restraint to keep your hips still. You want nothing more than to rub and bounce your ass against him, to hear him groan and curse at the friction. But you know doing so would earn you another punishment. “I want it—I need it—so fucking bad. Please, please.”

Secondo leans away from your body. The loss of his touch leaves you feeling exposed and vulnerable, yearning harder for him. “She needs it, she says…” You hear him mock you as the faint sound of a zipper catches your attention.

You groan at the familiar feeling of his cock as the rigid and warm flesh lands on your ass. Secondo wraps one hand around the base, his other hand gripping your hip as he guides his cock to the space between your legs. He barely brushes against you, only allowing enough contact to cover himself in your slick arousal. The light friction makes you whine.

It’s not until you feel the head of his cock rub against your swollen, neglected clit that you stop whining and start panting. It’s even harder to stay still, especially when his pace is so languidly slow.

Your toes curl with strain. “Papa, please…I can’t…I can’t wait anymore…”

Another harsh spank comes down on your ass, making you hiss. “You can, and you will.” He growls. “Be good.” He continues the light and gentle grinding, his hands moving to rest on your ass and spread you open for his viewing pleasure. “Sathanas,” he curses, the sound making you throb and clench around nothing, which he certainly notices. “Così bagnato per me...you are a desperate little whore, aren’t you?”

“Yes, fuck yes, Papa.” Your nails dig into your palms as your body tenses in anticipation. “Please give it to me.”

He slides his cock along your folds, moving back and forth in long, sensual strokes. He pulls back to guide the head of his cock to sit at your entrance and grazes it teasingly, never pushing forward with enough force to enter you. You know he’s savoring the way you whimper and squirm. You groan, the sound turning into a whine.

“Please, Papa…” Your voice is breathless at this point, so desperate you could cry. “Please, please, I can’t wait anym—Ah!”

You’re cut off by his sudden, forceful thrust forward as he buries himself inside you with one movement. The stretch of your walls stings, making you hiss and curse. Your wrists tug at their restraints and your thighs go tense as he immediately starts a rough and unrelenting pace, giving you no time to acclimate to his intrusion.

Each thrust is met with one of your loud and desperate moans. Secondo runs his hands over the curve of your hips, his thumbs rubbing gently over your skin in a manner that completely opposes his rough movements. He groans, the sound sending heat to your core, and you feel him lean over your body.

The leash suddenly goes taut. Your head is lifted off of the mattress, strangling your moans as they leave your mouth. “This is what you wanted, sì?” He growls into your ear, punctuating his question with a set of firm thrusts. “To be fucked hard and rough like the whore you are?”

“Yes! Fuck…fuck, yes…” You cry out, voice strained against the collar around your throat. “Thank you, Papa, thank you…Lucifer below, it feels…so good…”

He leans back and pulls the leash with him. His free hand holds your hip tight, his grip strong enough to make you ache. He groans, cursing something in Italian under his breath, before spanking you again. Your walls flutter around him at the pain. “Dillo di nuovo. Tell Papa how good his cock feels.” His voice is low and rough, practically a growl, as he pounds into you.

“Your cock feels so fucking good, Papa…” Your eyes flutter shut as your head becomes light. Your moans and whines are guttural, choked out by your collar. “I love it…I love the way you fuck me…Don’t stop, Papa.”

“Oh, I don’t plan on it, puttana.” Secondo punctuates the word with a particularly rough thrust, making you cry out with a strangled moan. “You’re going to cum for me—when I tell you to.”

The room fills with sounds of your pleasure; moans and cries leaving your lips and the repeated, quick slapping of skin against skin. His own groans hit your ears and excite you further. He pounds into you with a relentless rhythm, quick and hard thrusts that make your body tremble under him.

“Papa…I’m gonna—fuck…” You feel your thighs shake, unsteady as the warmth in your abdomen tightens.

“Not yet.” He snaps back. He tugs on the leash again, making your head lighter as air escapes your lungs. “Solo un’altro po…”

It’s almost impossible to hold on any longer. The heat that swirls in your abdomen coils tighter and tighter with each thrust, the impending release crescendoing with no sign of stopping. All you can choke out is a quiet, strained “please” in between his powerful thrusts.

Secondo groans at your tight and wet heat, the sound turning into a slight chuckle that reverberates in your ear as he leans in. “Poverina…you need it, don’t you?” His voice is light and sweet despite the mockery in his tone. You nod before muttering a small “yes, Papa” in return. “Cum for me, tesoro. Cum on Papa’s cock.” He growls in your ear, his pace never wavering.

It takes only a few more of his rough thrusts to send you over the edge. The sound that leaves you is one you didn’t know you could make: a loud and guttural moan built up from constant denial that spills involuntarily from your lips. Your entire body tenses and trembles underneath him as waves of pleasure make you throb and clench around him. His pace never changes, working you through the high until your muscles go lax.

His thrusts slow down until they become slow rolls of his hips against your weak body. He releases the leash, letting your head fall against the mattress with a soft thud. His hands trail over your breasts as he leans to place a small, gentle kiss on your back between your shoulder blades.

“I’ve never heard you make those pretty sounds before.” He mutters against your skin. His hands knead your chest as he continues to roll his hips against you languidly.

A weak smile forms on your face. “I…I told you I was desperate,” you pant between heavy breaths. You groan with each of his thrusts, the leisurely pace doing nothing to soothe the overstimulation. “Thank you, Papa. Thank you for—ah—letting me cum…”

His hands trail down your body, his touch tracing your curves before returning to your hips as he leans back. “Oh, I’m not done with you yet, dolcezza.”

You barely process his words before he pounds into you again. He wastes no time finding another intense and rough rhythm. Your body tenses as the overstimulation makes you whine, your hands balling into fists as they tug at their restraints. You cry out, your body shaking under the power of his thrusts.

“Fuck, Papa! Shit, shit, shit…”

Secondo’s deep groans fill the air, complimented by the wet sounds of sex. “Merda. I didn’t think you could get any tighter.�� One of his hands lands on the small of your back, purposefully avoiding your bound wrists.

Every thrust sends a shock wave of pleasure through you, surges of overstimulating ecstasy that course through every inch of your body. It’s an overwhelming sensation, making every muscle tense and every moan and whimper more desperate than the last. Your noises only spur him on, each pathetic sound met with a powerful thrust that makes you whine louder.

“Papa…fuck, I can’t…it’s too much…” Your knuckles turn white as you ball your hands into fists. The overstimulation hurts, but the pain only adds to the pleasure he gives you. You trust him enough to know he’d drop everything if you were genuinely hurt. But right now, he knew you had no interest in stopping.

The leash suddenly goes taut, your head lifting off of the mattress again at his sudden tug. He spanks you again, your cry strangled by his sharp tug on the leash. “Fucking take it,” you hear him growl. Another spank makes you whine. “You’ll take my cock until I’m done with you, puttana.”

You groan at his words, your back arching into his thrusts. “Y-yes, P-Papa…”

His thrusts turn sharp and quick as he ruts against you. It’s primal and needy—almost animalistic—the way he moves. Each slap of his hips against your ass makes you hiss, the welts left from his hand stinging at every movement. Your body remains tense, every drag of his cock along your walls causing you to clench around him.

“Così fottutamente buono...questa figa è perfetta, tesoro…” You can barely hear his low, husky voice over the sound of skin meeting skin. Secondo tugs again on the leash, making you groan as your head jerks back. He leans down until his breath hits your ear. “You’re going to cum again for me, dolcezza.” His tone is clear—his words are a command, not a suggestion. “I want to feel this pussy milk my cock.”

The vulgarity in his words makes you whine. “Yeah…yes, Papa—fuck, I wanna milk your cock dry.”

“Sì, that’s what you want, giusto? You want Papa to cum in you and fill you up?” He growls in your ear, his words sending a shiver down your spine.

“Fuck, yes. Yes, Papa, I want your cum…Please, pump me full.” You strain to speak against the tight collar, but your plea is loud and desperate.

You can hear his breathing growing heavier. You can tell he’s getting close. He shoves his cock as deep as he can as his thrusts turn into forceful rolls of his hips as he grinds against you. The friction makes the marks on your ass sting.

Secondo’s free hand snakes around the curve of your hips, wasting no time finding your swollen and aching clit. His fingers swirl in time with each movement of his hips. The rhythmic pace between his deep penetration and the delicious friction of his hand makes you writhe under him.

You curse, your hips jerking wildly into his hand and against his hips, too overstimulated to find a rhythm. “Papa…Papa..!” You cry out and whine as your eyes screw shut.

He knows exactly how to make you tremble, all of the movements that send you closer to the edge and make you melt under his touch. The repeated clenching of your cunt makes him groan and curse.

“Fuck, Papa! I’m gonna…Sathanas, I’m gonna cum again, shit…” You feel your thighs shake and tremble, every muscle in your body tensed as the heat in your abdomen returns, mounting to a high.

Secondo pants, tugging on the leash again. “Dai, dai…cum for me, cum for Papa.”

The dual pleasure leaves you unable to resist, the sensations overwhelming your body. Your second orgasm is even more intense than the last. Your body shakes and your moans turn into whines as the pleasure leaves you overwhelmed. You don’t even notice the few tears that escape as you writhe and tremble. He works you through the high, his hand swirling perfectly against your sensitive core to prolong your pleasure for as long as possible. He only removes his hand once your whines turn to hisses.

The continuous, rough movements enacted on your overwhelmed body borders on pain. But you know he’s close, evident by his heavy breathing and groans as he pounds into you with the last of his strength. His grip is tight on your hip as the other hand holds your leash taut to keep your body in place.

With one final powerful thrust, Secondo stills as he spills himself into you. You feel every kick and pulse of his cock as he fills you. He groans, growling something in Italian, but you’re too far gone to comprehend it. He releases his grip on the leash, allowing your head to fall to the mattress.

Your body goes lax as he pulls out of you. Both of you grunt at the sensation. A wet squelch fills the air as you whine at the emptiness, too accustomed to his presence despite how overwhelming it feels. Your hips fall flat on the bed as you pant for breath and groan at the soreness in your back.

A wave of relief courses through you as your wrists are released from their restraints. The ache in your shoulders is painfully evident now that you can move freely. You roll onto your side, blinking heavily as you look up to see Secondo’s face.

His paint is smeared in various places, streaked by beads of sweat. His chest heaves with his own heavy breaths. You get the urge to scold him for exerting himself at his age.

He leans over you, reaching down to unfasten the collar around your neck. You instinctively tilt your head to make the process easier. You sigh when the garment is removed, allowing your skin to breathe and give your neck a break. Your eyes are heavy as you watch him place the collar and restraints on the nightstand with care.

Secondo leans down again, running a hand through your hair. He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Un momento, bella,” he mutters against your skin before leaning away.

You watch as he walks in the direction of the adjoining bathroom before he disappears past the doorway. A small smile graces your face. It was easy to get intimidated by him, by his steely gaze and guarded demeanor, but he showed you a tenderness that no one else could match.

It was never as evident as it is in these moments. When he walks back into the room with a damp washcloth in his hand, your heart swells. He always takes the time to treat you so gently after sex, especially when it’s rough.

He cleans you carefully, running the washcloth over your flushed skin. He moves you with a sense of care and worship, like you’ll shatter beneath his touch if he isn’t careful. The warmth of the wet fabric is soothing, making you sigh with each stroke. He occasionally leans down to place kisses along your skin.

Once you’re clean, he lays the cloth on the nightstand. You know he’ll retrieve it later, probably after you’ve drifted off to sleep. He guides you to lay against the pillows, helping you move in your sore state. You groan at the aching pain in your body—the sting of your ass, the soreness in your shoulders, the aching of your back. He runs a hand over your thigh, fingers barely grazing your skin as his touch trails over the swell of your ass.

“You’re still red,” Secondo remarks. You feel the slight tingle of discomfort, your skin warm from the welts that have formed. “You must still be sore.”

You can hear the concern in voice, almost as if he regrets what he did. “It’s alright. It doesn’t hurt that bad. I’ll be okay.”

“You’re sure?”

You smile at him, at his worry. “Yes, I’m sure.” You extend an arm towards him, beckoning him closer with your hand. “Now come here. I want you to lay with me.”

“Oh, is that right?” He teases. Despite his sarcastic tone, he’s already kicking off his shoes. “Is that what you want?”

“Yes. It is. You need your rest too, old man.”

You hear him scoff before he climbs onto the bed and situates himself beside you. “‘Old man’, huh?” He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close until your back is flush against his chest. He’s careful to keep distance between your hips so as not to irritate your welted skin. “Stai attento, mia cara. You wouldn’t want another punishment so soon, would you,”

You giggle at his words, laying your hand atop his arm and pulling him closer. You groan as you settle against the bed, attempting to allow your aching body to relax. You feel his arm move away from your waist. His hand comes to rest on your shoulder, his thumb massaging firm circles into your sore muscles. The gesture makes you smile, your head turning back to look at him.

“You don’t have to do that, Papa.”

“Oh, of course I do,” he responds, his hand working towards your shoulder blades. His lips brush over your ear, his breath warm against your skin. “Mia piccola bellezza was so good for her Papa. She deserves to be taken care of.” His lips land on your neck, trailing kisses down to your shoulder. “You’re always so good for Papa,” he mutters between kisses.

He leans in to kiss you, and you turn to meet his movement. The gesture sends sparks through you. You smile against his lips, pressing into his kiss and relishing in the warmth that blooms in your chest.

You don’t know when you fell asleep after that. You laid there, allowing him to tend and care for you however he felt necessary. Not every touch was meant to massage or tend to your sore muscles, but you didn’t care. Just having his hands on your body was enough.

This was how he showed his love to you, and you found nothing but comfort and security in his arms.

#surprise ! i posted #crazy i know #clown's stuff #papa emeritus ii #papa ii #papa emeritus ii x reader #secondo x reader #papa emeritus x reader #papa x reader #the band ghost smut #the band ghost #ghost bc

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rascal-xo · 2 years ago

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HI!!

Im here to make a Lil chubby ghost request 🙏💕 (your writing is SO good btw)

kinda like a part 2 to sweet indulgences??? So like reader cooks a bunch of baked goods for him and he gains weight bc of it and gets insecure about it and reader reassures him n stuff (make it smutty if you want ‼️)

If you do this THANK YOU YOU'RE A BLESSING TO SOCIETY

Sweet Nothings | Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Female Reader |

This is a part 2 to Sweet Indulgence but can be read as a standalone <3

Chapter Summary: Being home from the chaos of the 141, Simon basks in his wife’s love language which happens to be baking, leading to a little insecurity.

Warnings: FLUFF, SMUT, insecurities, Domestic!Simon

Word Count: 1.7K

Tags: @whirly-birbs 💛

You awoke up early in the morning, feeling the warmth of the sun on your face Turning your head to the side and saw Simon still sound asleep beside you. You can't help but watch as his chest rose and fell with each long breath he took. You couldn’t help but reach out and run your fingers through his hair,

In his sleep, Simon was at a peace he didn’t know out in the field. He was undisturbed in his rest, laying on his stomach, with an arm lazily draped over your midsection.

You couldn't resist leaning in to press a soft kiss against his forehead, savoring the warmth of his skin against your lips. You pulled back and watched as he shifted slightly, his breathing deepening once again as he settled back into a deeper sleep.

You took a moment to appreciate the peacefulness of the moment, knowing it would be short-lived once Simon had to return to work. You let your gaze travel over his face, taking in the faint scars and the little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes that appeared when he smiled.

You remembered the day you met him, the way he had looked at you with those same eyes, your heart swelled with love for this man who had sacrificed so much. Finally, he stirred again, and this time his eyes opened. He looked at you sleepily, his lips quirking up into a small smile. "You’re up early, love," he said, his voice husky from sleep.

You smiled back at him, feeling your heart skip a beat at the sight of him. "Go back to sleep Si. You should rest.” You said, your voice quiet close to his face. He responded sleepily, pulling you closer to him, and letting himself fall back into the sleep he so desperately deserved.

You let yourself stay cuddled in his embrace for a little while longer before finally deciding to get up. You picked his t shirt off of the floor and slipped it over your body. It reached your mid thighs, fitting you like a dress. It was the way Simon liked you best walking around the house.

Simon being home meant you could spoil him in your favorites of ways, especially baking. One thing about your husband was that he was a sucker for anything you made. It was your language, and who couldn’t want to wake up to the smell of fresh pastries or baked goods?

You tiptoed out of the bedroom, careful not to wake him, and made your way to the kitchen after freshening up. You preheated the oven and started gathering the ingredients for Simons favorite blueberry muffins.

As you put together the batter, you couldn't help but think about how lucky you were to have Simon home with you for the next three weeks. It was rare that you got this much time together, and you wanted to make the most of it.

Once the muffins were in the oven, you cleaned up the kitchen and headed back to the bedroom. Simon was still sound asleep, and you couldn't resist climbing back into bed beside him.

You snuggled up close to him, resting your head on his chest and listening to the steady thump of his heart. It was slower than a regular heartbeat, like the deep rumble of distant thunder. Each beat was deliberate and purposeful, as if his heart was taking its time to rest and recover after the stresses of being in the field

After a while, the timer for the oven went off, and you reluctantly began to pull yourself away from Simon's embrace to go and check on them. “Leaving so soon?” His voice sounded huskily from next to you.

“Made you something special, for when you get up.”

“Smell’s amazing.” Simon smiled at you as you got out of bed, watching you move with an ease and grace that always left him a little breathless. But as he watched you leave, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of insecurity.

Over the past few weeks he’d been home, he had gained some weight, and not that he wouldn’t give anything to be able to eat your food all the time, he also found himself feeling self-conscious about it.

He got out of bed and made his way to the bathroom, his eyes drawn to his reflection in the mirror. He didn't like what he saw.

He sighed, running his hands over his stomach, feeling the softness of the flesh there. He had always been in peak physical condition as far as special forces gave him the ability to, but the past few weeks being home had taken their toll on him.

He made his way back to the bedroom and got dressed, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. You were standing at the counter, your back to him, as you pulled the last of the muffins out of the oven.

You turned around, your eyes lighting up at the sight of Simon. "Morning," You said, holding one of the baked goods out to him.

Simon took the muffin from you, his eyes flickering down for a moment. "Thank you, love" he said, his voice quiet. "These look amazing."

You looked at him, sensing that something was off. "What's wrong, Si?" You asked, your voice gentle. You moved closer to him wrapping an arm around his midsection and looking up to gaze.

“Don’t you feel like I've let myself go, love?” He finally spoke, his voice a little softer. He looked down at you with an expression in his eyes you hadn’t quite seen like this.

You could see the vulnerability in Simon's eyes, and it broke your heart. You took a step closer, your arms going a bit loose around him to get a better look at his face. “Oh, Si, no. I love how you look." you answered instantly.

Simon let out a small sigh, his arms resting on your hips. "I just feel like I'm not as fit as I used to be," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

"You don't need to change a thing, Si.“ You repeated again, kissing his stubbled cheek softly. You pulled back slightly, looking up at him, “Besides, I love you like this. Being at home in one piece is a good look on you.” You chuckled.

Simon's expression softened, and he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. "I love you." he said, his voice filled with emotion. “My sweet girl.”

You pulled back from his embrace for a second, taking in the morning glow of his face, before reaching up to pull his lips to yours, resting your hand on the back of his neck.

Simon’s lips softly pressed against yours. His hand caressing your hips, as you wrapped both arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

The kiss deepened as your passion intensified. Simon's tongue lightly traced the seam of your lips, asking for entrance, and you eagerly parted allowing him to deepen the kiss.

Your tongues dance together in a slow, sensual rhythm as your bodies press against each other, trying to find a way to be closer than you already were

Simon broke the kiss, moving along your jawline, down to your neck, leaving a trail of sweet, tender kisses. You tilted your head back, exposing more of your neck to Simon's lips. You let out a soft sigh, melting into his touch.

His hands explore your body, running under your thighs moving his t shirt higher up. He began to lower himself, and you moaned softly as his lips found their from your nipples down your lower stomach, leaving a trail of kisses along the way.

Your hands tangled in his messy hair as he continued to explore your body, his touch sending shivers down your spine. You felt a rush of desire wash over you as he moved his kisses down to the insides of your thighs, sucking on the exposed skin.

You let your legs fall open, offering yourself to him completely, and Simon took full advantage, his hand bringing your right leg to rest over his shoulder, exposing your heat to him.

You looked up, his eyes now dark with desire. You could see the hunger and longing in his gaze, and it only added to your own desire.

Simon's tongue found its way to your clit, and you moaned as his tongue began to explore you. His touch was electrifying, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

You couldn't hold back your moans, your body writhing beneath his touch as he continued to pleasure you. Simon's fingers found their way inside you, moving in sync with his mouth, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

Your breathing became ragged as you felt yourself getting closer and closer. You arched your back, holding onto the counter behind you. Your fingers digging into his hair as you let out a cry of pleasure. Simon didn't stop, continuing to work his magic. “Fuck, I’m close, Si.” You could barely make out the words.

Simon's eyes were fixed on you, his focus solely on giving you pleasure. He groaned, quickening his pace, his fingers and tongue working in perfect harmony. You were lost in the moment, consumed by the sensations running through your body.

Your walls began to tighten around his fingers, and you knew you were close. Your moans turned into cries of ecstasy.

You came hard, your body shaking with pleasure as you rode out your high. Simon's mouth and fingers stayed with you throughout, never letting up until you were completely spent.

He stood up, his face now level with yours, his lips claiming yours once again. You could taste yourself on him, the sensation only adding to your desire.

You could feel his hardness pressed against you, and you knew that he wanted you just as badly as you needed him. You looked up into his eyes and nodded, silently giving him permission to take you.

He lifted you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to the couch. You captured his mouth again, “Show me how much you love me.” You mumbled against his lips.

And that he did.

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty smut #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #fanfic #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x female reader #ghost x you #modern warfare x you #ghost x y/n #simon riley imagine #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x female reader #call of duty fanfic #call of duty imagine

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dilftaroooo · 2 years ago

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a lil something for my black gorls bc apparently every reader in this fandom is fair skinned </3

oh lord ghost turns into holy spirit bc of how much he worships u and yo body goodness gracious (i am so sorry father god 💀🧎🏽‍♀️). got carried away. p.s. yall i haven’t written anything in a hot minute so this small thirst might be raggedy as hell (my coochie was doin the thinking)

tags: smut + afab reader + ghost loves you sm + just as much as u love him + finger lickin good pussy eatin + body worship + slight dumbification + i was planning on making him rough with u but then i went soft :) + p power + piv sex + barely proofread + im so sleepy i’ll probably edit the format later + forgot how much i fucking hate tumblr’s editing antics.

You had lost count already. How many times you came to be exact. Has it gone up to Two? Three? Yeah—three. At least that’s what you think. Well—you suppose thinking is starting to become more and more of a rare luxury considering the state you were in—dazed and stupid. Eyes decorated with a red glow from the tears that spilled from them along with a glossy sheen that finished the look.

Subtle hints of wet mascara slid down the apples of your cheeks as Ghost’s fingers delve deep within your wet entrance. His digits were more than acquainted to the slimy ridges that lived inside of you. He graciously pets your most sensitive spots with the utmost care, making your pussy scream as his moist lips kisses your bothered clit as though he’s cooing it to sleep. His tender nature juxtaposes the foreboding gleam of his skull mask and dark eyes drowning in war paint.

It’s those eyes. The ones that made you shiver and whine whenever they catch sight of you. The ones that glare under dim, yellow lights when you inevitably made him jealous. Enough to make them turn green. The ones that form crescent moons whenever he reminds you how much he loves you (the mild appearance of crow’s feet adorning the outer corners). Those eyes—

God, those big fucking eyes.

Sweat makes your melanin coated skin glisten, emitting a warm glow that send tingles up Ghost’s spine. He can feel the goosebumps covering his body as you inadvertently arch your back, pushing your warm sex up against his upper lip, making him groan into your sensitive nub. Your core tighten once more, your pedicured toes stretched across the apex of his back, polish chipped and damaged from irritation, the power of your orgasm jolting you with a hot flash.

Now it's your fourth time.

Brown areolas raise up and down from your big breaths, in the process of coming down from that high you’ve encountered just a second ago. But Ghost doesn’t know rest as he gorges your nipple in his mouth, adoring the quick yelp escaping your lips.

“Ah, Ghost…” You say with kind fragility. Your palms lightly tap his shoulder. Not telling him to stop but telling him to slow down. It was too much. His hands caressed your naked curves. He loved admiring your body. Taking the time to relish just how gorgeous you really are—from head to toe:

Your cornrows styled in intricate parts, freshly layered with the tropical smell of coconuts. Skin gleaming with the overly used shea butter that rarely missed a day off your body. Lips full and plump and coated with that cherry chapstick he loves to taste. Your breast were round and soft to the touch. And your pussy—Fuck, that pussy shined with your juices. Juices he created from fucking you silly with his fingers.

Ghost wasn’t a religious man. He never was. But of all the possible religions out there, your pussy was the one he worshiped the most.

He loved this pussy. Kneeled for this pussy. Prayed for this pussy.

Your being was his shrine and your name was his mantra. He couldn’t get enough of you and your light touches and gentle praises. Ghost couldn’t find more ways to thank you for your existence.

He releases your nipple with a soft pop and utters a voice lower than you’ve ever heard him use, “I need you, love.” You don’t take long to nod with evident fervor. Languidly aiding him in unbuckling his pants and releasing him from those tight restraints.

“I need you,” He repeats. “need that soaking wet cunt.” His Mancunian accent is thick and laced with desire when his mouth spewed that last word. You let go of a wanting mewl before spreading the dark, puffy lips that lead to your sopping wet hole. Just what he wanted.

You both moan in unison as you both get what you want. His hand engulfed yours and you’re quickly reminded of how big he is. His fingers are long and thick. Your legs twitch as you remember how they feel rubbing inside you. He leisurely finds his way deep in your sex. Your tightness pains him in the way that he likes. Leaning down to grunt into your ear, nose filled with that familiar coconut scent, you clench around him when his teeth bites down at the shell of your ear.

He loves you. He loves you so much—your hair, your eyes, your lips, your smile, your voice, your taste, your scent. You’re wonderful. Breathtaking. Beautiful. So so beautiful. He’s so glad he has you. That you’re in his arm moaning so prettily for him. And its almost unbelievable to him that you think of him the same way he thinks of you.

Once your breathing gets heavier and his thrusts gets sloppier and your eye starts twitching, you both finally succumb to the hot rush of pleasure. You don’t object to his heavy weight toppling over you after he fills you up (you encourage it with a hug despite how heavy he is). It feels good—laying like this. So intimate. You pet the back of his head taking in his warmth. Time passes before he slowly looks up at you, his eyes the same temperature as both of your bodies meshed together, and he suddenly states,

“That’s your fifth one, doll.” And you can’t help the quiet snicker that leaves you before giving him a playful slap to his arm, telling him to shut up. You somehow manage to catch a small glimpse of him rolling his eyes beneath that inky mask of his. This was intimate indeed. You finish off the night with a kiss to his forehead and you felt your heart flutter when he answered with a subdued hum.

#ghost x reader #ghost simon riley #mw2 smut #cod x reader #simon riley x reader #cod mw2 smut #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #ghost mw2 #black reader

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tb3ih · 2 years ago

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BLOOMING SEASON (pt. 2), kamisato ayato/reader.

SYNOPSIS... people like Kamisato Ayato who are not like the seasons do not have hearts that can withstand the test of time OR perhaps at the end of the day, you are well-deserved of change (or Sora says so).

⋆ warnings, kamisato ayato & fem-presenting!reader, gentle angst, hehe in-laws, THE CHILD (sora), introduction of reader's family, + comfort for once :) [making a part 3 bc i want a better happy ending tbh]

⋆ notes, thinking about how i was just sobbing my eyes out to 'nobody gets me' by sza for no reason

⋆ tags! @stellakito @iiyumii @neverlandlostchild @hotgirlshit5 @jureminha @yunniemai1 @iamnotobsessed @irisxiel @lumpywolf @mrs-heelshire @kunikuzushisbeloved @pineapplesneedrights @kiyoomiwo @hyunromi @simplyhumanlol @esthelily @chiisananingen

"Y/N-CHAN?" you know that voice too well, all the might in your body you used to hold yourself together wavering at the simple honorific.

your twin brother looks half asleep, deep burgundy hair lopsided and unstyled, black yukata not even properly tied, and eyes hardly able to remain open. even the guards at his chamber doors appeared startled.

you choke out his name, unable to even make it a step before your throat starts burning and closing up. gou wastes no time in rushing forward in that instant, vision alight and a worried emotion in his eyes as he pulls you into him.

for once in your life, you are grateful for him having grown into such a tall, well-built older brother, his arms firm and unyielding in the way they hold you against his chest. if you remember correctly, this was the way it had always been when you as the only daughter of the hayashi clan took the brunt of the elders' prevailing orders, from attending events in place of your late parents to managing foreign affairs for the clan.

or even giving yourself away to kamisato ayato in hopes of civilizing relations between the clans.

arms tightening just a little as you continue your sobbing, his eyes fall to akane who stands a little distance back carrying your resting daughter.

"anata? is everything alright? who's out there at this hour?" emica, gou's bride and perhaps one of your most cherished people, steps out from the bedchamber as well. gou is hesitant to let you go, but he does, allowing you to collect yourself just a little to face your sister-in-law. "y/n-san? you're—oh archons! come here, sweetie!"

you waste no time rushing into her arms, the smell of peach blossoms and the ocean filling your senses as she envelops you. if your loveless marriage had brought you any sort of joy (other than your daughter) it would be that gou was able to marry for love. kaedehara emica, oldest sister to kazuha and named matriarch of her clan in absence of her brother, she was a samurai to be reckoned with. albeit her brazen attitude towards the elders of the hayashi estate, she was kind and always ready to welcome you into her arms.

"gou, honey, bring sora to the twins' room and let her rest in there," emica says, her hand soothing against your back as she allows you to weep on her shoulder. "poor lady akane has had a long night and doesn't need to hold her anymore."

gou nods, "of course, dearest." another attendant appears to guide the three away down another hallway.

it takes a few minutes for you to recover, but emica is patient, never faltering in comforting you. after all, having been engaged only a few weeks before your parents would pass, she too would come to witness the cruelty of the elders and their treatment of the only daughter of such a highly regarded clan. she would scowl at the thought.

emica hums, "y/n-tan, are you hungry?" you meet her eyes, her expression soft and warm. "i bet cook will make his favorite patron some omurice if she were to ask~ hm?"

you laugh a little, throat a little hoarse from crying. you were a little dizzy, so you supposed some food wouldn't hurt. plus, chef was perhaps second to only your mother in terms of authority figures in your childhood. it would be a shame if you didn't stop by to pay respects to him. "i suppose you're right..."

your sister-in-law giggles, slipping an arm around your waist to walk beside you to the kitchen. "of course i'm right, i'm always right."

"I'LL kill that bastard, i swear it to celestia," gou seethes, setting his cup of tea back on the table. "how dare he speak in such a manner? has he forgotten his place?"

you are currently on your third plate of omurice, eyes observant as you watch the couple before you take in the information you have just set before him.

emica laughs softly, "now now, dear i'm sure even y/n would like to push war as one of the very last options of action. i'm sure she's at least thought of something more civil which might resolve the conflict at hand. y/n?"

you clear your throat with a sip of milktea. "divorce. seeing as how the yashiro commission had much to gain from this union, we have nothing to lose except friendly relations." you take another bite and speak once more after swallowing. "besides, had it not been for the hayashi clan, the raiden shogun would not have even considered a pardon for the yashiro commission all those years ago."

gou snorts. "i'm sure there are many things this whole damn city wouldn't have had, if it weren't for the most gracious hayashi clan." he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose before once more meeting your stare. "your solution would definitely be opposed by the elders, is that something you're willing to take on?"

emica takes your hand squeezing it lightly and offering the warmest smile. she turns to her husband. "even if it isn't, she mustn't forget the simple fact that she won't be alone and never again will be."

the thought has you smiling softly to yourself. in light of all the struggles and conflict within the noble clans of inzauma, you were happy to find a home within the people you cherished.

"AUNTIE! auntie!" two giggling and nearly identical figures come running up to you, hugging at either of your legs. akio is the one who exclaims out, asking "when did you come home?"

kentaro, tugging gently on the skirt of your kimono on your left, though curious, refrains from being as loud as his counterpart. "is everything okay, auntie?"

you kneel down, embracing the two in a tight hug, ruffling their burgundy hair just enough to get them to exclaim out. you supposed they were at the age where they liked to keep up appearances, even if just a little. "now now, didn't your mother teach you it's rude to bombard guests with questions all at once? hm?"

reaching out to poke him lightly on the cheek, kentaro makes a frown, mumbling a small "told you so" to his brother, who in return sticks his tongue out. you let go of them, opting to hold their hands instead.

"auntie and cousin sora are going to be staying here for a while, there's some building going on back at uncle's mansion. is that okay with the twins?" you feel a small pang in your heart at the mention of your husband, whom the twins hardly ever see.

the two nod, akio once again speaking first. "that's okay with kentaro and akio! i hope the building gets done soon!"

kentaro hums in agreement. "as long as auntie is comfortable in our home."

"akio! kentaro! where are my little boys?" emica calls them from the entrance of the courtyard, waving lightly to you. the boys respond accordingly, going to run off to their mother, but not before kissing you on either side of your cheeks and racing off.

standing up once more, you wave back to your sister-in-law before she heads in with the boys, reminding you of why you came out to the courtyard, to begin with. "okaasan?"

sora stands behind you, a couple of sakura blooms in her hands, the beautiful pink petals still crackling a little with electro. you smile warmly, holding your arms out to catch her in your arms and hoist her on her hip.

"having fun?" sora giggles, nodding and showing you the bloom in her hand. her vision glows on her headband, lavender strands of hair threatening to spill out from behind the hairpiece.

"akio and kentaro were showing me around the garden and i thought okaasan might like a sakura bloom!" her smile is proud and chuckle.

"well, it's very beautiful, thank you." the two of you watch as she brings her powers to life, electrifying the petals only to scatter them in the air above. "where did you learn to do that?"

sora giggles. "guuji yae! i finished my lessons at the shrine early and she said to practice this so i could show you." pausing, she continues the next part a little softly. "okaasan's been sad lately and hasn't been playing with sora..."

an ache pulls at your heart. "awh, my sweet, i'm sorry," you apologize, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. "it's true, okaasan's been a little sad lately."

her small hands go to twist lightly at your hair. "does okaasan's heart hurt? sora's heart hurts a little when she's sad too!"

oh, my little sora...

"y-yeah... okaasan's heart hurts a little." you watch her expression carefully, her violet irises continuing to be attentive to your hair.

she taps her chin, as if to think. "hmm, kentaro says to get better from being sad you have to say 'farewell' to the things that make your heart hurt." sora smiles as she lets go of your hair, seemingly satisfied with her styling job. her eyes focus on your own.

"sora loves otosan, but if okaasan is sad, sora thinks it's okay to say bye-bye."

the pink sakura petals have begun to rain down, floating slowly with the absence of wind. sora cuddles softly against your chest, yawning softly. you think back to when ayato had called you naive to hope for love. "sora loves okaasan too."

you stare at the falling petals, the courtyard shifting in hues with the setting sun. it is quiet where you stand holding sora, the trees mute and the clouds watchful as they pass a mother and daughter from overhead.

your chest does not feel heavy when you weep this time, but rather, the ache seems to lessen as you cry softly with sora against you. it smells like spring all around you and you are comfortable in your kimono in the early evening. there are potted glazed lilies that have begun to peek out to watch you, the naku weed glowing softly around the perimeter. perennials all around have also begun to fill the greenery with pretty colors.

just as seasons change, you thought, so should you.

part 1 ! | part 3 ! | part 4 ! | part 5 ! (still in progress)

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thegalaxysedge22 · 3 months ago

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After Ever (Chapter 3)

masterlist

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pair: sylus x MC (named)

tags/tw: death/grief, the absolute pain of research, annoying MC, cannon adjacent

word count: 4.6k

song rec: bad blood by taylor swift

a/n: this is quite the lore drop

important: if you want to follow this fic and updates but don't want to follow me bc im annoying (understandable) check out the tag #after ever fanfiction also if anyone wants i can start a tag list

Work was slow yet again when Kore returned to the Hunter’s Association, leaving her with a lot of time with her thoughts. Something about the death of Dr. Higgins occuring at the same time as the death of her Grandma didn’t seem quite right. That was where her downward spiral began.

Through her clearance with the Association she was able to obtain police reports and the medical autopsy. She spent the morning meticulously going through all of it, looking for any inconsistencies that could tie the two explosions together.

Lost in thought, her eyes became unfocused from the screen, that’s when she spotted something new. On one of the police reports she had open she noticed a faint mark to the side. Zooming in on it, the writing was illegible, but it looked like something had been written in with pencil.

Despite all the advancements in technology over the recent years, the cops tended to keep things old-school, using paper copies of reports when they could and scanning them into the database once they were done. Although inefficient, their success rate showed that it seemed to work for them, so no one forced any change.

Squinting, Kore tried her best to make out the notes in the margins, but it was illegible. In a desperate attempt she took a screenshot of the paper and adjusted the contrast of the image. The markings started to become clearer and when she adjusted the sharpness of the image she could make out one word with a question mark afterwards.

Onychinus?

Hearing footsteps approaching, she took a post it note and scribbled down the word before closing the image and minimizing the reports. She quickly opened some random tab to make it look like she had been working.

Tara appeared, poaching herself on the top of Kore’s cubicle, tilting her head in curiosity. “You don’t look very well rested,” she said accusingly. Kore had forgotten her promise to her friend to rest.

“I tried my best, but it’s been difficult, I keep reliving it," Kore said, trying to deflect blame. While it wasn’t entirely a lie, she did leave out details of her rather adventurous trip. Worry plastered Tara’s face and she nodded solemnly.

“I was stopping by to see if you wanted to get some lunch,” Tara asked, changing the subject.

“I think I’ll have to pass today, I have a lot of work to get done,” Kore apologized. Tara knew damn well that that was a lie, but she didn’t push it. It was then that Captain Jenna also came over to Kore’s desk. Tara barely spared a glance at the captain, showcasing just how deep her concern went.

“Sorry to interrupt ladies, I was just wondering if I could talk to Kore for a moment,” the captain said.

“That’s alright, I was just leaving,” Tara told her, eyes still trained on her friend as she walked away.

“Kore, can I talk to you in my office please,” Captain Jenna asked. A stroke of fear overtook Kore’s expression to which she was offered a reassuring smile. “No need to worry, it isn’t anything bad.”

Kore gave her captain a brisk nod and followed her back to her office. Once the door was closed, Jenna offered her a seat while she took her place at the other side of the desk.

“I wanted to check in on you, Kore,” Captain Jenna said, folding her hands on her desk, “I know it has been hard for you recently, so I wanted to see how you are doing.”

“I am alright,” Kore said, she was in fact not alright. The Captain raised an eyebrow at this, it was clear that neither of them believed the words that just came out of Kore’s mouth. It was not a secret that she had become a husk of herself since the accident, everyone who knew her could see it and she hadn’t bothered to hide the fact either.

“I know you’re relatively new here so I wanted to inform you about some of our policies. You know that we get a lot of protections and benefits working for the government. One of those is that when a loved one dies, you are entitled to bereavement leave of up to three weeks if you need it. Now I don’t want to pressure you into doing anything but you should know that you have options, if being here is too hard for you, taking time off might be your best choice.”

“In all honesty,” Kore started, vulnerability wavering in her voice, “I think that working has helped me take my mind off of things. When I am left alone with my thoughts, I start to go down a slippery slope.”

“I had a feeling you might say something like that,” the captain responded with a sympathetic smile. “I also wanted you to know that we do offer counseling free of charge. Although it is typically reserved for work related trauma, I would be more than happy to pull a few strings and make an exception.”

“I appreciate the offer, I really do, but I think I have to decline for now.”

“Alright, well, that is all I have for you, so you can go ahead and get back to work,” Jenna said, dismissing Kore. Kore made a move for the door, about to exit when Jenna stopped her, “Please let me know if you change your mind at all.”

“I will,” Kore gave the captain a weak smile. With that she started to return back to her desk, the idea of taking time off completely out of her brain. On her way there she took note of how the office was largely deserted, most people on their way to lunch. Grateful for a bit of peace and quiet, Kore turned back on research mode and started digging into this “Onychinus.” She couldn’t help but wonder if they had any connection to her family’s deaths.

With a pad of paper and a pen she scoured the Association’s databases, typing in the word nothing came up. She tried various other phonetic spellings of it with only zero results to appear. She tried “Onychinus” once more, this time something did turn up.

Did you mean “N109 Zone”? The database asked her. She wasn’t sure how they could be related, it wasn’t like you could misspell “N109 Zone” that badly, but it was a start.

Clicking on the link she was brought to another page. A sigh of relief passed through her. We are finally getting somewhere, she thought. The results were limited, 51 to be exact.

She had heard whispers of the N109 Zone before, but it was something that was treated more like an urban legend rather than a real place. It was hard to get a clear picture of everything as most things seemed to be redacted to shit. Most sources seemed to be regurgitating the same information over and over again, it seemed like the area was once a hub for technology but has become a wasteland after the Catastrophe, controlled by cartels who made money off of the trade of illicit goods.

There were discussions of the illegal sale of protocores at auction, most of which appeared to take place in the N109 Zone. Kore wasn’t stupid, she knew that the sale of protocores must’ve been a thing, they could be worth a lot of money and they are powerful. Protocore auctions turned up dozens of reports of raids that had occurred, only a few had a passing mention of the seemingly elusive Onychinus, but that was really it.

She tried using the information she had to expand her search, but as hours passed, there was very little that she could turn up. Frustrated, she goes to Nero, the team’s tech wizard, to see if he can help. Perhaps he has higher clearance than she does, or maybe she is just bad at researching, surely he can turn something up, she rationalizes.

Nero is deeply engrossed in something when Kore reaches the dark corner he resides in. Glancing over at his screen she sees him on some forum talking about a Lumiere?

“Who’s Lumiere?” Kore asked. Nero jumped in his seat at the sudden intrusion.

“What-I was just working, I wasn’t doing anything,” Nero stumbled, trying to cover his tracks.

“Wait, you don’t know about Lumiere?” He questioned, doing a complete 180. Kore just shook her head.

“How could you be a hunter and not know about Lumiere?? They’re an icon, a legend. They were the first Hunter. When the Chronorift Catastrophe first happened in 2034, they were the first one to fight the wanderers!!! It was reported that they alone saved dozens of lives when it happened. They were a hero, I cannot believe you have never heard of them.”

Noticing his enthusiasm, Kore started plotting. If I allowed him to talk, maybe he would be more receptive to bending the rules and helping me out, regardless of my clearance level, she thought. The remorse she would feel after manipulating him was in the far corners of her mind, she was a woman on a mission after all.

“They sound incredible, can you tell me more,” Kore asked, pulling up the chair from the empty cubicle next to his. Nero’s eyes lit up at the opportunity and his whole entire demeanor changed.

“Wow, where do I even begin… Well, Lumiere’s identity has never been confirmed. There have been whispers and speculations, but if you ask me, none of them have been right, they just don’t fit the profile. After saving the city during the Catastrophe, which Lumiere did single handedly, not even the military knew how to handle the situation, at least not like Lumiere did. Anyways, after Linkon City was saved, Lumiere completely disappeared. No traces left behind at all.

“That is until about 2 years ago - on February the 26th of 2046 - rumors of a Lumiere sighting started to circulate online. A picture was posted on one of our forums and people went crazy. None of the Lumites - Lumiere fans - could agree on if it was actually them. It caused a whole big fight online.

“But eventually more and more sightings appeared and we Lumites came to the consensus that it was Lumiere, but then that started a whole other bout of discourse. Why would they wait this long to come back? What were they doing out and about now?

“Well, through eye witnesses and photographs we were able to piece together a little bit of information. Although some Lumites contest it, it is widely accepted that Lumiere became a Tenebra. You know what that is right?”

Kore shook her head.

“Oh I thought you would know what a Tenebra is because you’re a Hunter, but I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised considering you didn’t even know who Lumiere is,” Nero scoffed before his hands covered his mouth, “I am so sorry I didn’t mean to rude. Please forgive me.”

“It’s fine,” Kore waved off his words, “but what is a Tenebra?”

“Right, right. A Tenebra is someone who broke the Hunter’s Code. Although it is typically due to them engaging in illegal activities, most commonly protocore smuggling, that isn’t always the case.” Nero checked that the coast was clear before leaning in and continuing in a whisper, “For years now there has been a theory that the higher ups in the Association ask high level hunters to do some crazy things and that go against most people’s morals.

“A few high level former hunter’s have said as much, but they have widely been discredited as either addicts or having extreme paranoia, but some people think that is propaganda.” After that Nero sat back up and continued at his previous volume

“Anyways, another key component of being a Tenebra is ties to some sort of secret organization. So one can, in theory, be a Tenebra without participating in any illegal activities. And we know that Lumiere isn’t a bad person, so, it isn’t the illegal activities that potentially make them a Tenebra. No, we think that it is because Lumiere has ties to some of the groups in the N109 Zone.

“And this isn’t just a theory either - Lumiere has been spotted in the N109 Zone as recently as two weeks ago and as far back as two years. We think that Lumiere is the one who is keeping the wanderers out of the N109 Zone and that they potentially have ties to Onychinus, who is supposedly one of the big names in the N109 Zone.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Kore stopped him while he was taking a breath, “What do you know about Onychinus?”

“Well, there isn’t too much known other than they practically govern the N109 Zone, it’s thought that they have a big hand in protocore trade though, even if it can’t be confirmed. I have also heard whisperings of the name Sylus in connection to them, but I have never been able to figure out how that plays into everything.”

“What do you know about the N109 Zone,” Kore pried for more information.

“I don’t know too much, it is well known that information about this and Onychinus is kept largely under lock and key for some reason, but I do know that it is a hotbed for crime, also that it used to be a tech hub. Ever was allegedly based there when it first opened, but you can’t find that now, for some reason they are trying to scrub the internet of their history. There’s also–” Nero suddenly got quiet.

Xavier had appeared, leaning over the cubical’s low walls. “I was looking for you, Kore,” he said, “we have a mission.”

Kore apologized to him and stood up also apologizing to Nero for leaving him, asking to talk more about this soon to which he eagerly nodded. She then followed Xavier’s retreating footsteps.

“I don’t know why you’re talking about Lumiere,” Xavier said once she caught up to him, “It is pretty well known that they died during the Catastrophe, protecting the city.”

The wanderer was a particularly stubborn one, making it a tough fight, especially for Kore, who was already off her game. Usually, she had an uncanny ability to predict the movements of wanderers, which was why she was put in the Alpha team fresh out of the academy, but she was slightly off her game. Most of her blows were hitting the target, which was concerning considering she was the top marksman in her class. A few of her attacks were just grazes but unfortunately the wanderer could say the same. She had been grazed by the creature several. Her movements, while not exactly sluggish, were not up to her usual standard. It was mistakes like this that made her job all the more deadly.

Reloading her pistol, she took her eyes off of the wanderer, just for a moment. Big mistake. She didn’t see it coming and would’ve been hit if it wasn’t for Xavier jumping in front of her and deflecting the hit, his sword and skill easily fending off the attack.

Xavier was quick to deliver the finishing blow and Kore was left feeling ashamed. She moved off to the sidelines and fiddled with her equipment. She could feel Xavier wandering over but tried to ignore him.

“Don’t beat yourself up about it,” he said, “even the best of us have bad days.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Kore grumbled, picking lint off of her uniform.

“I’m not patronizing you, I am just letting you know,” Xavier said walking off. It was just then that Kore remembered she had something that she wanted to ask him.

“Xavier, wait,” she said, continuing when he turned back around, “Do you know anything about aether cores?”

A look of surprise flashed over his face, he was clearly not expecting that question, but he was quick to be able to mask his shock. He shook his head, responding, “No, I have never heard of such a thing.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Kore said accusatively, fire in her eyes. She had seen him falter and she would not drop the subject until she got what she wanted. Xavier sighed, shoulders relaxing before adjusting his posture.

“I should have known that you would be able to tell that something was different about that protocore,” Xavier said. Confused, Kore thinks back on their time together and remembers their first fight. It was in No Hunt Zone 7, the first time that they had met. She had noticed something was off about the protocore that came from the wanderer that they had fought, but she had always assumed that it was because she only had seen controlled specimens in her classes and never a real one out in the field.

“In its most basic form, an aether core is a type of protocore, one that has been modified somehow,” Xavier continued, unaware of the rapid thoughts in her mind, “it is very rare for aether cores to develop naturally and so they are often a result of human interference. Oftentimes their power dwarfs that of a regular protocore. They are very dangerous and not many people know about them, not even the Hunter’s Association.”

“If you know about the existence of aether cores, why haven’t you told the Hunter’s Association about them,” Kore questions.

“Well you know about them too, why haven’t you?” Xavier counters, her reaction is far from the ‘touche’ he expected.

“Now that I know that you have been hiding stuff from me AND the Association, how am I supposed to be able to trust you?” Kore practically shouts. Logically, she was aware that she was more mad than she had any right to be, but that didn't stop the fire that was coursing through her veins.

“Well you’re keeping something from me too, how did you find out about aether cores in the first place,” Xavier asked calmly.

“Because allegedly I have one in my body and that makes me feel like I have a right to know,” she said, her temper rising.

“You what?” Xavier said, his face paled, “What do you mean that you have an aether core inside of your body?” He didn’t even know that it was possible for a human to survive with an aether core inside of their body.

“Well apparently I was in some sort of experiment when I was younger, which I don’t remember by the way, and there was one placed in my heart and that is why I have Protocore Syndrome in the first place.”

“What do you mean ‘apparently’ you either were or you weren’t how do you know?” Xavier said, confused. Kore then recounted everything that had happened to her since Friday.

She was so angry she didn’t gloss over any detail. It was if all at once all of her frustrations about the whole ordeal came out, the pot had boiled over. Xavier, for his part, stayed calm and collected as she went off on her verbal rampage.

“--and I need to find out more information on Onychinus because I just have a feeling that they are the fuckers responsible for this all happening but nothing is coming up–” Her avalanche of words stopped when Xavier placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“I just don't know what to do,” Kore admitted as she made eye contact for the first time. Tears threatened to spill out of her eyes and her bottom lip quivered. Xavier smoothed down her hair with his other hand. A sob escaped her and she fell against him as if she no longer had control over her body, he wrapped his arms around her as she cried. Deep down she was embarrassed with how she was conducting herself, but it had been so hard recently and she hadn’t been giving herself the time or space to just feel.

Slowly but surely, Kore was able to compose herself. Although still a sniffling mess, she pulled herself off of him and said meekly “I’m sorry about that, I don’t know what came over me.”

“I think I might have something to cheer you up. Here,” Xavier said as he fiddled with his Hunter’s Watch. He put their two watches together and hers lit up, Confirm Security Clearance was on the display. “The Association’s databases are useless if you don’t have the right level of clearance. I extended my security clearance to you so hopefully more things will turn up for you.”

“Really?” Kore said, still wiping her tears.

“If it’ll help you feel better and earn back your trust then yes,” he said, “but you should know that it only lasts for 24 hours. Now go.”

Kore looked at him appreciatively, touched by his gesture, “Thank you, Xavier, for everything.”

The office was nearly empty when she arrived, which made sense as the day had been over for quite some time now. She had practically sprinted the entire way back, her leg wouldn’t stop bouncing the entire ride there, every stop the subway had made felt like a lifetime. As quickly as she could she got to her computer and logged in. Preparing herself for the worst, she typed “N109 Zone” in the search bar. The results were instantaneous, and she was shocked at just how much more information came up.

The redactions in the records that she had been reading earlier were fewer, but not gone completely. She was, however, able to learn more about these supposed protocore auctions that took place there. The auctions were allegedly held at a place only referred to as Elysium and it seemed that the vast majority of them were run by the group Onychinus. There’s that name again, she thought to herself.

Scanning the screen again she noticed that with this level of security clearance, a new database had been unlocked for her the Abyssal Chaos, which she knew existed but didn’t know what it was for. Taking a chance, she put “Onychinus” in the search bar, the results were far greater than she had expected.

This time, a shocking number of reports popped up. It seemed that Dr. Higgins’ death wasn’t the only one that had suspected ties to the criminal organization. It appeared that they had been targeting former Ever researchers but the motive was still unclear. This information, coupled with her grandmother’s former ties to the company, made her convinced that they had been involved somehow.

She became obsessed over reading every single report linking them to metaflux explosions and suspicious deaths. Falling deeper and deeper into a rabbit hole, but she didn’t mind, she was too busy developing a deep hatred for the organization. She had already felt like what had happened was not an accident and matching the similarities to their M.O. was intoxicating. She was placating a hunger she didn’t know she felt.

All of this eventually led her to find another, classified, report that vindicated her belief that Onychinus was involved in her Grandma and Caleb’s deaths. This wasn’t the one that she had been obsessing over just last week, this was a different, confidential one. As pissed as she wanted to be that this was kept from her, the desire for retribution was taking over her. She had to make them pay.

She stumbled upon a document containing all of the data that the government had on Onychinus. In it she found a lot of information that she knew already, but there was also intel on a few potential members of the group. One of the suspected higher ups was only known as Mr. Sherman and he was thought to be the brains behind the operation. Sherman’s profile was unexpectedly deep and through, it made her wonder why they hadn’t got the guy if they knew so much about him.

However, it was another alleged member of the group that really caught her eye. There was very little on him, not even a picture, just his name, Sylus. He was suspected of being the leader of the group but there was a point of contention on if he was even real. The report mentions how some of the information about him seemed to be more stuff of urban legend than reality, for example. It was said that he could disappear into a plume of black and red smoke, Kore rolled her eyes at that. Yeah right he can do that, does he turn into a bat too? Like a fucking vampire?

Despite the myths that seemed to surround him it was confirmed that he was, in fact, a real person, and that he was the leader, or at least figurehead, of Onychinus. Everything that she learned about them culminated into hatred for this one man. “Hatred” was too weak of a word for what she felt, she loathed nim, no she despised him.

Somehow, someway, she was determined to make him pay for what he had done. If I could just go to the N109 Zone and track him down, I could make him pay, she thought. Wait, what’s stopping me from doing that? The gears in her brain started spinning and she was calculating exactly what steps she needed to take to go there. She wasn’t even sure what exactly she would do once she got there, but for the time being that was irrelevant to her.

Kore refocused her attention on the N109 Zone, this time searching Abyssal Chaos’ database. There was something new that caught her eye. A decades old brochure with touristy information, incredibly out of place for a top secret digital archive.

The scan resolution of the old pamphlet was abysmal, but it was still legible. What really confused her was that everytime the name of the town should have been mentioned it was scratched out. This wasn’t as if someone had redacted it digitally or with a pen, it looked like someone had been desperate to erase the name in its entirety.

Come to think of it, she had never heard of the N109 Zone referred to anything other than that. By the age of the brochure it was clear that it was older than the Catastrophe so it could not have possibly always been the N109 Zone, she reasoned. A picture captured her attention.

Nearly an entire page was dedicated to the brand new Ever research facility that was opened in 2007. Outside of the shiny new building was the unmistakable image of her grandmother, decades younger than the woman she had known, but it was her nonetheless.

Unexpectedly seeing her grandmother like that was like a punch to the gut. Especially when she was having so many mixed emotions about the woman since she had learned more about her role in the experimentation that was done on her. She tried to clear her mind and get back to reading, but it was difficult.

Inside there was the regular touristy information one would expect a city to promote, the weather, hot spots to check out and sights to see, as well as a map of the city. Thinking ahead or acting in pure paranoia, Kore downloaded the document onto a hard drive she kept at her desk before she switched focus.

Before shutting down her computer, she made one last search. She typed in “aether cores” and waited for the results. It was exactly as Xaiver had said, the Hunter’s Association didn’t know anything about them – at least not in an official capacity.

Kore was getting tired and her desk was looking mighty comfortable. Checking the clock, it hadn’t even struck twelve, she decided that there wouldn’t be much harm in taking a short rest, so she gave herself permission to close her eyes. Sleep hit her hard and fast.

Next >

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writernopal · 6 days ago

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Word Find Tag

I was tagged by @talesfromaurea here! Thanks so much!

My words were: dream, stars, fire, and chill

All sneeps come from AASOAF 3!

dream

Just as there is a season to reap, so there is another to sow. Just as tide and breath drawn in and out, so there is a moment to wonder if they are everlasting to one or to this world. And so it is the rule, the way of things—belief suspended, reason shelved. And now, time has stopped, a window to dream has opened, and the world holds its breath, watching as the moon walks before the sun.

stars

How many times had I known those features beneath my lips and fingers? So many and yet not enough. Never enough. I could spend the rest of my nights, days, every waking moment, knowing them as I knew my own and it would still not be enough. To know her, to love her, was to love the stars dotting the night sky, for they and she were one in the same—peerless and more than any of us mortals deserved to set eyes on.

fire

The little being quivered with excitement just beneath my breastbone, veritably seizing my heart and will in its strange ecstasy as we drew nearer to one another. He caught my wrist but quickly released it, as though it was not flesh and blood, but fire and iron. And when he recoiled, the men reawakened from their odd slumber, the staid scent of moth-bitten fabric blooming, no, bursting forth with their consciousness. I blinked, my breath catching as the smell of the sea rushed back. The captain was gone.

chill (kind of cheating bc i dont have chill but chilly)

I wiggled out of Axtapor’s grasp, put on a cloak, and stepped out into the chilly morning air. Both camps were silent, pervading the quiet were the headwinds arriving from the sea, the flapping of tents and the soft whipping of lines, suspended from many masts like a network of spider webs. There was something disconcerting about seeing these great vessels heeled over in the sand like this. Shrouded in the morning’s fog and mists, they appeared like massive specters, looming over us expectantly, just as the visages of the gods once had dangled over me.

Tagging (gently): @oh-no-another-idea @paintedbutton @kaylinalexanderbooks and @noblebs

You words will be: hope, ardent, glow, suspend

AASOAF 3 Taglist: @outpost51 @thelivingdeceased @faelanvance @captain-kraken @illjustpretend

@elshells @full-on-sam @the-mindless @zestymimblo @tabswrites

@void-botanist

Join/leave the taglist using this Google Form.

#tag game #word find tag #aasoaf #my writing

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itsgrimeytime · 1 year ago

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Magnolia in May (Part Seven) || Rick Grimes (TWD) x Greene!f!reader Regency AU

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6...

Taglist: @loliakeoghan23 @belaballs

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Inspiration (in honor of Speak Now Taylor's Version): Enchanted by Taylor Swift.

Summary: Your town was small, not the smallest you knew, but anyone of high fortune was the gossip of the week. Predictably, Richard Grimes was a thing of whispers -rumors of a search for marriage among the grassy hills. You weren't one to buy into town gossip, but something about him... just seemed a little too intriguing.

TWS: kinda anti-Lori, misunderstandings, a marriage of convenience, and mentions of loneliness.

[[A/N: girllllll, not another Magnolia in May chapter!!! Whoops. And actually tagging bestie @imaginemyfavoritefics properly this time, bc I did use the idea of Daryl as the courier. Unrelated but this gif of him clenching his jaw... girl. Thanks for reading !! ]]

You'd taken to writing letters -the gentle swish of your quill was calming the storm of your mind. Originally, you had garnered a sort of cold from the walk in the rain and had to heal -now, you'd stayed holed up of your own accord.

'Nonsense, darling,' Headmistress had said, fluffing up your pillows, '-you must heal from a broken heart like any other wound.'

It was fewer letters and more of a sort of journal -only for your eyes to see but sometimes addressed to someone other than yourself. It started simply with one occasionally to Maggie to make her smile, or Beth to tell her things you'd learned so she wouldn't have to, or to remind Father to eat a meal when he'd been so focused on a patient that he'd neglect himself. But then, Mr. Grimes started appearing at the header.

You couldn't remember the first time it had happened, days rather blurred after that day -especially since you were treated shortly after. And rest was all you'd really gotten then, it made the passage of time blurry.

But it became something you were rather dependent on.

'Mr. Grimes,' you wrote in the first of its kind, quill rather fluid at this stage.

'I met your wife, Lori. She's a wonderful woman, kind and perfectly poised. I would, in a different life, maybe be friends with her -seems the type to be good company. Was it always her?

You've got something special, a family with beautiful children. It's every man's dream, is it not? You were my dream. I find it a bit hard to believe she would leave that dream behind. For what is more powerful than one's love for their child? I suppose there were other circumstances that I shall never be aware of. I would've liked to have known why. I understand it's a rather personal thing, but I should be urged to hear something of the full story. I might deserve it.

But I suppose you deserve a full family more. Carl and Judith do. I wouldn't fit in. I would love the best for them, despite not having known Carl, he seems a bright boy. Deserves much of the best in life, I'd garner all children do.

I often wonder if I am to have children. I suppose I could ask you for advice one day, if so. But there's something in me that speaks differently. Like that path with you is gone. Maybe I should run off to the city and write away, become focused on my education. Pay for my father's living, and house my sister's 'til they're wed.

I don't think I could, with good conscience, leave Alexandria. I'm far too fond of the people the town, its where I grew up. And I suppose, to keep my father's clinic running under the family name I may marry. I'm not too sure that I'd marry for love, per say. Can you begin the fall in love more than once? Is it possible? And furthermore, although it is something I wish for, I'm not sure that I would like to bring children into a loveless marriage.

This is getting far too detailed of my own troubles, and for that I apologize.

I truly wish your family well. Even if there's no room for me.

Yours Sincerely,

Y/N Greene'

It was a positive experience, mostly. The smearing on that letter particularly wasn't of cathartic tears. Not quite a release of the emotions dying so tightly within your soul, it was rather grief. Loss of a life that you'd never have. Despite it being the one you desperately wanted.

You sighed, stashing away the paper with the other ones -the second desk drawer to the right, under the math textbook that had been gathering dust even before you were born.

Sure, it messed your hands, but you found it was a small price to be paid for secrecy.

"Y/N, dearest," your Headmistress hummed -voice pounding up the stairs, "-get dressed and meet me at the door in 10, will you?"

"Yes, Headmistress," you echoed, off to your feet and only touching up ever-so-slightly by the mirror. And in your rush, maybe you had forgotten to shut the drawer -you couldn't know now. It stayed open, and the telling corner of dustless papers under a dusty book was certainly one to ponder over.

At least for someone, it was.

You wouldn't know what had occurred until a few weeks later, as you sorted out your joint closet with Maggie. Gathering bows and ribbons, and straightening dresses, was a wonderful way to pass time -since your newest book was seeming to be tucked away in the carriage. You truly could not find it anywhere-

And then, there was a knock at the door.

Now, normally, this was of no notice -either for Maggie (who had gone on frequent outings with Mr. Rhee since the ball) or Father (ranging anywhere from an old friend to an urgent patient). But this was one to put a pause in your mind.

Maggie was, in fact, out -you remembered the shimmer of the carriage as it pulled away, and Father was rushed off for an emergency. And even further, Headmistress and Beth had gone out to a sort of gathering -some sort of tea party, you'd assumed. (They'd invited you, but you'd truly not wished to hear the gossip. Especially not now.)

You stilled, you were alone here then.

Well, you considered -making your way down the steps, -could be a sort of delivery. Ms. Elisa did frequently speak with friends out of town -often through letters. And Father always had an extra copy of cases delivered to his home -so he could think properly on an issue.

Satisfied with that, you approached the door with newfound confidence -fear that had stubbornly stuck there was unfounded. You twisted a bit of fabric in your dress, just to do something with your hands before swinging open the door.

And, it was a familiar face. Not one you had a name to, but one you knew -the courier.

"Ms. Greene," he spoke, his voice gruff and tired, much less peppy than you'd seen him before, "-I assume?"

"Yes," you answered cautiously, "-I'm the eldest Ms. Greene, why? If you're looking for Maggie-"

"No," he answered, simply, long hair moving with the motion of his head, "-Mr. Grimes requested this be given to you, the eldest."

"I can't acce-" you started but fell shut as a letter was extended to you -two letters. One a familiar sort of coffee-tinged brown -paper old and weary, you could hardly believe the quill hadn't punctured right through really. And the other, neatly folded, a pristine sort of ivory, and dark ink that somehow didn't seem to smudge at all. On the side that was exposed to you was written: Ms. Y/N Greene, in handwriting you recognized.

The one that had scribbled across the invitation so long ago-

"Who are you?" you questioned -eagerly bringing the letters close to your chest, "-And how did you get my letter? Have you been in my home-"

"Ms. Greene," he spoke -composed and calm, unmoved by your pressing questions, "-they were presented to me to mail weeks ago."

You froze, something heavy dropping in your stomach, "They? How... How many letters were you given to post?"

"A stack, no more than 10," he responded, "-the youngest Ms. Greene, opened the door for me once to deliver an invitation. The same one I 'ave been for weeks- It ain't relevant, really. She knew where I came from, and requested I bring 'em to Mr. Grimes immediately."

You paused, "An invitation?"

"More like a summonin'," he clarified, rather poised but still somewhat a bit casual, "-it's always the same request for you, the eldest, to attend to the Grimes estate."

"What?"

He paused, "It's supposed to be brought to ya, upon retrieval but... I'd guess it hasn't."

"You've-" you exhaled -a deep uncertain exhale, "-Just how long have you been delivering these?"

"Lost count."

"And-" you stuttered, a bit overwhelmed, "-and the letters, my letters they-"

"I put 'em in his hand, myself," he spoke -an ordered sort of discipline heavy in his tone with a dose of familiar twang.

"Right," you swallowed -pushing down the nerves biting up your throat at such rampant pace, he was never to see those, "-and who are you exactly?"

"Grimes estate courier," he grumbled out, a some of bitterness gathered there.

"No, no," you quirked a brow at him, "-your name? I figured as much otherwise."

He answered, rather improperly -as if he was trained in some ways and ignorant in others just slightly, "-Daryl Dixon."

"Mr. Dixon," you echoed, a sort of curiosity in your tone, "-you said he received the full stack, did he not?"

He merely nodded.

"Well, why do I only have one, then?"

The man pondered it for a second, loosely eyeing the way you held the letters like he knew what they contained (maybe he did), "I suppose he ain't done replyin' to the others."

The rest of the interaction was fairly polite, mere questions about his work -to which he complained quite vividly about the extent of it, but never shred a wrong light on Mr. Grimes. You'd gathered they were well-acquainted, even perhaps friends from youth, but you couldn't exactly pinpoint it. He didn't say anything directly, and was rather quiet around details. Well, details pertaining to Mr. Grimes, you supposed.

You'd initially wanted to search for the invitations he spoke of, but something bigger was biting you.

Your hands were quick to rush to the drawer, pulling it open -to suddenly believe it was not real. To prove that all of this was a farce, that the letters were still safely kept. But, when you opened it, you could tell.

Even still, you pushed forward holding up the book, peering underneath. It was empty, extraordinarily empty.

"No, no, no-" you urged, heart sinking to the bottom of your stomach -heavy, "-it can't be..."

Private pieces of you, of your sadness, your longing- Sent to the married man of the header.

And just back as you pushed back in your chair, the brush of tears only a breath away -your eyes caught on the letter.

It was not yours.

Yours sat just beside it, you recognized it to be the first one -all sort of crumpled and agonizingly smudged. All conflicted feelings and harsh realities buzzing under your skin. You'd written it partially under the delirium of your illness, so it was rather brash but you'd never thought you'd need to worry about it. The only thing different was how it was presented.

You remember hastily shoving it away, between book covers, under table legs, hidden in the dirt of the garden, as you tried to find a good place to stash them. You'd always been so quick to put them away, to get out the feelings and move on-

Looking at it now, though, the worn paper was smoothed out (to the best it could be) and perfectly folded. Each corner matched to another and creases were indented lightly so as to not damage the written word. It was treated as precious. Something... Something he'd rather cared for.

Something told you then to get rid of it, to throw it onto the fire when no one was looking, to stash it away, to never read it no matter the cost because you were doing the right thing and should not be swayed-

But another part of you was dreadfully curious. And dreadfully grieving the loss of a man who still lived.

It was your mail, a letter addressed to you. Wouldn't it be rather rude to not read it? If you hadn't wished the first one to be mailed, you retorted, then no.

And yet, you found yourself picking up the note with the gentlest of graces. Carefully unfolding the thick paper, slowly, timidly, like the words would jump off the page. Like they could hurt you.

You supposed they could.

Once fully opened, you didn't directly focus on the words -instead, detailing the printed bits around the top edges. It looked as though this was an official sort of paper -the same kind an invitation may be extended to. As well as a family seal printed into the bottom right corner, it seemed a little formal for the occasion but you found it didn't bother you. Not really.

Taking a deep breath, you blinked your eyes -wishing to calm your heart, even just for a moment, and started reading.

'Ms. Greene,' it started, letters crisply written in a thin but precise sort of writing. Your finger naturally went to trace over them, dotting the i's and swirling the g's.

'I must first say that it's to my understanding that these letters are rather personal to you. You weren't the one who intended to mail them, I've come to know. I know that this then, by proxy, is a large invasion of your privacy.

And I can only hope you forgive me for such a thing. Because this is my sort of last resort to reach you. I'm sure you're familiar with the invitations that have flooded your door, and although, I understand the no response for what you know, I've become quite desperate.

To be completely clear, I was nearly on my horse to your home the morning these letters arrived. To explain everything as you deserve it to be explained.

I instead am here, writing letters. I cannot tell if that's any sort of better than my original plan was but it is the decision I chose.

In terms of Lori, the situation is rather complicated. Surely, at the young age we married, she was the plan. I'd honestly not given thought to the fact that she'd ever come back. I knew her reasons, and I fully doubted I'd ever see her again. And out of respect for you, I wish for the full story to be in person.

Despite all that, I truly wished she would. I know I did. If not only to see our children, to grace me with some sort of company.

I lived a rather lonely life before you Ms. Greene. Which may seem a bit arbitrary coming from a man with a staff, but it doesn't make it any less the truth. When she left, it was quite the scandal. I never spoke a word on it, too devastated to even imagine what to say. It meant much more reclusion, even from friends I knew from youth. And then, as I'm sure you're familiar, I decided to move back to Alexandria. Atlanta only harbored negative things, and I wished for someplace more pleasant. And it was, but still despite it all, the loneliness persisted.

So this family, this full family, you speak of, it's not what Lori and I would be. It wasn't what we were when we were married. I love my children, beyond belief, but I was still lonely. And I can't imagine a full family has a lonely father.

Frankly, Ms. Greene, I was lonely until that day in the marketplace.

And on the off chance you don't understand what I mean, I ask, from the depths of my heart, don't leave Alexandria.

Yours,

Richard Grimes'

#rick grimes #rick grimes x reader #its griming time #stuff n' thangs #rick grimes x you #rick grimes x y/n #ricky dicky doo dah grimes #twd #twd rick #rick grimes x y/n fanfiction #rick grimes oneshot #magnolia in may #narrative letters ??? drama

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