â iâm aware that minors are gonna do what they want, but i ask if youâre a minor, do not follow me or engage with my content. i block freely. i do not write for female reader.
18+ | Part of us. dark! yandere! yennefer of vengerberg & geralt of rivia x reader headcannons.
đ đ˘đđđđđŚ: You've been a part of Geralt and Yen's hot and cold relationship for so long that, when they imagine the other, you're usually there, too.
đ¤đđđđđđđ : magical trackers / stalking, baby trapping with ciri, cheating / breaking up and getting back together. Geralt being scared of commitment. third wheeling. light somnophilia. geralt and yen fighting for custody of their third wheel. mentions of sex / hickeys / making out. nonconsensual voyeurism.
đĄđđđ : dark / yandere! geralt of rivia and yennefer of vengerberg. gender neutral reader.
đ/đ: My usual stuff is marvel / dc but I do in fact love witcher, too. this is inspired by the books / games / comics rather than the show but show enjoyers can read this too.
đš Originally, you're the biggest third (fourth when dandelion is around) wheel ever. You try to go do your own thing and one of them usually conveniently shows up to steal your attention, dragging you around with whatever task they're trying to perform.
đš Yen gifts you a necklace very early on that is made of beautiful gemstones, velvets, and diamonds. She tells you that it will let you keep a piece of her with you always. It's a sweet gesture, but Yen didn't really gift it to you just for you. It's enchanted with a complex tracker, allowing Yen to home in on your location whenever she pleased. Unable to sense magic, you're none the wiser.
đš Geralt doesn't have complex magics under his control, so Yen gifts him a similar necklace that both keeps track of his location and lets him keep track of yours. He just thinks it's your tracker and only finds out it also tracks him a few years later. He's not really happy about it but decides to make a sacrifice to keep it just so he knows where you are.
đš Yen likes to show up in whatever town you're in to make sure you're fed and cared for. She likes treating you to expensive meals you can't usually buy and insists on feeding you. When you don't let her, she critiques the 'barbaric methods' in which you eat until you give in and let her do it for you. Eventually it becomes so commonplace for her to feed you that you don't even try to feed yourself, something Yen is very satisfied with.
đš Geralt is more of a distant participant in your care; he likes to kill every monster in a ten-mile radius of your present location to make sure you never go under threat. He gets to bring the monster heads back and at times gets paid for it if there was a contract out, but he makes sure you know it was for you when he comes back to the inn, covered in blood and stinking of sweat, horse, and monster bile.
đš Geralt, who pouts until you bathe him in the inn to show your appreciation for keeping you safe.
đš Yen, who always buys one bed for the three of you and insists that you have to share.
đš You, who gets smushed between a witcher and a sorceress more often than is particularly pleasant.
đš You, who often wake up to Geralt and Yennefer making out right beside you, uncaring of your presence as they caress one another and suck hickeys into each other's throats.
đš You, who eventually get so used to it that you just roll over and go back to sleep.
đš Geralt and Yennefer, who start to have sex right beside you, moaning loud and whispering declarations of love and dedication.
đš You, who gets used to that, too.
đš Geralt and Yennefer, who start realizing that when they think of their relationship, its not just them. It's them and you, too.
đš Geralt and Yennefer, who start caressing your waist and your thighs when you sleep.
đš You, who have to deal with their frequent fights and break-ups. When Geralt disappears out the window in the middle of the night with a note calling Yennefer his dear friend, Yen complains to you for three hours and expects you to agree with every comment and insult she has.
đš When Yen starts bringing other men around, you end up in the woods with Geralt, who doesn't complain like Yennefer did but has an eternal look of a kicked puppy, which is just as bad.
đš Geralt and Yennefer, who start fighting over who gets to keep you when they're separated.
đš Geralt and Yennefer, who get back together a week later and it's like nothing ever happened.
đš Geralt and Yennefer, who get Ciri and expect you to care for her, too.
đš Geralt, who asks your opinion on what to do with Ciri. Geralt, who gets sad when you try to uninvolve yourself in their shared parenting.
đš Yennefer, who tells you that you're just as much of a parent to Ciri as she and Geralt, and that you need to step up.
đš Geralt and Yennefer, who use Ciri to keep you with them.
đš You, who feel empty and lost when they disappear with the wild hunt. It's the first time in decades since you've been apart. You always had at least one of them by your side, and now with both of them gone, you don't know what to do.
warnings: tokophobia. ftm pregnancy scare. abortions. hurt / comfort. vent fic. 600 follower special out of spite
A/N: you thought i was joking when i said iâd write m-abortion?
it wasnât supposed to be possible. everything youâve heard about witchers- everything geralt has told you- pointed to the idea that this wasnât possible.
as soon as even a whiff of you feeling ill crossed geraltâs nose, he practically dragged you by the ear to the nearest apothecary; glaring at the poor woman the entire time she checked you over. muttering under her breath and sighing as she leans back in her wicker chair.
âgirl,â she hisses, venom lacing her voice in a way that makes geralt bare his teeth. she visibly flinches under the weight of his glare. âiâm not the most informed on how witcher.. bits work,â she explains, opening her palms outward and taking your shaking hands in hers. âif my knowledge serves me right,â her lips upturn into a smile with a little too much lip to keep from turning into a sneer, âyouâre going to be a mother-â
you turn away from the woman as geraltâs sword cleaves through her neck, blood spraying across your face as the head falls, now detached, from her neck. everything feels.. numb, and far away; you donât even register geraltâs calloused hands wrapping under your knees and shoulders, carrying you away from the apothecaryâs shop.
he takes you to a stream that runs behind the apothecary, gently placing you on a stone long flattened by rushing water. your teeth chatter and hands shake as he splashes cold water on your face and neck, gently scrubbing away the tackied blood.
you stare at nothing as geraltâs hands wrap around your waist, pulling you close enough you can hear his inhumanly slow heartbeat. with his own shirt discarded somewhere nearby, the unnatural heat of geraltâs skin is a gentle brand and tether to the present.
geralt presses his nose to your scalp, breathing in deeply to inhale as much of your scent as possible. âyou donât..â he pauses, picking his words carefully, âsmell different.â
âwhat if sheâs right.â you canât bring yourself to phrase it as anything more than a statement. a question would feel too real and set in stone. âwhat if i am-â
âthen weâll get rid of it.â geralt states, blunt and simple. âiâll find silphium so it canât develop any further.â
tears catch at your waterline, your breath hitching in fear and anticipation both. you pray to whatever god lends an ear to witchers that itâs that simple. â..please.â
âconsider it done.â geralt hums, pressing a quick kiss to the crown of your head. âi might have some in the saddlebags.â he stands, wrapping his cloak around you as you shiver in the early evening breeze. you stand as well, following behind him to the campfire he had set up earlier.
roach whinnies as geralt digs through her saddlebags, clearly not impressed at being bothered so late into the day. he huffs alongside her, face drawn tight in concentration. anticipation and fear make your blood thrum under your skin; only letting up when geralt turns with silphium held triumphantly in his grasp.
âfrom what i remember, you eat the seed pods raw or cook them into a tea.â geralt says, leading you back to the fire and settling down next to you. your head rests at the crux of his neck, his breath fanning over your nose as his deft fingers coax the seed pods out of the flower. âeat.â
not wanting to waste another minute in the hellish limbo state youâve been plunged into, you swallow the bitter seeds whole; trying not to grimace at the taste. geralt hums, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you closer to his chest, close enough you can feel his heartbeat against your ear.
silence fills the void of conversation comfortably for a few minutes while your brain runs a mile a minute. gods you hope this works, or this whole ordeal is just an overreaction-
âi love you, you know.â geralt says into the night, and tears burn hot against your waterline again. âweâll get through this.â
and the way he says it, so surely, so matter of fact, you canât help but believe him.
Alien Stage fans are the most illiterate and dumbfounded fandom đĽ
2 seconds of Ivan and it's "OMG IVAN!!!! IVANTILL MENTIONED!!!!" After a whole episode is about Mizisua and Mizisua itself đŤŠ
Speaking of Mizisua, why are people defending Sua and being purely misogynistic towards Mizi?? Why are we talking about Mizi not being a lesbian even though she's clearly being forced to entertain??
Are we not understanding that Mizi and Sua's relationship is unhealthy and they're both going through exploitation within the Kpop industry? We've learned about this in Alien Stage đ
It is not only Mizisua that's unhealthy. Most of the cast of the series are unhealthy, but we all can't go into depth about it and instead focus on the most unnecessary details đ¤Ś
It's obvious half of the fanbase prioritize shipping characters without learning the true message of the series...yikes
crazy how vivimeng ended up with one of the more violently misogynistic and racist fandoms iâve seen recently and theyâre both queer women of color
and my last one! i promise i wont clog up your asks after this im just excited to be able to read stuff about pierrot without a "my lady" or a bottom reader lol
this one might be a little cringe but! monster mc who doesnt know he's a monster, cause he's acclimated into human society. i was thinking like the irish/scottish myth of shapeshifters replacing human children and being raised by human society yk?
so obviously mcs never questioned his own humanity, butttt, pierrot might notice some signs, being a monster himself :3c
- đ
CUCKOOS EGG
pierrot x male reader
warnings: yandere themes, shapeshifter reader, stalking, funky mind reading shit
⼠youâve always suspected something was⌠off with you. like a floor tile just crooked enough to be noticeable but not obstructive in the long run. something that caught your eye in your peripheral vision but disappeared when you got a good look.
⼠it wasnât until the strange circus performer aptly named pierrot intruded in your life that you truly started paying attention to it.
⼠his gaze lingered far too long to be casual glances- but that was normal. for him, anyway. you got used to his eyes boring holes into your back pretty early on. but, sometimes, it looked like he was looking through you. seeing something you couldnât notice yourself.
⼠today, though, pierrot makes his move.
⼠he slinks into your apartment with the ease of well-practiced movement, opening and closing your slider door without a sound. he steps carefully to your bed, avoiding all of the creaky spots on the floor and kneeling down onto the bed, close enough for his head to rest on the mattress.
⼠âmy lord,â pierrot greets, lowering his head in a faux-bow. âmy sweet, naive lord.â his fingers crawl up the sheets, and he presses a hand against your temple, shivering at the low groan you let out unconsciously.
⼠what heâs looking for doesnât rest on your head, but rather, in it. something hidden deep in the crevices of your brain, hidden beneath the typical amnesia of early childhood memories.
⼠it doesnât take long to find it, humming in thought as he watches the memory replay. little you, swaddled in a fluffy blanket as a faceless person lays you on the doorstep of a quiet house, lights out and windows shuttered. when they turn to leave, they donât even bother to turn back; instead, their steps slow noticeably and their body visibly relaxes as you let out a wail.
⼠an older pair of humans toddle to the doorstep, and they coo softly at the pile of blankets with little you swaddled in the very center. the door closes behind them, and pierrot returns to the present; and he canât stop the grin that splits his face.
⼠your hand has wrapped around his, tugging him closer in your slumber. pierrot nearly vibrates with excitement. âmy lord,â he whispers reverently, âyou are devine while you sleep.â
Hihiiii can I request halsin from bg3 games x top male reader? With halsin cockwarming reader (I kinda want reader to be bigger/taller and also fat.... hope that's not too much to ask)
FILLED (TO THE BRIM)
halsin x male! reader
warnings: cockwarming, anal sex, readerâs got a big dick, big n tall reader, fat reader, (described as having a soft and a large tummy,) short n spicy
âhalsin,â your footsteps echo on the cold stone of the groveâs meeting room, grabbing halsinâs attention by the reigns. âi would like to try something with you tonight.â
he raises an eyebrow, but gestures for you to continue speaking. you grin, marching up to where heâs sitting and whispering into his ear. he blushes from his clavicle to the tips of his ears.
âif it pleases you, i will do so.â
presently, you hiss as halsin shifts slightly from his position, warm hole pleasantly wrapped tight around your cock, slick from the oil kept hidden in halsinâs desk for this very purpose. he pants against your shoulder, his more toned stomach pressing against your softer one and creating a pleasant friction.
his cock is nestled at the crook of his thighs, swollen and red at the tip from which a steady rivulet of precome drips down the shaft.
âfuck,â halsin hisses, hips humping your spread legs in hopes to fuck your length deeper into him. âi had not realized nor anticipated how-â his words drop into a low moan as your dick presses against a sensative spot, âfull i would feel in this position.â
âthatâs the idea,â you whisper, pressing a kiss against halsinâs shoulder. he nuzzles closer to the contact readily, and youâre happy to oblige; latching your mouth onto the crux of his throat and sucking the skin until it blooms purple. âmy wonderful halsin.â
âgods,â he chokes, huffing out a laugh, âi do not think i will last much longer.â
âneither do i,â you whisper in return. he grunts, and you guide one of his hands to his own throbbing length, wrapping his fingers are it and giving it a few tentative strokes. âtouch yourself for me, wonât you?â
halsin whines, deep and low in his throat. itâs animalistic, primal in a way that makes your core thrum with tightly-wound pleasure. âhalsin,â you warn, hips bucking ever deeper into his hole, âiâm going to come. do it with me.â
halsin nods, clearly unwilling to disobey your command. his head throws back as his body tenses, legs tightening their hold against your waist as his dick spurts hot, white ropes of come onto your chest and his thighs.
your own release follows quickly after his, biting into halsinâs clavicle and pulling him flush against your skin, moaning deeply as you come inside halsin.
hi! if its no trouble, I'd love to request a alucard x reader fic. im not sure if you write for nonbinary!reader, but i am still transmasc so ftm!reader is also amazing. reader is quite reserved and studious, like alucard, but that results in them ending up sometimes bottling up emotions and forgetting they actually have to talk about them.
id like to just request some good old gender affirming nonsexual intimacy, because gender dysphoria is a bitch, and i can't imagine how much harder it wouldve been to be trans back in the 15th century. I imagine alucard would be very open regarding gender (given his androgynous presentation) and would be very good at comfort surrounding that. idk. I just need to take a bath with him and be told my body doesn't define who I am.
A/N: first time doing an alucard request!! i imagined this with nocturne alucard in mind, but feel free to imagine whatever version of alucard you want. also iâm imaging a kind of togata-fire-punch-style reader where he just wants to live as a man but because of his vampiric regeneration he canât.
youâve known adrian for a long, long time. youâve watched civilizations rise and fall with his hand in yours. youâve spent countless winters with him. time has slipped through your fingers like shadows running long during the winter solstice.
but youâve never bared yourself to him like this. skin stripped raw with a vulnerability that felt more unnatural than sharing a bed with him, pressed skin-to-skin to counteract the colder northern climate.
the tub is warm, water just hot enough to blush your skin, but not enough to scald. your arms wrap around your chest, trying to keep adrianâs eyes off the goosebump-speckled flesh.
with your back turned to him, it should be easy to pretend heâs not there at all. however, adrianâs deft fingers work into your scalp, kneading the skin and pressing into your pounding temples.
he doesnât even flinch at the blood staining the water a muddled red.
the sight of it sickens your stomach, curdling your intestines and making bile rise to your throat. the very process disgusted you nearly to the point of illness- were you not in pain for a week every lunar phase it could have been a minor inconvenience at best. but the world is not kind; horrible nausea, cramping like being hit with rocks repeatedly in your gut leaving you bed bound for days, and bleeding enough to soak through the bedsheets.
adrian hums, grabbing your attention. you incline your head to show youâre listening. âif you think it would be helpful, i can rub your lower back to ease some of the pain. only with your permission of course.â
you nod, and the water sloshes slightly around you as his hands sink under the water and hover against your waist. tension could tight in your gut as his fingers press into the dimples of your back, touch gentle enough to be noticeable but not intrusive.
adrian sighs through his nose, clearly gathering his thoughts. âi know it might not mean much to you,â he starts, and you have to suppress the urge to turn and look at him. not now- not with your chest exposed to him, bared for all the world to see and leer at. âbut your body does not define you.â
you scoff. âthat is easy for you to say, my love. the amount of times you have been mistaken as a girl is more than i can count on one hand.â adrianâs androgynous appearance made you simmer with jealousy, but you would never admit that to him. his vampiric beauty lended nicely to his body and made him appear ethereal to the average person.
âiâm well aware of that fact.â adrian responds, hands raising above the water and returning to his side to reach for the cloth resting on the rim of the tub, âyet i wanted to tell you anyway. even if you may not internalize it. you have always been my husband in all but name, and nothing your body does will change that.â
tears gather in your eyes at the factual tone adrian addresses you with. he speaks the praise like it is fact, written in stone and signed in blood. your breath stutters as you fight the burning in your throat. âyou donât mean that.â
âoh, but i do. itâs truth the same way night will fade into day.â adrian says, letting a hand rest on your shoulder. you turn to face him this time, a single tear escaping your waterline. âyour body doesnât define you, my love. my husband.â he presses a kiss to your temple, gentle and reverent.
Summary: After twenty years, a lot has changed, and youâve let yourself forget. Youâve found yourself where you never thought youâd be, but sometimes thatâs what it means to survive.
Like a violent storm, the past comes back, and it turns out there are some things the body will always remember.
Chapter Content Warnings: It's an AU, so it's inherently canon divergent, likely several historical inaccuracies (I'm not a historian), a bit of sexism, gun references (only like one here), parental loss (in the past), gratuitous descriptions of Sam's body (oops), injury, references to alcohol consumption, allusions to dubcon (not by Sam), vague references to sexual activity, slooow burn
Rating: Iâll say M for now, but eventually will be E in future chapters.
WC: 3.7k
A/N: Welcome on board the gunslinger!Sam Coe train. I'm really excited about this, and I hope you are too. Keep in mind that I am not a historian, but I have tried to set the tone as best I can. I'm already so attached to these two, so I hope you enjoy!
As ever, divider by @saradika đ¤
I get by, but itâs hard to forget
In the smoke of denial and the fog of regret
Dismal and dark, some like clouds in the sky of my soul
And I hear thunder rollâŚ
-- Drops in the Lake, Lord Huron
Old Earth, 1891
It was a hot day, even for August. Beads of sweat glistened on your forehead, ran down your back. Youâd opened the windows in the schoolhouse to at least get a cross-breeze, but it didnât feel like enough. Not with over ten warm bodies in one room. There wasnât much wind anyway, and the little tickles of fresh air that would occasionally meander in through the windows stood no chance of cooling you.Â
Your oldest kids were the last of the day, and you could tell by the way they restlessly looked out at the street and fidgeted in their seats that they were itching to be done. It was hard to learn in this heat, and the promise of getting home to something cold to drink was enough to make them glaze over as you spoke. Thatâs why you always saved the reading for last.Â
Journey to the Center of the Earth. Sarah had brought it to you from a bookseller in Fort Worth, and your older kids loved it. Tales of far-off lands, of mysteries beyond comprehension. You stumble over the German and Icelandic names when you read it, but the kids donât seem to mind as long as you always do the voices.
You pride yourself in your collection of books for the schoolhouse. Youâd been told by a few whoâd come to town that theyâd never seen a collection like yours. That brought a satisfied smile to your face, because you felt that was your responsibility to the children of Akila. Life was hard enough, the least you could do was transport them somewhere else for a while. You did a fair amount of that yourself. Youâd found more truth in fiction than in any book of science youâd ever read.
One time, your student Eliâs father had come around and scolded you for âwastinâ timeâ and âfillinâ their heads with fantasies,â to which you replied that your reason for reading to the kids was to teach literacy, and if he ever wanted his son to be able to read the Bible, heâd let you do your work. He didnât have much to say to that.
âSince the start upon this marvelous pilgrimage,â you begin Chapter 40, and the kids begin to settle, training their eyes on you intently. Their reward for making it through the lessons, especially math, was to listen to you take them on an adventure. âI had been through so many astonishmentsâŚâ
When the days adventure is done and you clap the book closed, the kids groan.Â
âMrs. Pryce, please!â Marianne cries, shooting her hand up, âplease, just one more chapter!âÂ
âWeâll have another chapter tomorrow,â you promise with a smile, setting the book on the desk beside you.Â
The kids pack up and file out of the schoolhouse, giggling to each other and speculating about what Axel, the Professor, and Hans were going to get up to next. Even on your darkest days, the way those children look at you, the way they laugh and smile makes you feel whole, like your life is worth living.Â
When you leave the schoolhouse, the afternoon is finally on the downturn to evening. You shield your eyes from the sun as you step out into the sweltering afternoon. The air feels close, like itâs sitting right on your skin. The few trees in town are filled with cicadas, and their constant hum fills your ears like running water. It was almost harvest, and the cicadas proved it.
You look over your list of things to get from Emersonâs, making sure you didnât forget anything. Most of the dayâs work is done now, and folks are starting to relax on their porches, kicking their feet up on the railing and finding something cool to drink.Â
You step onto the porch and into the store, eyes taking a moment to adjust to the shade of the inside. Everything looks greenish before youâre able to focus on Emerson leaning against the counter, talking to Jacob Coe.Â
âAfternoon, Mrs. Pryce.â Emerson turns and gives you a smile. Jacobâs arms are crossed, but his features soften when he sees you.Â
âHowâd them kids treat you today?â Jacob asks.
âOh, fine, Mr. Coe.â You smile as you hand him your list. âTheyâre a good bunch.â
âI hope my little Marianne didnât give you any trouble,â Emerson says as he crosses behind the counter to begin gathering your items. âOr Iâll have to report her to the Mayor,â he smiles cheekily, glancing at Jacob.
âOh, none at all, Mr. Shepherd. Sheâs one of my best behaved, you know.â You remember her hand shooting up in the air to ask you to read more. Youâd had many conversations with Marianneâs mother, and she had quietly promised you to make sure to read to Marianne every night.Â
âWhereâs your husband, Mrs. Pryce? I got somethinâ I need him for.â You didnât know where Jaylen was, you hadnât been home yet. You told Jacob as much.Â
âI see, well Iâll check Aggieâs. Night like this heâll be wantinâ a cold drink, what with his lovely wife beinâ out and unable to fix him one.â Jacob smiles, but the joke isnât very funny to you. Emerson eyes Jacob, but says nothing.Â
Jacob bids farewell, inviting Emerson around to Aggieâs for a game of cards after he closes up shop. Emerson nods, smiles gently.Â
âEveninâ, Mrs. Pryce.â Jacob tilts his hat to you on his way out the door.
âDonât pay him any mind, child.â Emerson says when Jacob has cleared the porch.Â
You donât respond, but give him a grateful smile as he hands you your bag of groceries.Â
Jacob had all but raised you after the night that took your parents away. You were young, only 16, and as quickly as blinking you had been left with no one. That night had been Hell on Earth, fire licking out the windows of the hotel, gunshots, the horses kicking up dust. The night had been hot, like tonight would be, and even though it was twenty long years ago now, the brand of it on your mind hadnât fully scabbed over.
That night, the town had been left to pick up the pieces, and you were one of the pieces that had to be picked up. Jacob loved you in his own way, you believed that. Though these days it was hard to tell if he loved you, or if he just loved Jaylen, of whom you were merely an extension.Â
As you leave Emersonâs, the sun starts to cast long shadows along the ground, golden light reflecting off the windows. In the distance, something dark is forming, the angry clouds tinted purple in the first hues of sunset.Â
You need to get home and get the laundry washed before the rain comes. Youâll have to hang it up inside tonight. Jaylen is almost out of clean clothes, and you donât really want to hear what heâll have to say if you donât get it done. There was also that hole in his sock that needed darning, but you figure he can deal with that a little longer.
When you arrive home, knocking the dust off your boots at the door, youâre a bit relieved to see that Jaylen isnât home after all. On an evening like this one youâre sure Jacob was right, Jaylen was more than likely three beers in at Aggieâs, laughing and smoking over a table of cards. At least that meant you could have the night to yourself. That is, until he came home late, smelling of tobacco and beer, touching your waist and calling you his âpretty little wife.â At least he was mostly nice to you, albeit a little rough. You knew plenty of women in town who had it worse.
You gather up the laundry, the worn fabric catching on the callouses of your hands. You pull Jaylenâs spare vest off the back of the chair, first carefully unhooking his sheriffâs badge and setting it down on the table.Â
Jacob had made Jaylen his deputy that night of the attack, after the former lay dead in the dirt. He had made Jaylen Pryce his deputy, right under his own sonâs nose. After a few years, the old Mayor died of consumption, and Jacob and Jaylen moved up a peg.Â
After everything, you had still married the law.
As you hiked the basket of laundry onto your hip, you thought about how you half-wished you could be at Aggieâs too, drinking and laughing and losing at card games. Maybe even go upstairs to Madame Andrejaâs and fuck out your frustrations, just like all the men did.
It wasnât worth dwelling on.Â
The sun hangs low in the sky as you near the river, purposefully going a bit out of your way to get to your favorite spot. The clouds are moving in, and you know you need to make haste. It was nearly an hourâs walk to the bend in the river that you frequented, but it gave you such a beautiful view of the sparkling lake upstream, it was worth the journey. The riverbend was one of those places that made the world feel limitless, stretched out in front of you for miles. You could lose yourself to the fantasy of riding off across the western flats, out into whatever the rest of the world offered you.
As you near the water, you hear talking and splashing, and realize you arenât alone. Your heart creeps into your throat. There was never anyone here. Itâs one of the reasons you came, rather than going to the riverside near the town where everyone else washed up. You slow, dipping behind a willow, unsure of what youâre coming up onto. A woman alone at dusk, defenseless. Maybe youâd gotten too comfortable. A cricket chirps near you, and you want to hush it. Dark was coming.
âI swear, I donât know anyone who can shoot the head off a snake from a hundred paces.â A deep voice, a manâs.
âWell this saysââ this voice was smaller, softer. A childâs?
âItâs a story. They make it sound more impressive than it actually is.â
A man and a kid, then. That seems harmless enough. You pass carefully between the trees, until you can clearly see the water. It leaves you still hidden, but gives you the chance to further assess the situation.
The man is bathing, his back to you. Your eyes immediately fix on his broad back, his hair falling in wet curls around the base of his neck. You watch his arms as they come up around his head, his fingers touseling the grime out of his hair. Thereâs the kid, seated against a nearby tree, book resting on her folded knees. She looks maybe ten or twelve from your quick mental comparisons to kids in your class. Something about the girl looks almost familiar, but youâre sure youâve never seen her. Two horses off to the side swish their tails, their backs packed up with bags, reins tied around a willow branch. Travelers, then. No fire, you notice.
The man turns toward the shore then, hair wet and curly over his face. Your eyes rake down his body, and your cheeks burn. You should look away. You should. He starts to move out of the water and you try to force your eyes from him, but your body wonât let you.Â
Jaylen was the only man in nearly twenty years that you had seen like this, but with him youâd never made much of a point to look. Jaylen was fine enough looking, you guessed. Some of the women in town had told you so. You tried to take their word for it.Â
Your eyes passed over the manâs chest, down the softness of his tummy, your ears feeling like theyâre going to burn right off of your head. The water now only dances around his knees. With a little bit of shame, you think that at least this gives you something new to think about as Jaylen pulls in and out of you, your eyes locked on your forearms.Â
You pull your eyes away from his core to see his arms, corded with muscle, move to push the hair from his face. The dimming sunlight illuminates his features and your heart drops into your stomach.Â
Thatâs Sam Coe.
It floods back then, as strong and heavy as rain after a drought, and it threatens to wash you away. Years of repressed memories run toward you like a horse at full speed, but your feet are glued to the ground.Â
No, no, no. Your ears are ringing, your mind is reeling.Â
The memory slams into you.Â
Sixteen, the night he left. âCome with me,â he pleaded, eyes red and face stained with tears.Â
âI canât. I canât.â You were crying so hard you were gagging, chest heaving.
âIt can just be me and you,â he took your hands in his.Â
You pulled them away. âNo, it canât, Sam. It canât. I have nothing - nothing!âÂ
âYou donât need anything. We donât need anything but each other.â
You spin on your heels. Panic surges through your veins, your body a live wire. Get out. Get out. Get out. Your inner voice is screaming, pleading. You donât even register your body moving.
âDonât leave me, Sam.â You pleaded, âPlease. You leave and I lose everything.âÂ
You slam into the ground before you even know what happened, a yelp escaping your lips. All of the laundry is thrown to the ground in front of you. You go to scramble up, but your foot is caught in a hole. You pray to anything listening that they didnât hear you.Â
âMaâam?â A small voice. The kid.Â
Shit.Â
You turn to follow the sound, see her running toward you. âAre you okay?â
âUh,â you stutter, ankle searing with pain. âUh, yeah. Iâm fine.â You lie, but admit defeat. You canât run from this, canât even stand.Â
âCora! Cora, come back here!â Samâs voice rings through the trees.Â
âThereâs a woman! Sheâs hurt!â Cora cries back, kneeling beside you in the dirt.
Then there he comes, pants haphazardly slung over his hips, buttoning them as he jogs. His chest is still bare. He sees your face, looking at him through dusty hair, your body still splayed over the dirt. He stops in his tracks.Â
He utters your name like a question, like heâs been struck across the face with it.
âYou know her?â Cora questions, looking over her shoulder at him. At the sound of her voice, he seems to come to his senses, but he doesnât answer her question. He walks the rest of the way over, his shadow casting over your body.Â
âYour foot,â he says, âitâs caught.â
You know that, and after twenty years youâd hoped heâd have something else to say.Â
How many nights had you laid there, sleepless, as Jaylen snored beside you? How many middle-of-the-nights had you seen, waking up in a cold sweat after having dreamt of that night, about a day that heâd come back for you? How many times did you recall to your memory that night in the barn, tangled up in each other and swearing to keep it a secret. You still had never told a soul.Â
You had dreamed about him for nearly twenty years. None of the dreams ever went like this.
âI know,â you say. Itâs all you can think to say.
He kneels beside your feet, and gently tugs at the root that ensnared you. He gingerly takes your ankle, and when his fingers press into your skin, electricity shoots through your blood.Â
âItâs starting to swell,â he says. He looks up at the sky. ââN itâs gonna start raining soon.âÂ
âIâm okay,â you try. âI can make it back.â You know itâs a lie, but the idea of being near him for any longer fills your throat with bile.
âYeah, right. Itâs an hourâs walk back and your ankle looks like hell.â
âItâs fine,â you say, but youâre not sure who youâre trying to convince. You look up at the sky to avoid looking at his chest, his arms, his shoulders, as he sits back on his heels.
âWe can take her into town, canât we, Dad?âÂ
Dad. The word echoes in your head. This was Samâs daughter. Of course it was. You hadnât had time to reason out their relationship until now, and you feel a fresh wave of shame flood your head as you remember where your focus had been.Â
Heâs a father. You feel a fresh wave of panic, a renewed desire to flee. You go to press yourself up, but your ankle wonât take any weight.Â
âSâwhat I thought. Be careful.â Sam says. His tone has a bite, but behind it you sense his genuine concern. You donât say anything as you lower yourself back to the ground.
He sighs. Cora doesnât know what sheâs suggesting, you know that as well as he does.Â
So thatâs why they hadnât lit a fire.Â
âYeah, string bean. Weâll take her in.â
âNoââ you choke out.
âShh,â he says. âCora, can you get the horses ready? Leave my shirt, I need it.â
Cora nods eagerly before jumping to her feet and taking off towards their small camp.
âAkila still have a doctor?â He asks, and he starts helping you gather the laundry off the ground. Â
âBarrett.â You answer, and his eyes flick to you.Â
âBarrett? Hmm.â He shakes his head, a little laugh passes his lips. âWouldâa thought heâd moved on by now.â
You donât know what to say to that. Thereâs a lot he doesnât know anymore. Your eyes search his face, for what youâre not sure.Â
âCome on,â he says. âLetâs get you loaded up.âÂ
Before you can protest, heâs scooping you up into his arms. Your heart is hammering in your chest, your pulse beating furiously in your ankle. You donât know what to do with your hand, not wanting to place it on his bare back. You let it dangle. His bare chest is against your side, his face inches from yours. You feel dizzy. He smells almost the same.Â
Neither of you say anything as he carries you back to their little camp. He gingerly sits you down on a rock, and you stretch your bad leg out in front of you. He looks at you for a moment before turning to put on the rest of his clothes. Cora is hurriedly putting things away in the saddle bags. You feel a single drop of water hit your knee and watch as it soaks into the fabric of your skirt. The rain is coming. The sky is darkening.
You try not to watch as Sam pulls his shirt over his head, but youâre almost relieved that heâs no longer bare-chested in front of you.Â
With no fire to smother, theyâre ready in short order. Cora swings herself into her saddle with practiced ease. Some of the older girls in town didnât do that as smoothly as she had.Â
Sam helps you into his saddle, and you try to keep your focus on getting onto the horse, rather than how much he has to touch you to help you up. He swings up behind you, settling his legs on either side of your hips. You smooth out your skirt, trying desperately not to think about what you saw earlier as he came out of the water. Already that felt like ages ago, another life. In some ways, it had been. Your ankle throbs, and his chest is warm against your back.
âLetâs go, Dusty,â he pats his horse on the neck, giving her a rub before she starts trotting forward. On your way back past the laundry, Cora jumps down to grab it, tying the basket down behind her on the saddle.
She rides slightly ahead of you and Sam, and neither of you immediately break the silence. His forearms rest on your thighs as he holds the reins. You want to turn and kiss him, slam your face into his and beg him to turn the horse around and gallop far, far away in the opposite direction. You want to punch him in the gut, scream and kick and cry. Instead of either of those, you blurt out a question.
âSoâŚCoraâs your daughter?âÂ
Sam huffs a chuckle out of his nose and takes a breath, âNo, atually, itâs a funny story.â You hear the smile in his voice. âCaught this one stealing my horse. Only reason I didnât turn her in is âcause we have the same last name.â
There he is. The Sam you remember was always cracking jokes, diffusing tension with humor. You donât know how to feel about it now, but a smile tugs at the corner of your lips anyway.
âSorryâŚâ He says, sighing. His breath fans your hair. âStupidâŚjust wanted to make you laugh.â
Your heart flutters at that, despite everything. Just wanted to make you laugh.
âYou always were a funny one, Sam Coe.âÂ
You feel his arms stiffen at your words, his name passing over your lips.Â
âWeâll go to Barrettâs ranch,â you explain in his silence. âItâs a bit outside town, and he wonât be in his office still at this hour anyway.â
âThank God for that,â Sam says, and you wholeheartedly agree.Â
Sam whistles to Cora to redirect her, imitating the call of a quail. A clearly whistled âhoooo-hoo-we!â
The raindrops continue to pick up, but not enough to soak through yet. The sun is almost down, the impending thunderstorm darkening the remaining sunset behind you. As you gaze at the sky ahead, the stars are coming out. The air temperature drops, and you cradle your arms against your body. The air is heavy and quiet. The wind whips your hair, yanking pieces out of your braid and around Samâs head behind you. You feel the dull ache of symbolism, feeling that thereâs suddenly a much more frightening storm gathering around you.
While cleaning my room, I had found an old sketch book that dates from around 2023, reminding me I had tried to do my first depiction of a book accurate Geralt of Rivia
one thing iâve noticed in the x reader community with trans ppl and smut is that the trans person (especially ftm) is constantly fetishized and honestly just treated as a sex object
which is MAD weird bc why is a character only made ftm to be sexualized bc they have a vagina..
its hella dehumanizing and we REALLY shouldnât just be writing about trans characters if u just want to put them in a sexual situation
please actually start writing trans rep and make a comfortable and safe space for trans ppl âď¸
