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kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay · 10 hours

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Winter's King 12

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: have a good weekend.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You stand, still uncertain. You look at the king as he tilts his face up to the moonlight. The silver sheen washes over him with an unearthly glow. He looks lupine, much like your dream.

“Your highness?” You echo again, hands curling around the sides of your skirt.

“Will you continue to disregard my order?” He challenges as his gold eyes meet yours. You wince at the way they shine.

“No, your highness, I am only...” you hush yourself and clamp your lips tight. You turn and search around, numbly walking along the curve of the pond.

He growls as you reach the line of hedges into the next walkway.

“You will want to go much faster than that,” he warns as you hear him stand. “I will allow you some advance...” He exhales as you glance back at him, “ten...” he stares at you, his figure shrouded in shadow from far away, “nine...”

You blanch and tumble backward through the gap. You spin and stagger on your soles, throwing your arms out as your heart pulses madly. Something about his timbre, about his words, has you alight. There is something amiss about him.

You push your legs against your skirts and hurry blindly into the nocturnal void. The moonlight seeps in around the silhouette of leaves as you keep your hands ahead of you to prevent a collision. You try to see through the dark, like silk across your eyes, making out little more than hazy orbs.

You crash into a thicket of thorns and pull away from the rosy bunch. Their scent clings onto you as you turn to the left and dive down the next path. You don’t know these gardens, not like Debray. For all you know, you’re going even deeper.

You hear a step behind you and swirl to face it. You squint, trying to see who is there. Is it the king? Do you want it to be? What does he mean to do when he catches you? What is the meaning of this game?

You plunge back into a sprint, puffing as you pump your arms. You whimper and whine as you slow, legs heavy and feet dull. Where are you going? You don’t like this. You remember a night like this before, how the cold dew of the forest crept up your legs, feet hitting the earth in quick succession, the holler of men and snort of horses behind you.

You stagger and spin back. No, you can’t run anymore. You don’t like this. You don’t like those thoughts. That last night before you were taken to Debray, before you dawned the cap of your bearing. That orphan girl running from servitude.

You walk forward, shaking as you peer back and forth. You wade through the thick grey air. You hear a twig snap and a bush rustle, each noise from a different direction. Perhaps it is a rabbit or a chipmunk. You sniffle and wring your hands.

You must find the king. You will surrender this game and ask that he takes you back to the castle. You trudge over the beaten path and hear the soft trickle ahead. It must be the pond. The silver light blooms brighter as you come upon a space in the hedges.

Suddenly, there is only air beneath your feet. You kick out as something rigid wraps around your waist and lifts you. You wriggle desperately and cry out, your eyes tinging but not overflowing. Your fear has you clawing at the hold around your middle.

“Please, please, don’t hurt me!” You plead as you flail, “please, sir, I’ll go back to the castle--” you choke as the grasp on you slackens but your feet still do not meet the ground. You quiet as you recall your present, that you are not in that forest, that you are far from Debray.

You are sat upon the bench, the silver moon gleaming down on you as it outlines the broad shadow before you. King Geralt faces you, kneeling as you tremble and hug yourself. You put your head down in shame.

“Apologies, your highness, I was lost,” you reach to rub your cheek, flicking back your tears with your lashes, “I got confused.”

“No, it is I who should apologise, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he takes your hand between his big ones, “I only meant to make some fun.” He brushes his touch up your arms and squeezes as you drop your hand to your lap, “little maid, did I hurt you?”

You shake your head, “I was only... delirious. It is too dark out here. I cannot see,” you bite down and look away, “apologies, I did act out.”

“Little maid,” he tickles along your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine, “I would not let you get lost or hurt.” He tilts his hand to cradle your face, his thumb stroking your cheekbone, “what was it you were running from in your head? Who?”

“No one,” you lie. “Just a memory.”

“Memories are not just that,” he insists, “but I understand how they can hurt. Forgive me, treasure, I wasn’t--”

“Your highness,” the sullen voice has the king recoiling. He quickly plants his foot and stands. You rise as well, toying with that word he called you. Treasure. “The queen sends for you.”

Bryce steps out into the moonlight. You look at him then the ground. How long had he been there? How much had he heard?

“The queen,” King Geralt grumbles, “what is it she wants? It is late--”

“She would not say and I would not guess,” Bryce says, “but she screams for it. Like a yowling cat.”

The king sighs and lowers his head. He squares his shoulders and resets his posture. He steps away from you and gestures to his soldier. The king twists around and marches away. Bryce falls into pace with you as you follow. He is silent, you all are.

You approach the castle, guards lurking in the shadows, and are let past the front doors by a sombre pair. Inside, you follow the king through the great hall and up the stairs. You peek over at Bryce as you proceed down the corridor. He gently squeezes your wrist, just briefly, and carries on.

“Your highness,” Bryce speaks as you hear a racket ahead of you; screeching and crashing. “Should I escort the maid back to her chambers?”

“Cursed woman,” King Geralt mutters as he slows, Queen Jazlene’s door just ahead. He pauses and looks over his shoulder, “the cost of a kingdom...”

“Your highness?” Bryce prompts once again.

You echo him and step forward, “I could calm her. Bring some wine--”

“No, she will have no more of that,” the king declares sharply. “I wed her, I put my name next to hers, so it is I shall attend to her. Sir,” he looks at Bryce, “do as you suggest, put the maid in her chambers and I will put the queen in her place.”

“Aye, your highness,” Bryce bows his head and points you back, “come, maid, the night wears on.”

You glance up at the king. His golden eyes are wrought as his gaze holds yours for only an instant. You see the hesitation bob in his throat before he turns away. You mirror him and follow Bryce back along the corridor.

As you climb to the next floor and continue down another corridor, Bryce slows. He stops as he gets to the door and faces you. He takes a breath as he looks you up and down.

“It’s treacherous here in the summer kingdom,” he says, “but that will not change on the road. Mouse, you keep yourself well.”

“Thank you, sir, I am fine.”

“Aye, you do not take my meaning but you do not take the king’s either,” he puts his hand on his belt, “his favour might do you fine in this moment, but it is dangerous. Let not others notice so they may not envy it.”

You grimace and shake your head, “what do you mean?”

“Your little games do not need an audience. It is no tournament.”

Your chest sinks and your skin speckles. Is he accusing you of something?

“I... I haven’t done anything untoward. I would not, sir--”

“You may not,” he intones, “but we are all ruled by the will of the king.”

“Sir, the king is married to Lady Jazlene--”

“And we both see how they fare,” he states bluntly. “Carry my words with you, do with them as you may, but I could not leave them unsaid.”

Your eyes gloss and your nose tingles once more. He’s mad. Truly, he can’t think you and King Geralt. A maid and her master.

“I would not,” you repeat.

He huffs and nods curtly. He turns to the door and unlatches it, “go, rest your head while you can.”

“Sir Bryce--”

“I am bid protect you by the king,” he pushes the door inward and rests his hand on the frame, “not from him.” He looks past you, as if through, “little mouse, I do hope I am wrong as well but I know better than to depend on that.”

You shudder and tug at the end of your sleeve. You slump and drag your feet through the doorway. You stop, just inside, “good night, sir.”

He grunts and pulls the door shut. Your lip trembles as your heart races, just as it did in the garden. He is wrong. He must be. You saw yourself how the king is trying, he even said it was the queen he meant to game with earlier. It was only that she was too unwell. He said it!

And he goes to the queen’s chamber that night. He is not there. He has not been disloyal. The matter is not your concern. You serve wine, you lace gowns, you braid hair. You are only the maid.

⚔️

You return to the queen’s service the next morning. The world is a bit more familiar as you help her into her gown and twine her hair into an elaborate coif. Servants pass in and out of her chambers as they prepare for the royal party’s imminent departure.

“Why can we not keep this capital?” Queen Jazlene whines, “but my husband does insist on return to his frigid homelands.”

You say nothing as you sift through the old monarch’s jewelry chest. You present to her successor each gem, brooch, and chain. She has yet to turn any away though you wonder if there would be room in her already bustling luggage. Perhaps the cart will be a touch more crowded on your ride north.

“And yet my husband did come to me,” she boasts, “I think... hmm, well, perhaps this marriage won’t be so turbulent.”

You show her a cuff and she snatches it. She puts it on her wrist, turning her arm this way and that, as she oohs and aahs. She wiggles excitedly.

“I recall this piece. One year, when I came with father to court, the queen wore this cuff. You see the emeralds. I remember she was so proud of it even though all the court knew it was only gifted to her by her husband to distract from his mistress,” she trills, “oh, how foolish. But the old queen was so boring. It is a wonder the king didn’t dispose of her, who can blame him for taking an amour?”

She sighs and looks at the mirror, “and she wasn’t half so pretty as me.”

You remain silent, continuing to sort with her endless approval. You don’t think there is a single trinket she could ever turn away. You don’t see the need for so many of the same thing. Some stones are brighter than others but why not keep the brightest and do away with the rest.

“As I was saying,” she goes on, “last night when the king came to me, he was... almost meek. That man. Can you imagine? I admit I was distraught after the day I suffered but he listened and we spoke.” She strokes her fingers as she admires her oval nails. “There are some southern lords who will come north as well, some northern to stay behind. He says it will help us acquaint the two kingdoms into one.”

She drops her hands and pushes her shoulders straight, “he is wise. I suppose I should heed him if I am to be a good queen.”

You are want to agree but to do so aloud may be taken as insult. She might have done it sooner and saved herself some trouble. Yet it isn’t your place and you haven’t the wisdom of a queen. You’re merely a servant.

“Once I give him an heir, he will have to listen to me too. Yes, I will do what mother could never. Give my husband a son,” she drags her hand to her midsection, “I think last night...” she flutters her lashes dreamily. Her suggestion makes you squirm. Her and the king’s relations are hardly your concern. “It was better,” her voice is brittle, “even if...” she peers around and clamps her lips. She narrows her dark eyes, “close the door.”

You obey. You come back to her and return to your previous task. She reaches in to pluck out a string of pearls.

“He puts me on my stomach,” she whispers, almost as if she thinks you won’t hear, but she is speaking to you. There is no one else in the room. Perhaps she is only embarrassed that she has only to the courage to tell a maid. “And he behind me so I can’t see him and... he can’t see me but... but if he could...” she toys with the pearls, “if he’d just look at me, he might like it better.”

You lift a pair of medallions earrings and she ignores them. She tosses the pearls back in the chest and stands. You back away.

“He won’t let me touch him otherwise,” she mulls as she paces. “But he is warming. It is early, isn’t it? And compared to the first night... I don’t know. It will get better. It must.”

She quiets and stands by the window. Her anxiety is palpable. It’s uncharacteristic. You’ve never seen her uncertain of anything yet you can understand it. She is soon to set off to a new life and to brave a long road. When she reaches her destination, she will be a true queen. When you get there, you’ll still be a maid.

“I’ll go to him tonight,” she says and raises her head, “yes, yes, I will go to him and try again.” She spins and smirks at her grand idea, “maid, I must find something to wear for him. Well, nothing very much,” she remarks coyly, “but I will need a robe. Yes, I saw a satin one in the queen’s closet.” She swallows and stands as straight as she can, “my closet.”

You diligently cross the chamber and search the wardrobe. You find a white satin robe stitched with gold and silver. You turn to show the queen. She giggles and claps her hands.

“Wine,” she says, “I must find some courage too.”

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kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay · 11 hours

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I just want to wrap Dot up in a blanket and put her in a nice, warm bed with no evil parents around.

Her mother is so incredibly horrid and it breaks my fucking heart to see this precious bean so mistreated.

All the mean or downright cruel comments she constantly has to bear... Poor sweet thing

the girl next door 6

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

You can’t remember the last time you had the house to yourself. Even if your mother’s just next door, it feels a little lighter around there. And you’re happy for her. Maybe having Steve around will be good. He can be an outlet so she doesn’t have to put all her frustrations on you.

She was happy when she left, even excited. That’s another rarity in your life.

You start your day off with a tea. The apple cinnamon bags are a bit old so you use two. You bring the cup into your room and get your table set up with your pencils and sketchbook. You open the window to let in the sunlight, the natural light much brighter than the yellowed bulb above.

You know your mom would tell you to do something more useful than just scribble in your sketchbook. You got the dishes done last night. Steve offered to help but you deflected as you foresaw your mom’s disapproval. You can’t let company pick up your slack.

You try to wipe away the anxiety of last night. It’s over now. You shouldn’t have worry very much about it again.

You finish your tea. It’s cold by the time you get to the dregs. You sit back to look over your sketch. Your eyes feel a bit fuzzy from hyperfocusing on that one stamen. You rub your brow and yawn. The sun shifts and you look over at the old alarm clock on your nightstand. It’s close to noon.

Something else catches your eye. You look up at the window across from yours. The curtain ripples around the gap before it’s pulled open from inside. Steve stands on the other side of the pane. Can he see you?

You can’t tell as he turns away without acknowledgement. The glare of the sun should hide your room well enough. You never really thought of it as your blinds are closed more often than not.

You get up to rinse out your cup. You stretch your legs as you pace in the kitchen. You’re restless. You’re so used to your mom and her demands and expectations, that having your own time feels aimless.

You could surprise your mother with dinner. Have it in the oven when she comes home. It’s still early but you can make something more than boxed macaroni. It will be a good cushion to fall back on when you remind her about tomorrow’s appointment.

🏠

When your mother returns, you can see the fatigue around her eyes. For as little as she goes out, you’re not surprised. What strikes you, is how happy she is. You help her to her recliner and she sighs as she leans back.

“Such a nice man,” she keeps repeating.

You smile and let her regale you with a recounting of her day. Still, you can’t help but wait for the pendulum to swing back to normal. She leans her head in her hand, her eyes distant.

“I swear, the universe sent him to me,” she says, “it had to. It was how much I need someone.” She drops her hand and traces her finger around the armrest, “sick, got a lazy daughter, stuck in this damn house...”

There it is. You frown. You mash your hands together and waver.

“I made dinner,” you offer.

“I don’t want KD,” she snips.

“I made... I made shepherd’s pie,” you offer meekly, “should be almost done.”

“Hm, wondered what that stench was.”

You frown. “I can put it in the fridge for tomorrow. Be good to have something we can just heat up after the doctor’s.”

“Doctor?” She grumbles, “eh... I forgot.”

She slumps and her eyes dull. You can’t help the pang in your chest. Sometimes you wish it was you who was sick. It feels like you deserve it more than her.

“Hopefully it’s good. If you can get the surgery--”

“Surgery!? Surgery. You keep going on about the damn thing,” she barks. “They can’t fix me, girl, get that through your head.”

“I know, mom, but they can help--”

“Like you help me? Crittering around here like a rat!” She hits the armrest violently, “would ya leave me be?” She closes her eyes and turns her face away, deflating once more, “ruined a good day...”

You sniffle and slowly turn on your heel. You should have known better. You should have just left her alone. As much as she rants about you staying in your room, she prefers you there. Out of sight, out of mind.

🏠

The next day, your mother doesn’t say much. Her silence is just a bitter as her words. You don’t push it. She gets in the car without argument and you set off into town. Even if she says it’s a waste of time, she listens intently to the doctor and answers all his questions. It’s only when she has to go through the tests that she shows her agitation.

After some hours spent at the specialist clinic, you’re free to go. Your mom is just as quiet. You feel her mood roiling in the air. Her hand is shaking to the point that she’s hissing at it.

You steer down to the corner and linger at the stop sign.

“Mom,” you squeak, “you want some orange julius? A treat for the way home?”

“Don’t talk to me like a damn child,” she snarls. “Let’s just go. I’m tired. Got no blood left in me.”

You nod and bite your tongue. Maybe you can just put her to bed. Her naps are a respite, though you find yourself anxious in the silence, terrified of waking her prematurely.

As you pull onto the suburban avenue, you slow and approach your drive. You pull in and shut off the engine. You get out and go around to help your mom. You open her door and she hauls herself out, tisking under her breath.

“Didn’t see him,” she mutters.

“Good afternoon,” Steve’s voice answers your question before you can ask. You look over the hood as he waves from his porch, “busy day?”

Your mother steels herself and forces a smile, “just went to the doctors.”

“Oh, everything okay?” He asks.

“Sure,” she chimes, “just some tests. Nothing serious.”

“Good to hear,” he stands behind the porch railing, arches crossed, “day’s not over yet. Still lots of time to enjoy the sun.”

“Mhmm,” you mom grabs onto your wrist, shaking you as leans into you. “Nice day out.”

“I was gonna do up a milkshake, if you ladies wanted to join me I got plenty to go around.”

“Milkshakes?” Your mother considers, “mm, I’d have to change out of these.” She looks down, “smell like a hospital.”

“Sure, take your time,” Steve says, “how about you, honey? I got strawberry. You seem like a strawberry type.”

“Eh, she’s more a vanilla type,” your other cackles. “Plain.”

“Got that too,” Steve ignores the joke. “I understand if you’re tired out though. Don’t wanna be too desperate over here, just wouldn’t mind the company.”

“I’ll be over soon,” your mom assures him, “she’s got some laundry to do.”

She keeps hold of you and points you towards the house. You help her inside, even though she does her best to hid how she clings to you. Her steps are uneven and stunted. You get through the front door and help her sit on the chair you keep by the door, just in case.

“Goddamnit,” she’s shaking pretty bad. “Help me, you dumb girl.”

“I... I don’t...”

“Get my goddamn inhaler. I forgot it this morning.”

“Oh, uh, okay.”

You hurry down the hall and to bathroom. It isn’t in the cabinet. You go back out and scan the table. Not their either. You find it next to her recliner. You wish she’d keep it one place. You go back to her and hand it over.

“I’m gonna go over,” she says before she huffs from the canister, “you’re gonna stay here. Out of my way.”

“Alright,” you agree. You prefer that anyway.

She takes a minute before she gets up. She shooes you away and you retreat to your bedroom. You sit on your bed and wring your hands, waiting as you listen to her. She doesn’t say goodbye before she leaves. Only the front door slamming lets you know she’s gone.

You exhale and pull the fold out table up to the edge of the bed. You open your sketchbook and stare at the pencil. You don’t feel like drawing but you have nothing else to do. You just sit, looking at the amaryllis. You can pick out every flaw in your work. You close the cover and frown.

A knock startles you and you stand up. Oh gosh, it’s probably Marge. What is it now? Is the siding too stained? Are the steps crooked? You get up and shuffles down the hall. You open the front door, hiding behind it as you poke your head around.

Steve has the screen door propped open against his elbow. He holds a tall glass filled with pink, “here. Figured I’d bring this over.”

“Oh, uh, thanks,” you accept the condensating glass, a wide straw poking out of the whipped cream topped drink.

“Maybe next time you can pop over too,” he suggests, “I’ve been working on getting the pool going...” he grins, “it’ll be a good summer for it.”

You nod and look down at the milkshake.

“Really nice of you,” you say.

“It’s nothing, sweetie,” he puts his hand on the door above him, looking down at you, “enjoy.”

“Uh,” you look at him then at the straw. You don’t want to be rude. You put your lips around the tip and take a sip. “Mm, yup, good. Thank you.”

His blue eyes stick to you and he drags his hand down the door, “I’ll make a deal. You come over to see the pool when it’s ready, and I’ll make you another. How about that, sweetie?”

You push your lips out. It’s not nice to say no. He didn’t have to bring you the milkshake or invite you. You shrug.

“Okay,” you agree, “erm, thanks again.”

He nods and taps the door frame before he steps back. He gently closes the screen door and you watch him through. He turns and strides down the stairs. You shiver as the cold glass numbs your fingers. Hopefully, he forgets about the pool thing. You don't even have a suit.

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kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay · 11 hours

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Willem Dafoe photographed by Gavin Bond for The Observer (January, 2024)

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kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay · 13 hours

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kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay · 13 hours

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it's dawned on me that no one can stop me from my childhood dream of having a bed tent

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kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay · 13 hours

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Knowledge is empowering

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kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay · 1 day

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Oh yes, but he's still fixing it up. He says the ladies are very welcome to come try it out with him when it's done. He needs some testers to determine if it's any good. Besides, it's very hot out anyway. They can come over whenever they want...

Does next-door Steve got a pool 👀

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kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay · 1 day

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Follow You Anywhere 8

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, controlling behavoiour, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’re online existence threatens to leak into your real life.

Characters: Captain Syverson

Note: double chapter friday.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You put on the outfit Sy picked out. The lilac skirt and the matching razor back tank top are a bit mismatched in style but the colour is almost exact. You add a silver necklace to add a bit more to the top and even out top and bottom.

You take out a pair of white keds and slip them on. As you do, Sy stand on the door mat with Aika prancing excitedly around him. He deepens his voice and tells her to sit. She obeys, still trembling with elation as he hooks her leash into place.

As you stand, you find his attention on you. His eyes scale up and down your body as you brush your hand up and down one arm. He tilts his head and his cheek dimples as he exhales through his nose.

“Well, let’s go,” he commands and Aika jumps to her feet as you nearly leap in place.

He opens the door, your keys already in his pocket, and he waits for you to go ahead of him. He turns to face the door as he shuts it. He has the leash around two fingers as he slides the keys in the lock and turns.

As he turns towards the hall, he stops and looks at you. You waver, uncertainly, cautious of a single misstep. He offers the leash.

“Why don’t you take her, sweetie?” He says, “two of you needa get used to each other.”

You take the leash as Aika waits patiently. At least she’s trained well. You only ever had cats so you’re not entirely sure about dogs. They’re cute, sure, but a lot stronger.

You continue down the hall and to the stairs. Sy walks calmly beside you. You’re happy at least that the rage no longer roils off of him, though a tension remains. You sense it in the subtle twiddle of his thick fingers and the way he keeps popping and cracking his joints.

Outside, the sun glints blindingly above, casting a shine much too bright for your mood. Aika stops and the leash tugs in your hand. You turn back as she pees in the grass and step closer to slacken the leash. Oops. You make a face.

“It’s okay, sweetie, you’re doing good,” Sy encourages, “she can be a bit wild when she wants to. Probably more like you than you think.”

His suggestion makes you want to frown but you won’t let him see your discomfort. You continue down the sidewalk, keeping pace with the sniffing dog as Sy lazily swaggers behind you. She stops again then crosses to the other patch of grass. You follow her.

If it wasn’t for your company, you might enjoy the day. There’s bumblebee’s digging into stores of pollen, buzzing around vibrant petals, and birds cheeping from the interior of bushes, and wispy clouds across the sky. You might have taken a picture or two, even though your phone lens rarely catches the true beauty of the world.

You continue around the corner and suddenly Aika darts forward. She pulls you nearly off your feet and you stomp clumsily after her, trying not to topple. You see what she sees only as she gets within snapping distance of the fluffy cat. The feline hisses before dashing away and you pull back the barking dog.

“Aika,” Sy says firmly and quiets the canine, “good girl.”

The silt in his voice makes even you freeze. You peek back at him and hold out the loop of the leash. You recoil as you notice the phone in his hand. Your phone. The little pearly wrist band hangs from the corner of the blush pink case. He has the lens aimed right at you.

“Say hi,” he waves from his side of the phone, “got my girls out for a nice walk in the sun.”

“What are you--” you quiet, realising what must be going on.

“Your fans want to see you, sweetie,” he chimes. “Isn’t she cute? My lady. Waited for me so long.”

He turns the camera around, holding it at arm’s length as he comes to stand beside you and faces the sunlight. You gulp as his hand goes to your hip and he pulls you close, leaning in to press his jaw to your head, angling the phone up to capture both of you. You try to smile.

“Finally going public,” he sounds almost giddy, “military sh—stuff. Couldn't disclose it til I got home but here we are.”

He turns his head and presses a kiss to your temple. He purrs and slowly releases you. He stands straight and backs up, once more aiming the camera at you. You feel like you might shatter into pieces.

“We’re gonna grab some coffee. There’s a cafe around here. You’ll remember it. She did a live back in March. Got the vanilla chai, didn’t you, sweetie? I been waiting this long to get back and try it with her,” he commentates, oblivious to the people who glance in his direction. He keeps his arm extended. “Go on, Aika’s getting antsy.”

You look down at the dog and she looks up at you. You spin and continue down the pavement. You should scream and shout and tell the world that this man is crazy. Yet it doesn’t matter. There’s probably a single viewer, if any. You realise now, he was probably your only fan. The others you’ll chalk up to bots or other weirdos.

A trickle of ice flows through your chest. He knows where the cafe is. How long has he been here? How long has he been watching, not just on the phone? You don’t know why you keep asking. It doesn’t change a thing.

You approach the short iron fence that marks off the patio of the cafe. You slow and Sy stands at your side, showing the tables and patrons to the camera. He rubs between your shoulder blades.

“So how ya wanna do it? You wanna wait with Aika or you wanna run in?” He asks.

You gulp. There is not better option. It’s all just the same.

“I’ll get the coffee,” you offer and untangle the leash from around your wrist. “What do you want?”

“Hm, good question,” he says, “why don’t ya surprise me. You know I got a sweet tooth.”

“Right.”

He takes the leash and you turn, stiffly marching through the gate and up to the door. You enter and as you’re shut in, you clutch the sides of your neck and blow out through your lips. No, you don’t know he has a sweet tooth. You don’t know him. As much as he scares you to death, he’s starting to make you really angry. It’s just how he talks as if you actually know who he is! He’s a stranger. A creep!

You stand in line and only remember to step up for your turn as someone taps your shoulder. You mumble an apology and step up. You hadn’t even checked the menu. You look at the specials board and try to wet your dry tongue.

“Um, white mocha,” you order in a croak, “and a uh, a lavender latte. Thanks.”

The barista offers to add on items from the bakery. You decline and pay, already spending enough on the overpriced coffee. You shuffle along to await your order and mull your options. None. You have none.

When your number is called, you grab your drinks and quickly spin around. You follow another customer to the door and he holds it open for you. He smiles as you step through and you thank him.

“Not at all,” he steps out after you. “You got your hands full.”

“It’s really nice of you,” you say as you walk just ahead of him, turning your head to glance over your shoulder.

“Pretty girl like you. How could I not,” he says as you reach the gate, “have a good day, miss.”

“Uh,” you’re surprised by the compliment, “you too, sir.”

You give an awkward purse of your lips as you stand in the open gate. You look around and find Sy watching you. You go to him and hold up the drinks.

“Um, I got the white mocha... not sure if you like that.”

“Ooh, white mocha, sounds delicious, just like you,” he purrs, “and what did you get?”

He takes the cup, Aika’s leash around two thick fingers. You stand dumbly, staring at the phone he keeps pointed in your face.

“The lavender latte,” you answer flatly.

“Well, the lady and I are gonna have our coffee date,” he says to the camera as he flips it around, “walk the pup and all that. Hope you all have a good day. Right, sweetie?”

He once more puts you on the stream. Your lip trembles, “sure, yeah. Have a good day everyone.”

You hold a shaky smile and he taps the screen several times with his thumb. He slides the phone into his short’s pocket and tastes his mocha. He waves you down the sidewalk and Aika takes the lead. He’s quiet as he slurps from the plastic lid.

“That boy,” he speaks at last, “said you were pretty.”

You blanch and turn the cup in your hand. The heat seeps through the sleeve and adds to the sheen across your skin, “er, I guess. I don’t know.”

“Who was he?” Sy asks harshly.

You flinch and peek up at him. He’s not happy. His entire demeanour has shifted.

“I don’t know. A stranger. He just held the door,” you shrug, “guess he was being nice.”

“Being nice? Shouldn’t be talking to strangers,” he reproaches.

You nearly choke. Yeah, you shouldn’t. He taught you that well.

“You are a pretty girl,” he says, “so I’m just lookin’ out for you. Some men...”

You keep your eyes ahead as you fight to hold your composure. You drink from the cup, tasting the floral foam, and swallow. You force the breath from your chest and steady your nerves.

“Sorry, I... won’t do it again.”

He hums and reaches to grab your hand. His large one swallows yours. You don’t pull away, even as you desperately want to . He walks along with you, swing his arm slightly.

“Isn’t this nice, sweetie?” He purrs, “you and me and Aika. Like a little family.”

You grit your teeth and your aching cheeks fall. You can’t smile any long. You try to hide your face as you hover your mouth over the cup, “yeah,” you wisp out, “it’s nice.”

💜

When you get back to the apartment, you’re exhausted yet adrenaline has you wide awake. Sy lets Aika off her leash and feeds her as you toss your empty coffee cup. You linger around the bin nervously, uncertain what to do next. You’re trapped again within these walls that once spoke of your freedom.

Sy groans and stretches his neck. He runs his hands over his shaved head and combs his fingers through his thick beard. You step away from garbage before he notices you hiding.

“Hot out, I’m beat,” he yawns, “what about you, sweetie?”

“Yeah, uh, kinda,” you hug yourself and sway, “but um, not too bad.”

“Ugh, one thing I was happy about was gettin’ outta the heat,” he pulls on his shirt and lifts it over his head. The fabric is darkened around the chest and arms with his sweat. More of it glistens in his body hair as he strips away the tee.

You chew your lip and go to turn the fan on, turning it to oscillate. You sense him in the edge of your vision. He hangs the shirt across the back of a dining room chair then comes back to the living room. You stay close to the wall.

“Er, Sy,” your heart jumps as your doubt clogs your throat.

“Mhmm,” he flops onto the couch and leans back. He’s shameless and shirtless. His muscles flex along his arms and chest. He’s huge.

“Do you think I can have my phone? I wanted to check my messages,” you push your palms together and twist your hands.

“Don’t got none,” he says, “forget about that. Let’s disconnect. You and me, sweetie, let’s enjoy a quiet night in.”

You want your phone but you know better than to push him. You’ve seen what happens when you do. You peer over at the dent in the wall.

“Sure,” you go to him and sit on the couch, keeping a foot between you. “Do you wanna watch something?”

You reach for the remote and he stops you. He snatches your hand back and wraps his arm around you, pulling you to lean into the couch with him. He crowds you as his scent suffocates you. It smells like sweat and generic deodorant.

“We don’t need TV, sweetie, let’s just enjoy each other,” he reaches across you and rubs your upper arm.

“Um,” you nearly choke, “it’s almost dinner time--”

“It’s early,” his voice is rocky, “sweetie, it’s alright. Just relax. It’s finally just us.”

“Sy, I... I should get some work done,” you sniff.

“You should take it easy. You work too hard,” his hand brushes along your shoulder and to your neck. He drags his knuckles up your throat, “you’re gorgeous, you know that? This colour,” he slips his hand back down and touches the top of the tank, “looks so good on you.”

“Thanks, I, er,” you squeeze your thigh and gulp. You can’t help the tremor that rolls through you, “Sy, please,” you reach up and grab his hand, “I should--”

“It’s okay to be nervous. I am too, sweetie,” he rasps as he leans in, “but I can’t wait any longer.”

He frees his hand from yours and cradles your face. He dips his head and you press your hand to his chest, helpless to stop him as he smothers your mouth with his. You let out a muffled gasp as he crushes his lips to yours, his tongue poking around eagerly. His hand crawls around the back of your head as he traps you against the couch.

Your fingers curl against the muscle of his chest and he groans. He pulls you against him, falling back with you until he’s flat on the cushions. He brings you over him, and arm hooked around you as his other hand stays on your head. His tongue invades your mouth as you struggle to breathe past his hunger. Your brain screams at you to bite him, to smack, to do anything, but you’re paralysed with futility.

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kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay · 1 day

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I absolutely hate how Dot's mother has to ruin and twist every single thing Dot does well. It makes me sick. I feel so bad for the poor girl.

But then, on the other hand, I can't imagine what it's like to be in her mother's shoes. By all means, this isn't an excuse for her behaviour, but I think life's made her bitter, not to mention the diagnosis for a chronic disease. And I pity her. The way she tries to impress Steve and hopes he'll take an interest in her. It's so fucking sad, if you think about it.

I think, if she ever catches on to the fact that Steve is after her, she'll do her very fucking best to live vicariously through it. She'll be vicious at first, but after the fact has sunken in, she'd force Dot into a relationship with Steve, just so she can get a piece of the cake as well with no regards for her child whatsoever

the girl next door 5

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

This lewk but silverfox

As your mother waits in her chair, watching the window, dolled up in her nicest skirt, with her hair pressed and her eyes lined, you follow the directions on the containers of the premade grocer meals. Roast the potatoes, veggies too, and heat up the chicken. It’s very easy, even for you.

You set the table as the oven warms up and put out the nice plates you never touch. You fold napkins under the cutlery like you’ve seen on television and in restaurants, not that you ever go anywhere by the drive thru. It looks nice. Sort of.

You hear the recliner creak and your mother get up. The doorbell rings and you jump. You rush into the entry way as your mother looms in the front archway. You look at her and she sends back and expression with deadly venom. You go to the door and steady yourself, slowly turning the latch.

You pull it open and muster a smile which must appear closer to a cringe, “hello, uh, hi.”

“Hello,” Steve smiles, a bouquet of sunflowers in his hands. “How are you?”

“Mm, good,” you mumble.

“Great, I brought you ladies some flowers,” he looks between you and your mother as she steps into the hallway. “Something to brighten up the place.”

“Oh my, thank you, Steve,” your mother rushes forward, her left foot thumping a bit heavier than the other, “that is so sweet of you.”

As she snatches the bouquet, a petal flies loose from her tremor. She brings them to her nose, nearly crushing them into her face as her cheek quivers. She’s overexcited and her symptoms more obvious. You step aside as she beckons in your guest.

“You two look nice,” Steve comments as she stops to remove his shoes. His hair is combed tidy back and he wears an oceanic button-up with khakis. He is indiscernible from any other suburban dweller.

“Thank you,” your mother preens and you echo her softly. “Please, come in. I think dinner’s almost ready.”

She glances at you and you nod, “yes, uh, I’ll... go do that.”

You feel Steve watching you. You shrink down and cross your arm over your middle and back away. You turn and shuffle down to the kitchen. You feel how the skirt and sweater let in the breeze around your thighs and reach to tug the hem.

“Grab a vase for the flowers too, honey.”

You let her words trail after you. Honey. The epithet isn’t dripping in her usual poison. You go and open the stove, letting out the aroma of seasoning. It should be almost there.

You search under the sink and find an old mint green vase. You wash it out and fill it with cool water. You bring it out to the dining room and set it on the table. You can hear your mother and Steve in the next room.

She shoves the flowers at you before you can say a word. You take them as she keeps her attention on your guest.

“How’s the house coming along?” She asks in a singsong, “you’ve been doing so much work, I’m surprised you could make the time for us.”

“Of course. Nice to have a few friendly faces around. Not gonna lie though, I do have fridge full of casseroles already.”

You go back to place the stems in the vase. You linger there, safely away from their conversation. You have nothing to add anyway. You’re best to keep an eye on the food.

“Ugh, really? Let me warn you about this place, those bleach blondes aren’t as chipper as they put on,” your mother sneers as you wait for the gravy to simmer.

You don’t think the people around the neighbourhood are bad. They’re just different. Besides, you can’t blame them for their judgment. You might feel the same if you were like them. If you were pretty and perfect and rich.

You hover by the stove and stop the timer before it can buzz. You take out each pan and transfer the contents to thick porcelain serving dishes. You bring them to the table, one at a time.

“Mom, er, Steve?” You peer into the front room, “dinner is ready.”

“Oh, finally, I’m starving,” your mom sighs.

“Smells good. What are we having?” Steve gestures your mom ahead of him, waiting patiently as she moves stiffly. You can see the struggle in the stitch between the brows as how she stops herself from bracing her hip. She’s embarrassed.

“Roast chicken, potatoes, and grilled broccoli,” you explain, watching awkwardly as he pulls out the chair for your mom.

Your mom sits and Steve tucks the chair in. He surprises you as he rounds the table towards you and slides out another chair. You stare at him and your lips part.

“The gravy,” you squeak.

You quickly retreat to the kitchen. You pour the gravy into the spouted dish and balance it by the handle. You carry it carefully through the door and trip on the slightly crooked divider on the floor. The contents slosh and a splatter lands on your white sweater.

You frown and put the grave dish on the table. Steve lingers as he was. You look down at your sweater and he reaches for one of the spare napkins, holding it out to you. You thank him and sit, letting him push the chair in under you. You dab at your sweater but the brown stains remain.

As he sits, just by your mother, she was sure to sit where she would be next to him, you put the crumpled napkin by your plate. Your mother arches her brow at the front of your sweater. You raise your shoulders and give an apologetic look as you slip the cardigan off. You untangle your arms from the fabric and let it droop to the seat.

Steve smiles at you again. Your face is on fire, your chest too. The dress really doesn’t fit right.

“You made all this?” He asks.

“Heh, she bought it and put it in the oven,” your mom tuts. “She’s not the most gifted cook and... and my hands aren’t steady enough for that anymore.”

“Ah, well, food is food,” he shrugs, “regardless, it looks delicious.” He reaches for the plates of chicken and catches the tongs before the can fall, “may I?”

Your mother’s lips curl and she nods, “by all means.”

He puts a piece on her plate, then his own. He sets it back before he grabs the bowl of potatoes and scoops up a heap besides the marinated breast. Finally, he shovels on the broccoli.

You meekly fill your own plate, though you leave it sparse. Just a piece of chicken, a tiny bit of potatoes, and some broccoli. Your stomach is uneasy. You’re not used to company. You poke around with your fork.

“You know, Holly, I finally got all the furniture where I want it but I don’t know,” Steve begins, cutting into his chicken, “I think it needs something... a woman’s touch, maybe?”

“Mmm,” your mother nods and squints.

“I wouldn’t mind picking your brain. Maybe you have some suggestions. I got all these paintings but not really sure where to put them, you know?”

“Right,” she put a sliced potato in her mouth and chews thoughtfully. She swallows and takes her napkin, shakingly blotting around her coloured lips, “well, suppose I could give you a few tips.”

“Really?” He asks, “that would be amazing.”

“Not a problem at all,” she grins, “I could drop by tomorrow.”

“Yeah, that will be nice,” he agrees.

You sit quietly, keeping your face blank. You won’t mention how your mother complained when you tried to hang some of your drawings just in your same room. She always said art was a waste of time. No, you’ll say nothing. You’re better off that way.

“And uh, you’re welcome too,” Steve offers across the table and your eyes flick up to meet his, “if you want. Don’t want to leave you out.”

You glance at your mother. Her eyes narrow and you gulp, nearly choking on the potatoes. You take a breath and push your shoulders up, “actually, I was planning on... uh, I’m busy.”

You can’t even come up with a lie. Not a solid one. Just busy. Busy being alone. Busy hiding.

“Ah, that’s too bad. Well, how about once I get the barbecue fired up, you both come over for a cookout?”

“Lovely,” your mother chimes. “But tomorrow, I’ll swing by,” she squeezes her fork as it tings against the plate. Her tremor is getting bad. “Be nice to get out.”

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kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay · 1 day

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I feel so sad for her. I don't think my mother was ever that harsh, but I still relate to her. Poor sweet thing. She's so dutiful and all she gets in return is abuse

the girl next door 4

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

This lewk but silverfox

Even if the work is a lot and at times tedious, you’re grateful for the excuse to stay inside. As you hole yourself inside the house and tidy the messes, big and small, you can hear the conversations out the walls, wafting in through open windows. It’s as content as your mother’s been in the last few years. Steve is nice enough and he doesn’t have that same snooty lean as the other suburbanites.

As you mop, you think of how he mentioned the city. You wonder what it was like. Before your grandma passed, you and your mom lived in a walk-up in a small town. Everyone there knew your names too and reviled it just the same. You never mean any harm but wherever you go, you seem to inspire spite.

Dishes, floor, walls, dusting, errant cobwebs, clutter...

You work until your mother comes in, swinging the door violently as she drags herself inside. You go to help her and she swats you away. You retreat and she finds her way to the recliner. You shut the door and lock it.

“Wonderful man,” she groans as she lays her head back and tilts the chair, extending the footrest, “don’t make ‘em like that anymore. He’s the sort I shoulda picked.” She closes her eyes and gives a wry hum, “’specially over your dad.”

You don’t say a word. She only mentions your father to remind you of that half of you she hates. You gather up the clothes on the couch into a basket. The laundry will have you up late. Your own fault; you should’ve done this all a lot sooner.

“Should I start dinner?” You ask.

“I don’t know if I’m in the mood for burnt chicken,” she scoffs meanly.

“I could do mac and cheese,” you offer.

“I’m teasing ya. Jeez, you got no sense of humour,” she sighs dreamily, “not like Steve. Such a charming man.”

You pass through the kitchen and descend to the basement to fill the washer. You add soap and twist the knob. You leave the basket on the lid and head back up. You peruse the fridge as you ponder what to make. Mac and cheese would be easiest.

You get started and the TV blips on in the next room. The audio helps chase away the tension. You leave the water to boil and lean on the archway that looks into the front room.

“Um, mom, what should I make tomorrow? For uh, dinner? With... him?”

“Well, don’t sound so damn excited,” she sits up, “whatsa matter with you? The nice man wants to come see us, unlike the rest of these snobs. My own sister won’t come through that door.” She snorts and shakes her head, “you can go to the store tomorrow and grab something nice. I don’t want ya serving that man starchy potatoes. Down at the fancy store, they got those premade meals.”

“Those are expensive,” you remark.

“And? You get your stipend, you don’t gotta be leeching off of me,” she snips.

“Um, yes, I know, I wasn’t--”

“God, look at that,” her eyes flick up to the ceiling, goddamn dusty, it’s a wonder I can breathe.”

You look up and see what she means. There’s a layer of dusty on the ceiling fan as it turns lazily on its lowest setting.

“I’ll get it--”

“Better. You’re not gonna embarrass me tomorrow. I’d be better off if you stay in your room,” she tuts.

“If you want--”

“No, you come out and say hi. Don’t be rude. You know I did try to teach you manners. You just never spoke enough to use them.”

You frown and look down meekly. She’s not wrong. You turn and go to grab the duster. You don’t think tomorrow is going to be any different than any other.

🏠

The next morning, go out to the grocery store to grab the meal for that evening. As you return, you linger at the end of the street. You can see Steve on his lawn. You wait for him to go inside before you drive up and pull into the driveway.

You carry the bags inside with your sights set on the house and nothing else. Inside, you put down your haul on the counter and put each item away, one at a time. Your mother is in the bathroom, chirping out a song out of key.

“God dammit,” she snarls, “I can’t find my red lipstick,” she rattles through her bin of makeup. She doesn’t wear it very often. “Get in here.”

Before you can pass the open door, her demand pulls you back. You enter as she sits on a stool in front of the mirror. She shoves the bin away and grumbles.

“Here,” she holds out a pair of tweezers with a tremble, “damn brows are unruly.”

You nod and step closer. You press a hand gently to her forehead and pluck out the stray hairs, shaping them as best you can.

“Don’t forget my lip,” she huffs hot breath onto you. “Don’t think he’ll like the tickle.”

She chuckles to herself. You don’t get it. You finish and step back, holding up the hand mirror for her. She shrugs.

“Get me some of that moisturizer,” she points unsteadily to the shelf above the toilet. You do as she says. “Mm,” she grumbles as you face her again, “not wearing that, are ya?”

You look down. The loose tee shirt with butterflies on it and the faded jeans are a bit plain. You tug on the hem and raise your head.

“You got a dress somewhere in there,” she shakes her head as she flips the cap up on the bottle after three tries. “I bought you some nice ones and you never put them one.”

“Uh, okay, yeah, I’ll check,” you promise. “Need help?”

You reach for the bottle and she keeps it out of your reach. You back up and leave her. You can sense her agitation growing.

You cross the hall to your bedroom and go to the closet. You slide the door open and sift through the contents hung from the bar. There’s a dress. A pink polka dot dress she got you in high school. Nothing special; a bargain bin cotton a-line with thin straps.

You take it out and examine it. That was the only dance you went to. You got stood up by the boy who asked you. You realise now it was only ever a joke at your expense.

You undress by your bed and put the dress on. It’s tight. Maybe it’s shrunk or maybe you’ve gotten bigger. You didn’t think your chest had grown that much since high school but it’s bulging out and your thighs feel a bit too exposed. You go into the hall and back into the bathroom. You shift the door as you mother works as spreading the eye cream above her cheekbones.

You look at your reflection and cringe. You turn to your mom.

“It’s too small,” you say to her.

She peers over with a scowl. She looks you up and down and drops the tube of cream. She shakes her head.

“Put a sweater over it,” she sneers, “it’s fine.”

“Right, uh, okay,” you agree and swallow. Even with a sweater, you don’t know. The skirt won’t be any longer.

“Would ya stop crowding me?” She shoos you tersely.

You push the door back against the wall and slip out of the bathroom. You head back to your bedroom and pick out a grey cardigan. It has no buttons but it’s at least as long as the dress. It’s better than feeling so exposed.

You hardly think it will matter. You already feel like a third wheel. Steve didn’t exactly spend hours talking to you and your mother as much as said you are collateral. They’re both just putting up with you because you’re there.

You run your hands over your face and hair. Can't dress that up. You pout at your reflection. You wish you could iust hide on your room and draw.

You look over at your sketchbook and cross the room. You sit on your bed and slide the folding table close. You open the pages and pick up the pencil. You straighten the page you tore from the old home and garden magazine and copy the shape of the amaryllis petals.

You can forget a little longer until real life wakes you up.

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kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay · 1 day

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Winter's King 11

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: friday, my day, am i right?

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You turn your legs over the bench, feet dangling over the floor as you look at the king, dumbfounded and dozy. He sits in the chair by the table, toying with a grab between his fingers as he watches you. Your heart hammers behind your ears as your breath licks like flames in your lungs. You daren’t ask it aloud but what is he doing there?

“I only meant to look in upon you,” King Geralt says as if he can hear your thoughts. “I fathomed the night was long tending to my wife and I would make sure you are well-rested.”

“Your highness,” you stand and smooth the front of your shift, realising you wear nothing more. No dress, no apron. You feel vulnerable to his golden eyes as they follow your hands. The fabric pulls taut on your chest before you can right yourself. “I... Apologies, I am unkempt.”

You search around and go to take your cap from where you hung it. You cover your shorn locks and tie it tight above your nape. The king’s eyes narrow at you.

“What is the purpose of keeping your hair short?” He wonders as he drops the grape back to the plate.

You look at him, shuddering, “I do not... it is only as I’ve been bid, your highness. In Debray, all the maids do so.”

“You are not in Debray now,” he muses.

You’re quiet. You’re not sure how to answer that. You gulp and grab the clean dress from the pile and throw it over your head. It hangs loose, not like Jazlene’s carefully cut and laced gowns. You reach for your apron and the king clears his throat. You stop and look at him.

“Your highness?” You blink, still dazed by his unexpected appearance.

“I did go to see the lady of Debray,” he intones, “she was in a poor state. She would not permit me in her chambers for her condition.”

“Oh my, your highness, I am sorry to hear. Shall I go look in--”

“She has maids a plenty,” he insists, “I hoped...” he leans forward and reaches to his belt. You notice the top of his slate grey tunic is untied and shows the trim of his chest hair, “to share a pastime with her. I hoped perhaps we might see past our differences at last and start our progress towards the kingdom. Alas, despite my warnings, she overindulged and has left herself incapacitated.”

You stare at him, clutching the apron. He flicks his fingers dismissively as his other hand brings forth a pouch, “leave that. Come, sit.”

You can only obey. You put the apron down and cross the chamber. As you near the table, he pushes the tray of dishes out of the way. You lower yourself onto a stool as he opens the mouth of the pouch. He pours out the rattling contents. Carved diced in varying shapes, symbols painted on each side, and man longer pieces that look like bone.

“It is a game,” he explains as the contents roll out, “I’d like to teach you.”

You look down as he sorts out the many pieces into sets. He is lithe in his arrangement. When he is down, he presses his hands flat to frame the assortment.

“You don’t mind?” He wonders, “if you are tired still...”

“Your highness, I am awake,” you rub your eyes and drop your hands to your lap. “A game? How do you play it?”

You lean forward and he seems pleased by your intent. He curls his fingers and takes a breath.

“It is like bartering at a market, or the like,” he begins, “you see how the pieces differ,” he points to the longer ones, “there are tick marks here,” he shows you how one has an ex, another a line this way and the next that way, and a circle in another. “We each have our dice,” he divides those up and pushes a set towards you, “it is a matter of trade and cost.”

“Hmm,” you push your lip out, concentrating.

He continues to explain the balancing and leveraging of each roll. How once you have collected all the pieces with a particular mark, you may wield a greater demand. You tilt your head thoughtfully, your own fingers drawing lines in the air as you make sense of his instruction. You think you understand but remain uncertain.

“We may begin simple,” he intones.

So suddenly are you swept up in the intricacy of the game, that your shock at his appearance dissipates. You can only think of the pieces as he rolls a die. Then the next. You follow his lead and when at last the first trade comes, you hear his offer but have no response.

“You have a question?” He prompts.

“I am thinking, your highness,” you squint as your forehead lines.

“I can tell,” he says brightly.

You peer up at him and smooth your expression. His cheek twitches as he leans back. You counter his offer and he clucks.

“Mm, I see,” he rests his chin on his knuckles.

He hands over his pieces and you bite the inside of your lip. You gather them to your side of the table and frown. You toy with the dice and wait.

“Your turn,” he urges, “unless you are not having fun.”

“It is an interesting game but I don’t want to be let to win,” you mutter.

“I am not letting you win. It is the first turn and it is a long game,” he chides.

“Mm, yes,” you pick through the dice, “your highness.”

He exhales and leans on the armrest, “take your time. I am no hurry to be away.”

You peer up at him and find his gaze set on you. You return your attention to the dice and toss them. He’s a king, should he have better things to do?

⚔️

“It appears you have bested me,” King Geralt sighs and puts his dice down, pressing his hand flat over them, “you have the mind of a councilour.”

“Your highness,” you bring your hands back to wring in your lap.

“Truly, you’ve taken well to it,” he remarks, “it has been some time since I had harrying competition.”

You offer a slight curve of your lips and look away. The window is dulled as the sunlight descends. You blanch and slip forward on the chair.

“Your highness,” you stand, “it is late. I should--”

“You may remain,” he assures you as he shows his palm kindly, “no hurry, little maid.”

“But... shouldn’t you--” you keep yourself from asking after his duty. That is not for you to mind, “the queen will need dinner.”

“As I said before, this place is ripe with servants,” he says coolly, “you should sit and bask in the time you have off your feet.”

You face him and slowly sit. He drags his fingers along the wooden armrest as his expression tightens. He watches you as his square jaw clenches, “unless you would rather be away from me?”

You twist around to look at the door, then to him.

“I will go wherever you command, your highness.”

“Yes, yes,” his hand balls to a fist, “that is not what I...” he sighs with exasperation, “I want to know what you desire. What do you want? What do you need?”

There’s a stirring in your chest as he leans slightly forward, his eyes alight. You peer into the golden pools and your lips part. He is a king and yet speaks as if he would serve you.

“I...” you wisp and clamp your lips tight, measuring your words, “I want to serve you and the queen, your highness. I want to serve the realm.”

He huffs again and grimaces, “for yourself. Not the queen, not me, not the people.”

“Hmmm,” you look down and shrug. You shake your head. You can’t think of anything. “I have a new dress and a hot bath and good food. I can think of nothing. What of you, your highness? What do you want?” You lift your chin slowly, “just for you?”

Your question seems to startle him. He winces and for a moment, seems breathless. He stands suddenly and takes a step forward. He’s close and you think he might lunge at you. You shy away, expecting the same wrath you inspire in the queen. He falters and backs away.

“I want...” he grits and turns his back to you.

He walks to the window and looks out onto the lawns. He hangs his head and grips the window’s edge. He lets out a gravelly sigh.

“I want you...” he utters, “...to come walk with me in the gardens. I would like to do so before we must depart.”

You rise again, “yes, your highness, I will put my shoes on then.”

He puffs out into the deepening dusk. You can feel his frustration roiling from his figure. You grab the stockings and the shoes and return to the chair. You roll the stocking onto your foot and pull it up your leg, rumpling up one side of the skirt as you do. As you hike up the next, the king faces you, surprising you before you can drop the fabric back down to your toes. You sheepishly bend to put your shoes on, embarrassed.

“Thank you, little maid,” he approaches and offers his hand, “for keeping a miserable king company.”

You look at his hand. It’s big and calloused and lined like a map. The invitation seems overly friendly. You accept it, not so bold as to turn him away.

“Your highness,” You murmur as he squeezes your hand then lets his arm fall straight, tugging you away from the table.

Silently, he lets his grip brush from your hand and instead hooks his arm through yours. It is an overly familiar gesture but you allow it. What more can a maid do? As you near the door, he stops and untangles from you completely, stepping away as if struck by the oddity of his actions. He reaches for the door handle and inhales.

He opens the door and steps into the corridor, you follow him, just a pace back. He looks over his shoulder at you then turns ahead. You scurry to keep up with his long strides. He stops at the end of the hallway and you nearly collide with his elbow.

“I am not miserable because of you,” he angles his head towards you as he keeps his voice low, “if you worried...” he shakes his head at himself, “come, little maid.”

You do as he says and trail him through the corridors. It is late and while soldiers remain on watch, most of the lords and ladies have tucked away for their evening meals. The king continues his unstoppable advance with you at his heels. Down a flight of stairs and across the great hall.

Outside, several soldiers bow their heads at his passing and another nears. He dismisses them without a word. You carry on, sensing how his mood darkens with the sky. You’re uncertain of his demeanour, so suddenly shifting from affable to affronted. You didn’t say what he wanted and now he is unhappy. He can be rather like his wife.

He stalks onward to the archway that marks the green gardens of the capital castle. He passes between the leafy pillars and stops to look this way then that, then opts to walk along the middle row. You flit between the hedges behind him as the sky ripples with the looming night and a cool breeze stirs around your skirts.

He is silent as he walks, almost as if he’s forgotten you. You wonder if you fall out of step, if you are lost behind him, would he even notice? Finally, he slows before a pond dug into the center of the gardens, amid lilies and daisies and blue bells. The moon shines down and reflects off the tepid pool.

He treads around the edge of the pond as you stand by the bushes. He circles around to a wooden bench and sits. His shoulders slouch and he leans his head back. The silver light limns his strong features. When he opens his eyes, they glow as they did in your dream.

“I have come this far, I have conquered as I vowed to, I have vanquished the old king,” he speaks to the sky, “I have done all I sought to and yet I am wanting.”

You dip your head, sad for him. You might assume a king would be happy for all his gold and power. That a crown would bring delight as much as glory. All you see is a man in mourning. For all he’s won, he’s lost just as much. Loyal men and many months.

“I have a wife who is petulant, I have an ally who is cowardice, and I have nothing left here to claim,” he continues, “should I remain any longer, I might give it all up.”

He hangs his head and leans forward, gripping the edge of the bench. He sits in silence as he watches the water. A frog hops onto a large stone protruding from the shallows and steals your attention. You watch it leap again and again until it meets the other side.

“Little maid...” the sultry purr crawls over you and you glance over to find the king observing you, “sit with me.”

You shiver and cautiously make your way around the pond. You near him and sit at the end of the bench opposite him. You fixate on the moonlit water. He leans to grab your wrist and hauls you closer. You sidle down until you are almost against him. He slips his hand around yours, covering it in his grasp. He pulls it onto his thigh and rests it there.

He clings to you just like that. You feel a pluck in your chest for him. He has a wife who should share in his troubles but she is too buried in the anguish she made for herself. Yet, she is not there, and you are; a paltry substitute for what he truly needs.

Silence pervades the night but for the chirping of insects and the sweet singing of birds. The king’s grasp on you tightens, then lessens, and tightens again. He eases his hold entirely and pets your hand.

“Will you play another game with me?” His timbre is silty as he looks over at you.

“A game, your highness?” You babble.

He hums and nods, “a child’s game,” he explains, “it is simple.” He sits straight and pushes back his hair, “you will run and I will catch you.”

Your heart lurches. Your lashes flutter. You played the game before, when you were young, with the queen even. But that was years ago and you were smaller and faster. You look at the king.

“Your highness,” you utter.

“It’s my command,” he says, “run.”

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kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay · 1 day

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Adult Swim making an unholy amount of sense.

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kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay · 1 day

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Welcome Home

Pairing: Curtis Everett x Fem!Reader x Jake Jensen Word Count: 4,665 Summary: Your first night in your new forever home with your alpha and beta is like a dream come true. Warnings: Explicit sexual content. Explicit language. A/B/O. MFM trio. A fucked up verse where omegas are generally treated more like pets than people, but don't worry, our babes will fix that. Pet play elements. Praise kink. Exhibitionism. Voyeurism. Vaginal fingering. Oral sex (f & m receiving). Lots of praise. Unprotected sex. Biting aka a/b/o bonding.

A/N: Lookit!!! I finally have a new installment to the Pound Town verse for you. YAY! 🥳 I hope you enjoy it and I really hope you take a moment to drop me a reblog, comment, or ask once you finish. Reading or cumming, I’m not picky 😏

P.S. If you're new to this verse, be sure to read Curtis, Jake, and Reader's first part here.

VERSE MASTERLIST

As Curtis and Jake ushered you into your new home, you were torn between curiosity–eager to drink in every detail of your forever home–and a deep, desperate ache that was throbbing throughout you and had been since the duo started lavishing you with attention and praise in the playroom back at the pound.

Your eyes glimpsed a large, cozy looking living room with a stone fireplace before Jake was herding you toward the wooden staircase off the entryway.

“Come on, gorgeous, we can save the tour for tomorrow,” he grinned.

“Jake.”

The stern tone of Curtis’ voice had both you and the beta freezing at the foot of the stairs, and you glanced over your shoulder to find your new alpha looming a few feet away, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched the two of you.

Despite his serious countenance, there was a sparkle of amusement in his eyes, and it had that ache within you blooming with a new wave of want as you squirmed under Curtis’ intent gaze.

“We had her welcome home planned, beta,” Curtis tsked. “Tour first, then some food, then play time.”

“But I need her,” Jake whined, sticking out his lower lip as he tugged your back against his chest and rested his chin on your shoulder. “And she needs us, too. I know you can smell her, and she smells unsatisfied.”

Your face bloomed with the heat of embarrassment, your gaze dropping to the floor as you realized that your musky omega scent was hanging heavy in the air.

A beat later, Curtis was before you, his body heat mingling with yours and Jake’s as he touched a finger beneath your chin and tipped your shy gaze up to meet his.

“We’ll let her decide,” he murmured, “Since it’s her first day home. What should we prioritize, sweetheart? What do you want to do first?”

The happy chirp was bubbling up and spilling past your lips before you could even formulate a real response, because an alpha–your alpha–was giving you a choice, letting you decide.

Because he cared what you wanted, and no one had ever cared about that before, not ever.

Your jumbled thoughts and surprise must have been easy to read, because Curtis’ face softened as his hand slid along your warm cheek, until you could nuzzle into his touch as you blinked up at him, a little dazed already.

“What do you want, omega?” he asked again.

“I want you,” you answered honestly. “And Jake,” your hand rested over your beta’s hand that was planted on your belly. “I want you to bond me, please, so I can be yours for real and forever.”

“I love her so much,” Jake breathed, his eyes shimmering as he met Curtis’ gaze as he snuffled along your neck.

“Alright then, what our omega wants, she gets,” Curtis hummed. He pressed a kiss to your forehead before doing the same to Jake, and then he was herding the both of you up the stairs amongst some quiet giggles and wandering hands.

Soon the three of you were stumbling into the bedroom, and you had a moment to smile at the once again cozy, inviting decor before Jake was basically propelling you toward the neatly made California king-size bed.

“Patience, beta,” Curtis reminded, but there was a curl to his lips as Jake sent him an abashed look.

“Sorry, ‘mega,” Jake whispered against your ear, pressing a kiss to the plane of skin just behind it as he gave your hips a greedy grope.

As his lips began to touch and taste along the skin of your neck, Curtis drew near, pressing flush to your front–until you were sandwiched between both men–and dipping his head low to catch your lips with his own.

It was instant, the way Curtis’ kiss short circuited your brain. You had never felt so desired and adored–and never at the same time–as his soft, plush lips pressed against your own, his tongue sneaking along the seam of your mouth until you were happily opening up to him as he deepened the kiss.

Curtis swallowed your throaty moan as Jake’s hand snuck into your panties, just a bit of cute, lacy fabric that went along with the fluttery dress they had brought to the pound to dress you in for the drive home. Your cat ears and plug were still tucked away in a bag in the back of their car, but that’s as far as your brain got before Jake’s fingers were circling your clit and making you whine.

“Wait,” you panted once Curtis retreated from your mouth. “Please.”

“What do you need, pretty girl?” he asked, his big hand resting at the base of your throat as you blinked at him, dazed and struggling to think straight.

You felt a new wave of shyness wash over you as you finally zeroed in on what you really wanted in that moment.

“Will you scent me, please? Both of you, together?”

“God, she’s so sweet,” Jake groaned, giving your sopping wet pussy a gentle pat before pulling his hand from your underwear and sucking your arousal from his fingers.

“Come here,” Curtis directed, taking your hand and leading you toward the bed.

He settled you on the edge of it and sat at your side, waiting for Jake to mirror him on your other side before you were glancing between them, something ecstatic bursting to life in your belly and fluttering up through your chest as your eyes bounced from one warm, wanting look to the other.

When your gaze locked on Curtis’, he gave you a look so intent and focused that you whined softly, pressing your thighs together as a gush of arousal seeped from your pussy and made you squirm.

Nostrils flaring, your alpha leaned close, pressing a gentle kiss to your unmarked mating gland and purring at your sharp gasp before he was slowly dragging his nose along your neck as his musky scent rose up around you.

Your eyes fluttered when Jake descended on the other side of your throat, nosing along your warm skin and moaning at your scent as he scented you with a bit more eagerness and less finesse and patience than your alpha.

You swore you could taste the cocktail of their desire on your tongue as Curtis and Jake worked together to cover you in their scents, until you had a death grip on each of their hands in one of yours as you sank between them, already a floaty, pliant mess of carnal delight.

Before you knew what was happening, the duo worked together to undress you and scoot you further up the bed, until you were sinking back against Jake, positioned between his legs as Curtis sank to his knees and tugged you to the very edge of the bed.

Curtis’ eyes were so dark with desire they were nearly black as he tugged your ruined panties off and tossed them aside. His palms were warm and rough as they glided up your calves, spreading your legs wide open as he commanded Jake to, “Hold her open for me, beta.”

The directive alone had you moaning as your pussy clenched, your heart hammering in your chest as Curtis’ gaze fell to your glistening folds.

“You’re so pretty, sweetheart,” he murmured, thumbs tugging the petals of your sex apart until he could see your twitching hole.

Your breath caught as his thumb ghosted over your drippy entrance, but then it was gliding up along the cut of you until he was rubbing barely there circles along your clit. Your hips bucked as need consumed you and you started babbling for you weren’t even sure what.

All you knew was that you wanted, so so much, and Curtis and Jake could give it to you.

They could give you everything.

Mesmerized, you watched with wide eyes as Curtis’ head dipped low, his warm breath washing over your pussy and making you whine as Jake cooed at your pretty noises and caressed along your naked breasts.

The first swipe of your alpha’s tongue along your cunt had you nearly catapulting off the bed, and you squealed as Jake chuckled and gripped your thighs tighter, spreading your legs open just a little bit wider as Curtis shot you a wink and then went to town.

He groaned at the taste of you, lapping along your glistening folds before his tongue was teasing along your clit and driving you wild.

You had never felt such intense pleasure in your entire life. And if this is what pleasure felt like, you were pretty sure you’d never felt it at all.

The overwhelming feeling continued to mount, so many sensations running rampant through your body, the most prevalent being the strange build up that throbbed in the core of you.

With each swipe of Curtis’ tongue, with every tease of his fingers along your weeping, clenching hole, it felt like you were inching along, closer and closer to something you so desperately needed despite not really knowing what your body was seeking to begin with.

And then it hit you out of nowhere.

It felt like your body was erupting, your back bowing as you keened at the warm, tingly rush of ecstasy that flooded through you. Distantly you were aware of the way Jake was still holding you in place, cooing against your ear as Curtis purred from between your trembling thighs and rumbled a litany of praise as your body writhed and bucked.

You were panting when you finally sagged back against the sheets, so beyond dazed as you gasped for breath and shivered as stray aftershocks sparked their way along your body.

“You’re such a good girl,” Curtis husked as he rose up from between your legs and stretched out over you. “Such a good omega.”

The happy chirp sounded as faint and dazed as you still looked, and Jake and Curtis shared a grin as the beta shimmied out from behind you, nearly vibrating in anticipation as Curtis dropped a quick kiss to your lips before moving away.

Before your pout could even fully form at his departure, Jake was taking Curtis’ place atop you, his big, boyish grin softening as he got a good look at your fucked-out-without-even-being-fucked-yet state.

“You’re so pretty,” Jake breathed, his big hand cradling the side of your face as he ducked low and kissed you.

Really kissed you.

Distantly, you hoped you were keeping up with the urgent, sinful press of his lips half as good as he was working his mouth against yours, but when his tongue snuck between your lips as he deepened the kiss, all your thoughts went quiet as you mewled and twined your arms around Jake’s neck and tugged him even closer.

It was the most heady feeling you had ever experienced, having the breath stolen right from your lungs by Jake’s eager lips as you felt the heavy, warm gaze of Curtis just beside you both, enjoying the show.

The longer you and Jake drank from each other’s lips, the stronger his scent got. There was a spicy tang to it now–his arousal–that made your head spin in the best way as you also felt the evidence of his desire for you pressed hard and hot against your belly.

At last, when your little sips of air in between kisses became more and more desperate, Jake finally retreated from your mouth, gasping just as harshly as you were, but that still didn’t stop him or his perfect, pink lips from kissing a trail down the side of your throat.

His mouth tasted and teased along your shoulders before he was finally licking at one of your hard, achy nipples, groaning against your chest as he took a moment to just face plant between your tits as his big hands groped them and pressed them around his face.

“Love boobs so much!” his muffled exclamation made you giggle.

He popped his head up at the sweet sound, giving you an abashed smile before his features went determined and he was once again kissing all along your chest, worshiping every inch of you he could reach as he continued his descent down your body.

You started to squirm when his mouth reached your belly, whining softly as your hand shot out and your fingers gripped Jake’s short, soft hair.

His eyes flickered up to meet yours as he pressed the gentlest kiss against your lower belly before skimming his lips even lower, until he was warming your mound with his hot breath.

“Please,” you begged softly, spreading your legs in offering and so needy for that rush of bliss that Curtis had so masterfully bestowed upon you just a short while ago.

Jake glanced sideways at Curtis, who was starting to shift restlessly now, his alpha scent overtaking the cocktail of yours and Jake’s own scents. Winking at the other man, Jake took a moment to press one final kiss to your swollen clit, giving it a firm lick for good measure before he was moving away and you were pouting in earnest.

“Think what you really need is our alpha’s knot, pretty omega,” Jake winked at you.

Before you could even think of a reply, Curtis was once again settling over you, his big, warm body taking up residence between your sprawled legs and making your eyes go wide with just how intently–how hungrily–he was eyeing you up.

You didn’t think you’d ever been looked at like that before, so all you could do was blink owlishly as Curtis’ handsome face hovered over your own. Then your eyes were fluttering shut as he dipped low to kiss you. Your alpha kissed you just as expertly as he had worked the warm, wet place between your legs, and he didn’t pull away until you were desperately gasping for breath against his lips.

You didn’t resist as Curtis sat back and gently turned you onto your belly. “Present for me, sweetheart,” he directed, and your body was following his instructions despite the way your mind was still foggy and sluggish and playing catch up from all of their attention.

“Yeah, there you go, omega,” Curtis purred, as you perched on all fours, albeit a little wobbly. He took a moment to completely undress, before his big hand circled the back of your neck and guided your head down so your warm cheek pressed against the soft, rumpled blanket.

“Relax for me, pretty girl,” he murmured against your ear, big hand gliding down the length of your spine as he settled behind you. He gripped his hard cock in his hand, giving himself a few, slow pumps as Jake scrambled up beside him and shed his own clothes before resuming his spot and gazing at his alpha’s cock with a hungry look in his eye.

Smirking, Curtis kept his free hand on the curve of your ass, warming your skin and letting you feel he was close as he turned to Jake. He released his cock in lieu of collaring the back of Jake’s neck and reeling him closer. Humming, he kissed his beta breathless, until he was swallowing Jake’s whine and pulling away with a grin.

“Get me wet and ready for her, beta,” Curtis murmured.

Moaning, Jake dipped low, eagerly taking Curtis’ cock in his mouth. His head bobbed a few times, hand gripping the base of Curtis’ cock and squeezing as the obscene sound of Curtis fucking Jake’s throat rose up around you all.

Curtis groaned, tipping his head back and allowing himself a final hard rut into his beta’s throat before gently pulling away from Jake. “So good to me, bub,” he husked, caressing Jake’s ruddy cheek before he was once again settling behind you.

“Ready for me, sweetheart?” Curtis asked you, both hands smoothing over your ass cheeks and tugging them apart to reveal the glistening folds of your cunt.

“Yes, alpha,” you murmured, still sounding floaty as fuck.

And then you were nearly choking on a sharp gasp as you felt the rounded tip of Curtis’ cock line up with your entrance before he slowly started to push inside of you.

You moaned at the pressure, fisting the blankets on either side of you as Curtis patiently worked himself inside of your warm, tight pussy.

“Fuck, omega, this cunt’s so tight,” he grunted as his hips retreated ever so slightly before he was surging back in again, just a little bit further than before.

You whined when it started to feel like too much, but then Jake was curling close to you, his big hand petting over your head as his lips pressed to your temple and he started to whisper an endless string of praise and adoration against your ear.

“You’re so pretty, omega,” he murmured. “So perfect for us. We’ve been waiting for you for so long, and now we finally have you, and you’re all ours. We’re gonna take such good care of you, pretty girl, just like you deserve. We’re gonna cherish you so much, forever.”

Feeling tears well, you reached for Jake’s hand, twining your fingers with his and giving a soft cry when Curtis finally bottomed out inside of you and went still, his big hands smoothing along your back as he purred behind you.

The first full retreat and thrust of his cock inside of you had you moaning, and then your eyes squeezed shut and your mouth hung open as your alpha really started to fuck you.

It felt amazing, feeling him so deep inside of you, where he belonged. This was what you were made for–taking your alpha’s cock, bringing him pleasure–and it was like every new rut of his hard length within the deepest depths of your body was another small act of validation that you were right where you were meant to be.

That familiar, desperate throbbing from before started to pulse in your core, and soon every thrust of Curtis’ had you moaning or whining or keening so pretty for them.

When Jake’s hand worked its way beneath you and his fingers started rubbing your clit, you nearly screamed, distantly aware of the way you clenched so hard around Curtis’ cock that you made him grunt and snarl from the pleasure of it.

And then all the distant thoughts in your mind seemed to evaporate at once as you came. Pleasure rippled through every inch of your body as you tensed and clamped around your alpha’s cock.

Curtis continued to fuck you through it, feeling your cunt flutter around him for a second time before you were nearly boneless before him. He pulled out and turned you over, sharing another amused grin with Jake at how pliant and floaty you were.

Sitting back in the middle of the bed, Curtis pulled you into his lap and back on his hard, aching cock, his strong arms circling you and holding you safe and secure against him as he pounded up into your sweet body from below.

“Fuck, I’m close,” he panted, his dark eyes meeting Jake’s as he nodded.

Jake joined the fray, plastering himself against your back as his hands snuck around your body so he could grope your tits.

“Ready to become ours forever, omega?” Curtis breathed as he gave another hard, deep rut inside you.

You blinked at him, uncomprehending at first, but then it was like your inner omega perked up instantly, and she knew what came next, her giddiness and elation making it click in your brain, too.

“Yes, alpha,” you breathed, your vision blurring with happy tears.

Curtis’ intense look softened ever so slightly, and he took the time to kiss you again, gently despite the frantic, relentless thrusting of his cock inside you. Just as he pulled away, he groaned against your lips, shoving into you hard and lingering.

You felt his cock throb and twitch inside of you, and then his seed warming your insides as your pussy fluttered wildly. A beat later, you gasped as Curtis tucked his face against the crook of your neck and sank his teeth into your mating gland.

Jake did the same on the other side of your neck, and it was like a jolt of electricity sparked in your core and zipped through the rest of you.

You shuddered between your alpha and beta, another orgasm tearing through you as your body writhed and trembled and you felt Curtis’ knot expand and stretch your cunt to capacity.

Whining, you sank against his sweaty chest, chirping softly at the way both men began to coo and rain kisses on every inch of you they could reach.

You were barely functioning but so very, very happy by the time Curtis’ knot went down and he pulled out of you. Your half-lidded gaze followed him as he sank onto his side next to you, and then Jake was stretching out on top of you and earning your full attention.

Your beta’s grin was big and boyish as he pet your head and kissed you thoroughly enough that he stole your breath away.

“You look sleepy, sweet omega, so I’ll make it quick,” he murmured against your lips. “Just wanna feel you and fill you up, okay?”

“Okay,” you whispered, gasping softly as Jake lined himself up and slid into you with ease. “Jake.”

“Ohhhh, fuck,” Jake groaned, squeezing his eyes shut as he sank against you. “Youfeelsogood,” he breathed in a rush, dropping his forehead to yours as his hips started to move.

His cock wasn’t as long as Curtis’ but it was thicker, and you felt your body absolutely light up every time he eagerly shoved into you. Jake was frantic in his fucking of you, cradling you with his big, muscular arms as he rutted into you without pause, groaning and moaning against your lips as his hand snuck down between your bodies.

It just took a bit of pressure from his fingers on your clit and the way Curtis teased, “Just wait until you take both our cocks at once,” to have you cumming again.

Jake hissed as your pussy spasmed around him, his hips going harder and faster until he was following you over the edge and “Hnnnngh”ing against your sweaty cheek as he pumped you full of his cum.

You felt the bed shift as you laid beneath Jake, happy as a clam and half-asleep as he snuffled along your neck. Soon he was moving off of you and flopping beside you on the bed, his grin big and lazy as Curtis emerged from the connected bathroom with a couple of wet washcloths to clean you both up.

“You did so well, omega,” he murmured as he gently cleaned the mess between your legs. “How do you feel, sweetheart?”

“Happy,” you answered before your brain caught up to his question.

Curtis’ smile was warm and tender as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, chuckling at the way Jake rolled closer to you and nuzzled along your temple. He took a moment to gently inspect the bondmarks on your neck before smoothing a hand over your head.

“Tomorrow we’ll have you bond us, but for now, I think we all need a good night’s sleep, how’s that sound?”

You nodded as your eyes grew heavier and heavier, pouting a little when both Curtis and Jake retreated from the bed to put on some pajamas. They worked together to dress you in a clean pair of panties and a thin sleep dress, and then you were thanking them both and watching them longingly as you slipped from the bed and sank to the floor beside it.

“What are you doing?” Jake asked, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline as Curtis gave you a puzzled look.

You blinked at both of them, just as confused. “Going to sleep?”

“Not on the floor you’re not,” Curtis told you firmly, gently gripping your arm and tugging you back to your feet. “Our bed is your bed now, too, omega.”

You felt a lump form in your throat, overwhelmed with emotion because you’d never had a real bed before, just a thin mattress to sleep on the pound floor where you had lived your whole life until now.

“It is?” you asked, not resisting at all as Curtis urged you back into bed and toward the center of the mattress. You felt shy all of the sudden as your hand smoothed over the rumpled sheets and you asked, “It’s all of ours?”

“Everything we have is yours now, too,” Curtis said. “The bed, this house, everything. All of us.”

Your lower lip wobbled as Jake ducked into the closet before bounding back out again, his arms overflowing with brightly colored gifts for you.

“We have stuff just for you, too!” he told you excitedly as he sat beside you. “Like these! I picked them out, do you like them?”

You hesitantly accepted the pillow and small throw blanket, hugging them to your chest as you breathed in their soft, clean scent that was also mixed with the familiar scents of your alpha and beta. “You got these for me?”

“Yeah,” Jake laughed, his blue eyes shimmering with warmth from behind his thin-rimmed glasses.

“I love them,” you smiled, blinking back more happy tears as Curtis slid into bed on your other side. “Thank you so much!”

You watched as they each arranged their own pillows on the outsides of the bed before watching you carefully place your own pillow between theirs as you hugged your new blanket to your chest.

Curtis turned out the bedside lamp, and they both shifted closer, until you were happily snuggled between them, exhaustion finally winning out as the quiet murmurs of your new alpha and beta lulled you to sleep in no time at all, a small smile curling your lips and your heart so very, very content.

“Not that I’m complaining about how we spent our first night together,” Curtis whispered to Jake as he watched you sleep between them, “but we need to make sure we make her feel loved, not just desired.”

“Why not both?” Jake grinned, waggling his eyebrows.

Curtis shot him a look, but it was more softly amused than anything before he was going serious again. “She has a sweet heart, Jake, like you. I just want to make sure we protect it at all costs. She’s had a hard life, and now she has us.”

“Yeah she does,” a dopey grin curled Jake’s lips as he shifted even closer to you. He watched you for a beat before his gaze lifted to Curtis’. “I’ll make sure to tone down the wanting to jump her bones 24/7.”

Curtis cracked a grin. “I don’t think she’d complain, but I just want to make sure that’s not all we’re communicating. I don’t want her to feel used or like that’s all we want from her.”

Jake’s grin went soft, his eyes warm as he watched Curtis before murmuring, “You’re a good alpha.”

Carefully leaning over you, Curtis pressed a soft kiss to Jake’s lips before fondly ruffling his hair. “Goodnight, bub,” he whispered before settling on your other side.

“Night,” Jake whispered back. Then he placed the gentlest kiss ever to your head, unable to resist shooting Curtis one last ecstatic smile before finally settling down beside you and falling asleep nearly as quickly as you did.

For a few moments, Curtis laid awake, listening to your slow, even breaths, and Jake’s too. Just beneath the surface, he could feel the proud, satisfied content of his inner alpha, so pleased at last now that his pack was complete.

Curtis leaned into his alpha’s content–his content–allowing the soft, peaceful sound of you and Jake breathing beside him to pull him under into the deepest depths of sleep, as a small, happy smile curled his lips.

I’d like to give a big shout out and lots of love to my sweet Bee for sharing that idea of Omega being so 🥺 at the idea of their bed being her bed now + Jake so happily presenting her with her sleepy girl things!! You’re the best, my cherished friend ❤️

If you enjoyed this chapter, please take a moment to drop me a reblog, comment, or ask. It really helps to keep my muse inspired when y’all screech at me!!

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