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oishiyani · 1 month

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🦐 ; Where Were You?

🦐 ; y/n’s presence never missed every single day! a text, a voice call, maybe even a visit. but then one morning.. boom! y/n vanished, not a single sign of life from them has got them shuffled in their minds! who knows could be what their reaction? (SCENARIOS)

— this is a fun little drabble while i had on my free time!! huehue, i swear ill make nikolai on the pt2 of this and along with another character in mind!

Sigma

Would end up trashing in fear in his body.

sigma's love for you is known to be only pure, he loves you whole and so do you. a routine where you'd keep him occupied with everything that's happened to you while he shoots you a bunch of questions of things he hadn't heard such about. the more you talked, the more curious he got.

the way you talk has him falling head over heels for you! that's the most special event in his daily life. the part where you'd find him and call so sweetly of his name out of your lips, your voice instantly makes him forget whatever's disturbing his head- soon relaxed when he recognizes your voice.

with this everyday routine with you is like a vitamin he has to take everyday, without it he may not function well. it's the most crucial part of his life- he can't miss a day without you. then one day, he did almost did miss a day.

usually you'd be calling out for him when he's really stuffed with the casino of his. a perfect timing for you to be his savior to come and comfort him, but after a few hours- he looked at the clock that was hanged on the wall.

'that’s strange.. y/n should be here at any moment now.. y/n's coming here soon right?'

and so, he waited. and waited. and waited. like a dog waiting for their owner to return home behind closed doors.

sigma begins to fidget without him realizing, one of his legs starts fiddling as both of his hands clasped together, his right index finger tapping up and down for who knows how long. and you still weren't here.

its been hours, he noticed. he spammed your phone number with a few text messages asking where are you, were you alright? were you not safe? the thought of you in danger increased his worries. could fyodor have captured you to use you against him?

he swallowed the developed lump in his throat, he had to search for you immediately. now was the time to take action. who knows what could’ve happen to you? he stands up and grabs the telephone by his desk- before he was about to dial, the sound of his main doors pushed open.

there you were, standing with a bunch of bags hanged on your arm. "hey, sorry i kind of arrived late! as you can see here i bought-"

"s-sigma?" you were cut by your sentence as you were took by a sudden surprise of sigma who dropped the telephone and approached you with his footsteps in a haste. he then hugged you tightly- wrapped in his arms, never wanting to let go of you. his head on your shoulder while his face hides at your sight. you almost fell behind and tumbled because of the unforeseen of event.

"where were you?" he asked, a sound of his voice cracked as he spoke. you hugged him back trying your best to tolerate how really tight his hug is, "i was out in the mall.. my phone happened to run out of battery so i couldn't message you. i'm sorry about that." you let out of a bashful giggle.

soon you felt slight coldness on the fabric you wore, your eyes dilated and grabbed sigma's forearms to push him slowly from you.

with his face in front of you. sigma's eyes were bottled up with tears, his nose a bit red. which looks like he's been holding in his emotions for a while. the tables have turned- now you were the one worried, confused, why was sigma crying? did you do something wrong?

"huh? did something happen? what's wrong?" sigma looked down, a sigh escaping his lips- his eyebrows furrowed. "you were gone for too long and i just got worried.. really that's all." his eyes shifted in another direction, a small pout on his lips formed after.

you also sighed in relief after thinking that something worse happened to him, "i'm sorry for that sigma.. next time i'll invite you to the mall with me. we could try one of those fancy restaurants i saw."

he sniffled, his index finger swiped the tear bubbling from the corner of his eye. "sure, i'd love to go." he then smiled. "i'm happy you're back."

sigma then felt something pressed on to his lips. it was.. a cookie?! his eyes lit of sparks. you pushed the cookie futher and sigma took immediate bite of it, "i also bought these cookies for you! do you like them?"

a faint pink shade of blush wave on his cheeks, "mhm."

Fyodor

Would come and fetch you immediately. and once found- it’s a must to return.

your presence being absent for a while doesn’t shaken fyodor himself. why? oh y/n, you lack the knowledge of fyodor’s tracking skills- an absoulute maniac at it! he could be watching you at every placed cctv camera by the city and you’re fully unaware of it.

fyodor fonds you quite alot- well for more than what you can think. he loves how you bring gifts for him on the way back, after he just watched you struggle to buy something for him. unable to choose between two goods situation. he smiles internally at how cute you look while deciding if he'd

with your loyalty to him, he surely should protect you from any harm that opposes you. that’s why he’s spectating you from the cameras y’know! it’s all for the sake of your safety after all. he even thought of placing cameras in your house, maybe if someone attempted to rob you then he’d save the day.

as soon as fyodor came back from his office- sitting on his chair, eyes stamped on the screen that displayed different corners of each street. in an insant his eyes hunt for you like a prey.

switching from cameras to cameras, he was unable to find you through it. he double checked again- maybe you’ll appear at any moment but no. you still weren’t there at the store you always went.

‘that’s strange..’ fyodor said as he gently rubbed his chin, thinking where have you might go. he only set off his eyes away from the screen for a minute and you’re gone that quickly? that was the least he expected since you take your time at browsing your items.

little did he know you stumbled upon this local cafe that just opened up! it was located at this small apartment that the owner set it up as their own business. you happen to saw a poster and an immediate urge drove into you as soon as you saw the cafe’s new release of a drink.

with that in mind, you went on your way to try it out. you open the door that supposedly says in the poster that this is where they’re located, a small, shady place for a cafe indeed. you were met by the sound of a small bell that clang on top when you opened the door. the aroma of coffee strikes you.

there were only a few people, really few.. like 3. the man who’s behind the counter greeted you a welcome. you came upfront and told him that you wanted to try their new drink. the man agreed, but as he went on to make it- the man seems like he couldn’t find himself to stop talking about you.

he continuously asked you multiple questions about yourself, what you do for living, how was living in the city, were you still studying, ‘till he abruptly asked if you were in a relationship with someone.

the first set of questions weren’t that bad, although they progressively became more personal. the conversation still about yourself- you ended up being uncomfortable as you sat and waited for your drink to be done.

“maybe we could exchange numbers.. if you ever don’t have one though! and we could go get some coff-“

“do you serve tea around here?” the familiar voice spoke. you quickly turned to your side and saw fyodor who was about to sit down beside you. “wait- fyodor?! what’re you doing here? i mean, when did you even get here?!”

“just now.” fyodor replied, his gaze on the man who was doing the finishing touches to your drink. the man who was behind the counter was also just as confused as you for the unexpected new customer. “tea sir? i’m afraid we don’t-“

“well, that’s unfortunate. i was hoping me and y/n would go here sometime.” fyodor replied. cutting the man’s words off. “y/n?” you looked to fyodor again, giving him a sign that he has your attention. he told you to bring out your phone and to wear your headphones for some reason, he then told you to listen to this orchestra piece he liked.

“just for a moment.” he told you, mouth close to your ear, then puts back the lifted half of the headphones on your ear. you watched him talk to the man, both of them having a conversation while you listened to melody in your ears. you then continued to sip your finished drink, ‘this is good.. and refreshing..’ the wave of relaxation was disturbed by a sudden slam that vibrated on the wooden counter.

you turned your gaze back to the two, lifting your headphones. the man’s face expression showed he was terrified, while fyodor was only giving the poor man a smirk. “get out before i call the police!” the man threatened. “wait- what happened?” yet again confused, you asked fyodor. he only stood up and stared at the man who’s legs began to shake.

“let’s go y/n. we surely don’t want to be in this place of a stench.” fyodor took his steps to the door turning the doorknob. you left your payment on the counter and catched up to fyodor on the way out of the apartment.

you were filled with questions for fyodor to answer, but the only answer you ever got was quite odd-

“i only gave him a little piece of advice, i wouldn’t want that cafe to be shut down completely.”

the next day, you were walking by the side of the streets. you found yourself in the same spot where the cafe you went was located. but this time, you took notice that there was a sign that said ‘THIS PLACE HAS BEEN SHUT DOWNED’

#bsd x reader #bsd x y/n #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x you #bsd imagines #bungo stray dogs imagine #sigma x reader #sigma x you #sigma x y/n #fyodor x reader #fyodor x you #fyodor x y/n

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cuubism · 17 days

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Physical Therapy, Part 8

A few days later, Hob goes to Dream’s old flat. He wanted to go immediately, but he needed time to calm himself. If he went to confront Dream’s ex immediately, he’d be too likely to do something inadvisable out of anger.

Truthfully, he’s still so angry.

He can control himself, though. So he knocks on the door, instead of taking it off its hinges.

Dream’s ex-boyfriend opens the door with an annoyed look on his face. But jumps back, startled, at the sight of Hob. He recognizes Hob, then. Good.

“I’m here for Dream’s things,” he says. No need to prolong this with pleasantries.

“His things?” says the ex, with disdain, like Dream’s possessions mean nothing to him. “Why? He’ll come back anyway. Eventually.”

“No, he won’t.”

Ex-boyfriend leans against the door frame, smirking. Maybe Hob should have just punched him. “You going to stop him?”

Hob takes a deep, long breath. No. He actually wouldn’t try to stop him. He’s not going to force Dream to do anything. He’d try to convince him otherwise, though. And if he can be a good enough boyfriend, then maybe Dream will never feel the need to go back to some horrible place, looking for love.

“I don’t try to make people stay in my house,” he snaps. “His things. Now. You think I won’t punch you again?”

So much for being calm.

For the first time, that smirking look slips. “It’s all worthless anyway,” he says.

Hob grits his teeth. The stupidest thing is, even for someone who doesn’t care about Dream himself, Dream’s art is objectively not worthless. Hob had looked it up once. Dream’s paintings sell for thousands of pounds. Sometimes tens of thousands. It’s not just Dream’s passion that he’s so jealous and disparaging about, but his livelihood, his basic ability to support himself.

“Are you going to let me take it?” he says. “Or are we going to have a problem?”

Ex-boyfriend looks annoyed—and uncomfortable?—but finally just gestures Hob in. “Fine. Whatever.”

Inside, the flat is… kind of cold. It’s not homey. He can’t imagine Dream living here; he can barely imagine Dream living in his own flat, which is likewise utterly empty of decoration. But there are spots on the wall, here, that are empty in a more conspicuous way. Like Dream’s art might once have hung there.

Hob doesn’t know the entirety of what he’s looking for, but he thinks he’ll be able to identify most of Dream’s things by sight. And indeed—with Dream’s ex trailing him like an irritable ghost—he finds some of what must be Dream’s clothes in the closet, and Dream’s sketchbooks and books and paperwork all stacked in boxes. Like they’d been on their way out.

So much for “he’s definitely coming back.”

Dream’s ex doesn’t stop him as he packs stuff up and gathers it by the door. But as Hob looks at what he’s managed to collect, there’s obviously something missing. Pieces that were still drying and pieces that were too large to carry, Dream had said, when speaking of what he'd left behind.

“Where’s the rest of his art?”

Now ex-boyfriend does look uncomfortable. A sinking feeling settles in Hob’s stomach. “Why would I keep that shit, anyway? I told you, it’s worthless."

“It’s not worthless,” Hob snaps, but this time his voice breaks. He scrubs a hand through his hair. Looks at the empty spaces on the wall.

He tries to imagine what happened. Did he just toss it all? Coldly? Methodically? No, Hob doesn’t think so. If he had he would have just gotten rid of the rest of Dream’s stuff, too.

What he can imagine is a fit of rage, with his real target, Dream, having fled, and only the supposed distraction, his life’s work, left behind.

Dream's ex-boyfriend is watching him warily. He seems nervous about what Hob might do, like Hob is an unpredictable animal. Good. Maybe he'll understand how Dream's felt. “You got what you came for,” he says. “Just go.”

“Yeah, I’m trying to decide if I'm going to kill you first.”

Dream’s ex takes a startled step back. And Hob really, really wants to just fucking bash this guy’s head in. But he has to restrain himself. Not just because he doesn’t want to get arrested for assault, though that’s also better avoided.

No. It’s really that he doesn’t want to be another violent man in Dream’s life.

As satisfying as it was to throw that first punch in Dream’s defense, making it physical now would be a different matter. If he shows that he’s capable of resorting to real violence to get what he wants, or to punish someone for something, Dream is always going to have that in the back of his head when he looks at him. There will always be a tiny corner of his brain harboring the fear that that impulse could turn on him.

He’s already kind of pushing boundaries by being here at all, and only getting away with it because Dream didn’t actually tell him not to go, just that he himself didn’t want to. God his blood is heated and this asshole definitely deserves to be taught a lesson but it’s not worth putting a crack in Dream’s trust in him.

“You’re lucky I care more about what he thinks of me,” he finally says. Then he gathers all of Dream’s stuff, and makes himself leave. Dream’s ex, wisely, doesn’t say anything else as he goes.

—

Dream is in the middle of trying to paint when Hob arrives. Or rather, in the middle of staring at a canvas, wishing he could paint. He’d bought a large canvas in the hopes that he might try to do something in his old style, something more detailed and precise. But he’s been too intimidated by the prospect to even begin mixing colors.

He keeps finding himself staring at all the empty space in his flat, at walls that should be hung with art. But he doesn’t have any of his large pieces left. They were all sold prior to… the incident… or left behind. He only has the smaller ones that were in his portfolio.

He’s been finding himself regretting selling those pieces. He had never been bothered by it before, but now he wants to track down the buyers and beg for them back. But he won't. Some of those paintings had sold for tidy sums, which is the reason he can afford this flat despite not having a steady job. And he has no guarantee of being able to sell something at that rate again.

He at least has photographs of everything he’s ever sold. The same can’t be said of what he’d kept for himself, or left unfinished.

He startles at the knock on the door, but remembers: Hob said he would come over today.

He still hasn’t been able to shake the need to block the door whenever he’s home, so he has to shove aside a bookcase before he can let Hob in. When he opens the door, Hob is carrying a box, and wearing a pained smile. “Here,” he says, giving it to Dream. “I have more in the car.”

He disappears back down the stairs before Dream can question him, and Dream sets the heavy box down on the kitchen island.

It’s full of his sketchbooks.

For several moments he just stares at them, not daring to touch. How did Hob— did he go to Dream’s flat?

Hob comes back with another two boxes, precariously balanced, while Dream is still staring at the first one. These, it seems, are full of documents, and personal effects, and some of his favorite books.

“How—?” he tries to ask, nearly struck dumb.

“I went to your house,” Hob says. “Sorry, I probably shouldn’t have. But you deserve to have your things.”

At first, he is only shocked to think that someone would go to such lengths for him. Then, Dream feels a surge of hope. Perhaps—

But. No. Of all things, Hob would have known to grab his artwork. He would have lead with that.

“…Oh,” Dream says quietly, looking down.

“Yeah,” Hob says, face falling. “I’m so sorry, Dream, that’s all that was there— I mean I still have some of your clothes in the car, but—”

“I love you,” Dream says, tearing up. Hob actually went back. To get his things. Even when Dream said it wasn’t worth doing.

When he looks up again, Hob looks stunned. And only then does Dream realize what he’s said. He swallows nervously, but he doesn’t want to take it back. It doesn’t matter if he truly meant that he’s in love with Hob. Because either way, he loves Hob. And no one has ever loved him like this, like it was easy. And without question.

“I—” Hob stammers. “I mean it’s really not—”

Dream takes his hands and squeezes them, and Hob stops talking. “It is,” Dream says. “It is a big deal. To me.”

“Well,” Hob finally manages, voice still tight. “I want you to be happy, Dream. You deserve that.”

It’s not a sentiment Dream is used to hearing directed towards him. But hearing it from Hob makes him feel like… maybe it can be. Maybe it should be.

Dream kisses him, still holding his hands. He feels himself smile into the kiss. Another thing he’s not used to doing, but it feels good.

Hob smiles too, as he cradles Dream’s face between his hands. And even though Hob wasn’t able to recover his art, even though his ex probably destroyed it—which is agonizing to think about—in this one moment, Dream is… happy.

It's so strange that it almost hurts. But he thinks he’s actually happy.

#we're in the final stretches of this fic #this fic that was supposed to be a oneshot XD #physical therapy fic #dreamling #my writing #cw abuse

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themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 3 months

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Datura Pt 3

Summary: Trapped Under the Mountain you have to decide if it's worth keeping your enemies close.

Content Warnings: Under the Mountain is like a walking trigger warning, but mentions of torture, unnamed character death via the torture; Rhys is an ass but he's a protective ass so we'll allow it.

Author's Note: This part is loooong, needed to set up Part 4 and it made sense in my head to have these bits in one piece before we get to the *cough cough* personal training. Hope you guys enjoy! :)

(Part 1, Part 2)

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There’s no way out.

You bash the only heavy item you can find--a paperweight, tucked into the back of a dust filled drawer--against the air duct, over and over, large chunks of stone flying in every direction, even as the reality of the situation sets in. There are no back doors, no windows, just this slim chance that maybe, maybe you can bash your way out of the rock on sheer force of will.

The paperweights thuds against the stone make your ears ache. Every blow has your shoulder feeling like it might wrench from it’s socket any second, the pain a sharp thrum with every blow, but you can’t stop, if you stop you will think about it and if you start thinking about it, you won’t make it.

The blows land over and over, sometimes you switch arms to try and give yourself a break. You haven’t slept, exhaustion making this tedious, even more so when this escape attempt requires you to balance atop a bedside table that’s seen better days. Chunks of rock fly away from the wall, dust a heavy coat over your skin, your tongue. It’s like swallowing sand.

“Come on!” You beg the wall. The paperweight shutters, bits of metal cracking, denting. You’ve broken your fingernails, torn apart your knuckles trying to get the hunk of engraved metal to push through the rock. This is your only shot, the door’s bolted from the outside, a guard posted beyond. Rhysand, that bastard, had tossed you into this empty, dust ridden room hours ago. You aren’t entirely sure where you are, the journey over here a blur, glimpsed only in flashes as you’d hung over the male’s shoulder, but that’s irrelevant. The only thing that matters now is getting out, getting free. The air duct is more of a slit, carved into the rock wall that makes up your room, barely enough room for to slide your arm into, but you have to hope it gets wider somewhere. You can’t allow yourself to think about what happens if you can’t climb your way out of the room.

The paperweight lands again and again and again, the rhythm steady, the beat not unlike the drums that had gotten you into this mess in the first place. If you lived through this, you’d never go to another Calanmai celebration again. You take all that anger you feel, the helplessness and confusion of the last twenty four hours and channel it into your arm. The wall shudders, but your elusive powers do not flare behind a few wisps of darkness over your bloody knuckles.

“Break!” You snarl like it can hear you, bend to your desperation.

A few more blows and the only thing that breaks is the paperweight, the hunk of metal cracking into three, small pieces. You stare at it as it slips from your hand, scatters across the rock floor.

You know it can’t see you, but you flash your middle fingers at it. “Useless fucking thing,” you hiss as you climb off the bedside table. The room is larger than you anticipated, a bed in the center, the table next to it with a little lamp; there’s a small bathing room with a copper tub, sink and toilet. It’s not really a cell, it’s technically bigger than your room in the farmhouse, but the locked door reminds you it’s not better by any means. The whole place is dark, carved out of rock in the heart of a mountain, as far as you could tell when they brought you in. It might have made more sense if you were upright, but there’s no use dwelling on that now. Dust covers everything, the sheets, the walls, the floor, disturbed by your footprints, and also the bed that you managed to wiggle behind and push in front of the door. The wood was heavy, it had taken all your strength to push it away from the back wall and across the room. It might not do much, but it will be enough to give anyone pause, at least you hope. It’s better than sitting around waiting for them to come back, at the very least.

You go back to the bathroom, pausing briefly to wash the blood from your hands, then slowly study the place, looking for something you missed the first time around. One door, not even a door to the bathing room to lock yourself in if necessary. No more vents. No windows. No cupboards. Very little places to hide unless you feel like hiding under the bed. You go over the space inch by inch, looking for anything else to use to help dig yourself out, but there’s nothing. Not unless a cheap bar or soap of the moth bitten sheets can be used somehow. The base of the lamp looks heavy, but then you’d be working in the dark and that’s not an option.

You’re about to break down and cry when the door opens. Unhindered, because it doesn’t swing in, it swings out, your idea to block the door absolutely useless. From the darkness of the hallway, Rhys stares at you, then the bed, the wooden frame barely up to his chest.

You flash your middle fingers at him too, teeth pulled back in a snarl. If he tries to come in here you really will rip out his throat. He’d deserve it. Bastard. How could he do this to you?

With a smirk, and the flick of Rhys’s wrist, the bed re-centers itself against the far wall. Not even an inconvenience, he’d moved it like it was no effort at all.

Shit.

“Was that supposed to be a barricade?” The door swings shut behind him, the lock clicking ominously into place in the cavernous space. He’s found a new shirt, the one he’d given you earlier stuffed in the corner where you can’t smell the scent of him any longer.

He seats himself on the edge of your bed, making himself comfortable, eyes darting briefly to the new hole in the wall. “Dare I ask?”

You cross your arms over your chest, still barring your teeth. Perhaps Calanmai had turned you into more animal than girl. “It was like that when I got here.”

“Of course,” he says with a shrug, like he knows it’s useless, that you’ll simply tire yourself out, become easier prey.

“What do you want?” You hiss. He doesn’t seem to notice the venom in your tone, the way you make sure there’s distance between the two of you.

“Can’t I be here to make sure you’re comfortable?” He counters.

“What an excellent host you make,” you snarl. “Will you bathe and tuck me in next?”

His violet gaze rakes slowly over you, assessing the bare expanse of your legs, the tattered, mud stained hem of your shift, barely covering you, the barely there straps clinging for dear life to your dirt stained shoulders. It’s intense, you know many fae would melt under it; you might have too, if things had been different, if the sight of him didn’t make you want to hurl something at his head.

“Darling, I’d lick you clean if you asked,” he says lowly.

“Does that shit usually work for you?” You snap back. He’s infuriating. How could you have kissed him?

He grins as he pushes away from the bed, eyes locked on your lips like he’s thinking about that kiss too. “I don’t usually have to resort to it, my good looks and natural charm do most of the work for me.”

“You have the charm of a viper.”

He huffs a laugh, “Cruel, wicked thing.”

His advances have you backing up, until you stumble right into the wall. The rock bites into your shoulder blades as he halts inches from you, close enough that you can feel his warm breath on your face; smell that citrus and jasmine scent of him. You should push him away, give yourself breathing room, but when he’s this close rational thought eddies from your head.

“What do you want?” You repeat, voice shakier than you intend, trying to remind yourself that you’re angry at him, that you don’t want him anywhere near you. It’s his fault you’re in here.

“Her highness wants you trained,” he says like that’s supposed to mean something to you.

All you can do is stare at him.

“She sent word to your father,” he amends. “He’ll be here in three months time.”

You’re suddenly aware of how loud your own heartbeat is.

“Is that supposed to mean something to me? He never bothered to contact me before.” You’re loosing your edge, mind spinning with all the things you could do to try and put some distance between the two of you.

“It seems your Uncle stole you away in the middle of the night,” Rhys explains. “Hybern has been looking for you since.”

“He’s done a shitty job.”

Rhys shrugs as he reaches out a hand to play with a tendril of your hair, curling it around his slender fingers. A cat playing with it’s food; he has no intention of letting you move away from the wall, trapped between the rock and his chest. “He’s eager to see you again, and Her Highness is eager to prove that you’re useful.”

“Why?” Why does Hybern suddenly care about you? Why does the red head care what you do with your powers? Why is this male touching you still and why are you letting him?

“Hybern’s an opportunist,” he says as he brushes the strand behind your ear. “His plans for Prythian might be closer to reality with the right power behind it.”

None of it makes any sense to you.

Rhys must see that on your face because he says, “Hybern made Amarantha. That might not make sense to you yet, but she is what she is because of him. She knows the best way to solidify her position within the world Hybern intends to create is to hand him a weapon already sharp enough to use.”

“So I’m to be a pawn then?”

He shrugs, the hand still against your temple drifting to brush over your cheek, like he can’t help but touch you. “Or you could also be an opportunist.”

You quirk a brow.

“Hybern might just be your only way out of here, Darling.”

“First off, don’t call me that. Second, what if I don’t?”

“You will.”

You shiver.

“Training isn’t the choice here. The choice is whether you want to see anyone get hurt to make sure it happens.”

“What are you gonna do, torture me?” You hiss.

He brushes a thumb over your lip, violet eyes trained there like he’s thinking about how they felt against his own earlier. “You have people you care about.”

Your heart drops into your stomach.

“She’s already given me the order to find your uncle.” His fingers drift lower, until he’s holding your chin between his forefinger and chin. “Where is he?”

“I’ve been with you,” you growl; his words snap you back to reality. He’s the enemy. You do not want to be this close to the enemy. “How would I know?”

“My spies tell me he packed a bag and left after finding you gone? Did you have a meeting place for emergencies?”

“Eat shit,” you snarl.

Something brushes against you, like a shadow, but it’s not against your skin, it’s against your mind. The sensation cold, foreign. You blink, pull your head out of his grip to shake your head, shake the feeling off, but it lingers, holding on.

“You don’t even have any fucking shields,” he snarls.

The brush against your mind makes you see things, the farmhouse, your own hands kneading bread, it takes longer than it should for you to realize you’re seeing your own memories play out before you.

“What-” a tavern spins into view, the worn sign clear enough in your eyes that you say the name out loud. It’s a little place, not too far from Spring’s borders, close enough to Autumn that you can get there by foot in half a day. Your uncle had shown you the place as a kid, said that if you’d ever gotten separated from him than you were to go there and wait. If he’d returned home and found the house empty, the first place he’d go was there.

The memory fizzles; the shadow recedes.

Reality slams into you, tears falling from your eyes. What did you just do?

Like he can’t help himself, Rhys brushes a tear off your cheek with his knuckle. “We’ll work on shields first.”

He moves to leave, but you grab him by the front of the shirt. “Wait, please… please don’t do this! I’ll do whatever you want, ok? Just, just leave my uncle out of this.”

It is not cruelty on his face, or judgment, it’s a flash of pain before he straightens, face a mask of perfect indifference as he slides his hand over yours. “As I said, Darling, I would consider your options here carefully.” He pulls your hand away, the lock sliding out of the door on a phantom wind, and then he’s gone.

Only when the lock clicks into place again do you allow yourself to crumple to the floor and cry.

There’s a flower on the bedside table when you finally manage to get up off the floor. It’s the same glowing, violet bud that you had seen in your dreams, the one that had led you right into Rhys’s waiting arms. You pick it up gently, starring at the soft petals, so thin you can almost see through it. It’s beautiful and strange all at once.

Then you take it to the bathroom and flush it down the toilet.

No more stupid flowers, or those damn visions, no more chasing flowers through the woods and trusting stupidly handsome males to protect you. Fuck him and these stupid flowers! They’re to blame for all this mess. A mess you were now dragging your uncle into.

You might have started to spiral again if there wasn't another flower in the first’s place by the time you step back into the main room. As if the one you’d moved had never been there. You stare at it for a long while, then back at the bathroom, the water still running as the toilet flushes, just to make sure you hadn’t imagined removing the first one.

Groaning, you snatch the second one and toss it down the toilet with the first.

There’s a third as quickly and as soundlessly as the other two had arrived.

“You’ve got to be shitting me!” You snatch it off the bedside table and crush it into your hand, the scent of it overwhelming, too strong for any flower not sprouting from the ground to be.

You wipe the remains on the dirty sheets as you sit on the bed, watching the table now, daring a fourth to appear. No one has used the door, the vents aren’t an option, it’s got to be some sort of magic. Unless tables can sprout gardens in this strange mountain dungeon.

As if it knows it’s being watched, no fourth flower appears.

You cross your arms, waiting, challenging it. Minutes tick by. Nothing. Only then do you breath a sigh of relief.

But in the stillness of the room, the lack of entertainment soon becomes suffocating. You try to distract yourself by stripping the sheets off the bed and shaking the dust off of them. You’re obviously going to be sleeping here, might as well make yourself comfortable. But that doesn’t take long.

You push the bed back in front of the door again, it’s failure be damned. At least, if anyone tries to enter while you sleep you'll have a second to get up and move before they get inside.

The bedside table looks lonely without the bed next to it, with a shrug, you decide to move that as well. You’re half way across the room when one of the legs hits a pit in the floor and tips, the lamp bouncing off the floor with a clang that echoes like a death toll in the cavernous space. The movement knocks the slim drawer on the table wide open, a worn book tumbling out across the floor. It definitely hadn't been there earlier when you'd opened it and found the paperweight. The fading title reads Death Gods and Goddesses Through the Ages, in a scrolling font, the author’s name long since legible in the battered leather. There’s less dust on the pages than the rest of the room, like it hasn’t been here quite as long. After collecting the fallen lamp, blissfully not broken, as if is spelled to avoid such things from clumsy creatures like you, and pushing the table against it’s new home on the wall, you sit yourself atop the bed and prop the book open.

The pages are worn, stained, most of the margins filled with hand written notes. A couple of the pages are even book marked.

Long before the first ages of the world, when light was first introduced, the Gods walked the land, unburdened with the weight or mortality. They were before Time. Until the Darkness came and merged with them. Next to the opening paragraph, someone had added the annotation: These are not the same as the Princes from Hel that opened the Portals in the Dark Ages, these are other. Their powers are other.

You shiver and close the book. Who would keep this here?

You draw your fingers over the edges as you process, lip worried between your teeth. It feels like a bad omen, a warning… from the flowers? Your head hurts from all the questions. Are these supposed to be connected? The flowers had led you to the cave, were they leading you to this strange book now too?

You climb under the covers, cold, and then crack the book open again.

The Darkness took hold, hid Its children in the shadows of the world, rearing its beloved offspring in secret. We did not know to fear them until it was too late. Monsters, they are such terrible monsters. The next note in the margins was a page number that you flipped to, marked with an old slip of paper with swirling marks doodled across it. The High Lords of old consulted with witches and necromancers, priestesses and seers, biding their time, accumulating their knowledge until they were finally able to form a weapon against the Death Gods. At least, that was what they told them. There were those among them who didn’t want the gods removed, they wanted their power to wield, to rule. There’s lists of names, linked in genealogical order of ancient High Lords and bloodlines that had merged with the Death Gods and Goddesses of old. All carefully mapped out. Whoever had owned this book before had done their research, some of the trees branched over onto other pages, the names growing smaller and smaller the longer they went. You don’t have time to read through all of them before the lock on the door groans as it’s moved out of place.

You scramble to hide the book under the mattress before the door opens, though maybe it would have served you just as well as a weapon, because it’s not Rhysand at the door this time.

The soulless black eyes that leer down at you can only belong to the Attor.

It takes seconds for the hulking creature to kick the bed out of the way, the wooden legs screeching as they slash through the rock floor. You don’t even have time to scream, run, as the monster bursts into the room and grabs you by the back of your shift.

“The Queen demands an audience,” it sneers in a voice that sounds like shifting sand.

You flail as it lifts you off the floor like you weigh nothing, begging whatever gods can hear you for help. In a rare flare of power, your claws tear through your fingertips, dark, misty power budding in your palms. You claw at the leather hands holding you, slashing over and over again, splattering blood over the walls.

The Attor snarls, tosses you hard into the wall just outside your door. The impact is jarring, black spots swimming across your eyes, all the air leaving your lungs in a rush. You scramble to get onto your feet, legs unsteady, the room spinning. The cavern like tunnel ahead of you flips and doubles.

“Stupid girl!” It snarls as it reaches for the back of your shift again.

You scramble out of reach, legs wobbly, talons scraping across the walls. You make it all of three steps before the Attor grabs you again. If it’s arms aren’t it’s weak spot you need to hit it somewhere else, but it holds you up out of reach, lesson learned. You reach for the walls instead, punching your talons through the rocks, trying to wrench yourself out of it’s grip by finding something to hold on to.

The terrible shrieking sound your claws make against the rock makes the Attor give you a shake that has your brain rattling around in your skull. “Stop that you little pest!”

More spots swim across your vision, hands slipping off the walls. These last twenty-four hours have made you feel more powerless than you have ever felt in your life. What good are these supposed powers beneath your skin if they don’t even work?

The Attor, on lumbering legs, carries you through dark, twisting tunnels. It’s like walking through a maze, the dark stone walls only lit with torches in sparse intervals. There’s no decorations. Little light. And cold, so damn cold.

The Attors claws scrape against the ground as it walks; you recognize the scrapping sound from the cave in Spring. It had been out hunting you too.

“Where are you taking me?” You dare to ask.

It takes a couple more sharp turns, it’s breathing a heavy hiss behind you as it finally brings you to a set of double, stone doors. They’re taller than even the High Lord’s manor, something you imagined you’d see a cave troll bursting out of in one of your books at home. There is something ancient, sacred about the space as the doors swing open on their own. The chamber ahead of you is cavernous, held up by too many carved pillars to count, all depicting different battles across Prythian’s extensive history. It’s the art work you’ve seen replicated in temples and paintings across the Courts, all supposed to be symbolic, holy, but this…

The floors are made of red marble, like a blood stain; fitting because pinned to the walls are bodies, some human, some fae, some other, all disfigured and mutilated. The contents of your stomach rises into your throat.

The cavern is full of fae, some dancing to the low rumble of music coming from the corner, like no one notices the horrors around them.

At the far end of the space sits a dais, the red headed Queen seated atop it. A glittering dress the shade of her hair hugs her form, a single shard of bone dangling from a string around her neck the centerpiece of the plunging neckline. She sips from a golden chalice, a smudge of red lipstick along the glass, her eyes bored as she surveys the party happening around her. There’s a half dressed male sitting at her feet, head in her lap, her clawed nails drifting absently through his pale hair. A cloud of mirthroot smoke circles him, golden eyes glassy like he has no idea where he is. Rhysand leans against the back of the throne, the only one watching the Attor approach at all. Maybe it is normal to see the gangly creature drag people into the throne room, the party goers certainly don’t notice you.

Amarantha, Rhys had called her, only notices you when the Attor all but hurls you at the base of the dais, your body crumbling against the stairs.

“Her Highness,” the Attor sneers.

The Queen’s grin is cruel as she passes her cup to Rhys, who all but tosses it over his shoulder when she’s not looking. “Quiet!” She barks at the musicians, half hidden in an alcove between pillars. Her voice carries through the room like she had screamed it, the echo in the chamber making the floor shake.

All eyes are suddenly on you as you manage to get back on your feet.

“Rhysand tells me you’re willing to cooperate,” Amarantha says.

You’re very aware of the leering eyes of the crowd as they take you in, still wearing nothing but a shift. The crowd doesn’t get too close, but they’re near enough that you hear the whispers, the laughter. It’s an effort just to swallow. “Yes, I did,” you choke out, intentionally not looking at the male.

Amarantha frowns, “What was that, mouse? I can’t hear you.”

Your cheeks heat; your hands clenching into fists at your sides. “Yes, I will cooperate,” you bite out.

“Hybern will be glad to hear it,” she strokes a hand over the male’s temple, leaving faint pink scratches across his pale skin. He’s too high to notice. “It will be a great victory for the Court to have you back and ready to take your rightful place.”

Rightful place your ass. None of this feels real, right. Your rightful place is with your uncle, trying dozens of new jobs every time his trading business slows, learning new things to make the money stretch. The farmhouse was a new project, a new chance at settling down and not having to live on the road like you had for most of your life. That life was the only thing you had ever known. To be here now, hearing all this talk about war and conquest, with this queen and her court, it was like you’d stepped into a strange dream you couldn’t escape. You’d been trying not to think about it, but faced with it now you didn’t know what to do, say. She was starring at you like she was waiting for you to thank her for ripping the ground out from under you.

Amarantha frowns when you don’t say anything, her hand across the male’s forehead stilling, the eye in the ring on her finger swiveling to look right at you as if it’s a living thing.

“Rhysand,” she snaps, “you had a gift for our guest, didn’t you?”

Rhys looks up from his very important business picking lint off his shoulder. “Right, of course, the gift.”

The crowd quiets as he descends from the dais and snaps his fingers. At your feet a male appears, bound and gagged with the dark tendrils of Rhys’ magic. The male looks at you pleadingly and though your heart goes out to his plight, you glance up at the other male in confusion. Are you supposed to know who this is?

“Your uncle’s farm hand,” he says with a grand sweep of his hand, all courtly business.

“Since you couldn’t find the kidnapper,” Amarantha hisses.

Rhys slides his hands in his pockets casually, the picture of bored indifference. But his violet eyes are only on you as he says, “This was the only male waiting for her at the Temple she told me about.”

Temple? Your head spins. You hadn’t shown him a temple.

Amarantha pushes the male in her lap away from her as she climbs down the stairs in heels sharp enough to cut. “A little demonstration is in order, don’t you think?”

Rhys steps a little closer to the bound male, but you can’t help but note that he has now positioned himself between you and where Amarantha is poised at the base of the dais.

The male makes a gasping sound before his eyes glaze over, sweat quickly dotting his forehead. Rhys remains with his hands in his pockets, Amarantha giddy at the sight unfurling before her, and even though neither of them move, it’s clear the male is fighting the invisible grip they have on him. You can’t help but think about what the two of them have already done to you.

“Wait,” you protest. Even if you don’t know this male, you don’t want him to suffer. “I already said I would cooperate, this isn’t necessary!”

The male begins to scream, thrash, and the bands of darkness around his wrists and legs dip into the marble floor, pinning him.

The crowd presses in closer to watch; you hear someone start making bets about how long he’ll last.

“This is a little reminder,” Amarantha coos at you, soft enough that the crowd won’t be able to hear it over the screaming. “Of what will happen if you decide you suddenly don’t want to cooperate with my training regime.”

Blood starts to pool in the corner of the male’s eyes.

You can’t stop yourself from stepping forward and grabbing Rhys’s arm. “Please, stop, I get it ok! Let him go. I will do what you ask.”

But louder than your pleading, Amarantha orders, “If he has nothing to give us, kill him.”

The gag slips from the male’s mouth as he turns to look at you with what looks like his last little bit of strength. “Forgive me, Your Highness.”

The sound of bones snapping fills the chamber; the male gurgles on his own blood, and then he slumps lifelessly to the floor.

Tears stream down your cheeks and you yank your hand away from Rhys’s arm, disgusted.

Amarantha waves the Attor over to clean up the mess, even as she says, “You may resume your dancing now.”

As if it never happened, the music starts back up. People start laughing and drinking, the dances not unlike the writhing shapes you had seen in your vision of Calanmai.

She waits until the noise is too loud to be overheard by the crowd to ask, “Did he tell you where her uncle is?”

There’s no chance this stranger knows anything about your uncle. Rhys had lied, but you still find yourself holding your breath, waiting for this to be a trap too. The male certainly acted like he’d known you.

But Rhys says, “I saw a tavern in Winter, I’ll head there-”

“My men will take it from here,” Amarantha interrupts, “I want you here, working on her.”

Rhys bows. “As you wish, My Queen.”

“Escort her back to her room,” Amarantha orders, “I don’t want her back here until we’re sure she can be controlled.”

“Of course,” Rhys moves to take your arm and you duck out of reach.

“I can walk,” you hiss.

He lets his hand fall, slides it back into his pockets.

Amarantha is half way up the dais when she calls back, “I expect quick results.”

He nods in understanding.

“And don’t forget, Rhysand, about the deal you made for this opportunity.”

His eyes darken. “I haven’t.”

As far away from him as you want to be, it’s a relief when he motions for you to move towards the door. The crowd parts for you, some of them outright ignoring you, others leering.

A redheaded male watches the two of you closely, catching Rhys’s eye as you pass.

Rhys snarls something you can’t make out at him.

“Whore,” the other male spits back.

Rhys laughs mirthlessly in response as the doors shut in the other male’s face.

You have questions of course, but the exhaustion of the last twenty-four hours weighs so heavily on you, you almost wish it was the Attor carrying you out. Every footstep is heavy.

Rhys doesn’t speak as he leads you through the maze of tunnels. You should be attempting to learn the path, so if you ever do get out you know where you’re going, but it feels like so much effort. What does it matter in the end? You’re stuck here, at the whim of an evil queen and whatever the hell Rhys is, at least until your supposed father gets here and decides to do Mother knows what with you. Any attempts at escaping, at fighting are useless, not when Rhys knows where to look for him. It’s the reminder that he lied that finally makes you look up from where you’ve been following the cracks in the floor.

“Why’d you do it?” You ask softly.

“Do what?” He counters. He sounds as exhausted as you feel.

You watch the way the shadows of the torchlight bath him in half darkness, the glow of his eyes dimmed here. Everything about him feels dim in these halls, like the mountain has stolen something from him.

“That male-”

He halts at a door that must now belong to you and a bit of magic pulls the door open. “She wants you to know what she will do if she even suspects you’re trying to outsmart her.”

“No,” you shudder thinking about what he had done. How could anybody wield powers like that? “No that’s not what I mean.”

Rhys leans against the doorframe and motions you inside. “I’m afraid you’ve lost me then, Darling.”

You stare at him. He seems to be playing a game unto himself. Whatever his motives are, whatever it has to do with you, he’d not about to admit it here in the hall.

You step into the room, head pounding from all the unanswered questions you have.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he says as the door begins to close.

You don’t want to see him in the morning. He’s a monster who can rip people’s minds apart with a thought, a monster who somehow lured you out of your home and brought you here to his evil queen, but he’s also the monster keeping your secrets, and in places like this, you might need a monster like that on your side. You won’t trust him, not after what he’d done in the cave, but maybe it’s not trust you need in a place like this. Amarantha demands you learn to use your powers, she never said anything about you using them on her.

“I’m counting down the seconds,” you say dryly.

“Dream of me,” he says sweetly.

The door closes before you can snarl that you’ve dreamed of him enough.

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obsessive-evie · 4 months

Text

you’re pretty is all

pairing: Kate Martin + fem!oc

word count: 3.2k

warnings: smut, explicit language

“I-, I can’t, please, I can’t, you can’t keep doing this to me,” Kate pants into my mouth, a blushing smile on her face, clearly embarrassed at the needy tone her own voice took on.

You see, we have recently discovered that Kate cannot handle praise. At. All.

It happened one day on accident, I was just going to one of her games like normal, a pretty rough game against South Carolina I must admit, but Iowa pulled through, Kate being the highest scorer instead of Caitlin for once. She had jogged over to where I was leaning against the walls of the stadium bleachers, a wide smile on her face the moment she noticed where I was. She had barely finished talking to the media, still dodging reporters with cameras on her way over to me.

I immediately wrapped my arms around her head of course, standing on my tiptoes to kiss the side of her head. Her head was buried in my neck, her heavy breathing and warm body pressed against my own. “You did so good baby, oh my god,” I said in her ear before pulling away, my hands still on her neck. Her face now held a different kind of look in her eye. What once was pink from the exertion of the game was now speckled darker with with red, her eyes holding a look of almost uncertainty in them. She opens her mouth like she’s going to speak, but nothing comes out.

She looks bashful, almost shocked, as she keeps trying to form words through her smile. A few laughs escape instead, so she breaks eye contact, and pulls me back into her arms, hiding her face in my neck.

I don’t bring it up until later, taking it as she was just overwhelmed in the post-win high.

But the more I thought about it, the more my brain needed to know why she looked so, flustered? Now I had had my theories about her liking praise, the few times I was more in control featuring a heavy adoration note, and less than a possessive or rough route, but I wanted to test my theory.

“I’m serious i’m so proud of you Kate, you played so well,” I say in the passenger seat of her car as she drives us back to her apartment, her hand in mine on the center console. We’re stopped at a long red, the large Iowa intersections taking far too long in any other circumstance, but i’m thankful for it now as I get to watch her head duck down in an attempt at hiding while a large smile plays on her face, one she’s clearly trying to hide. Her face flushes red again, and that’s when I knew I was on the right track.

Throughout the course of the next few days, I continued to shower my girlfriend with excess praise and compliments, relishing in every blush, smile, giggle, and hidden face. Everything from playing with her freshly washed hair while we talked about the game later that night, making her shift herself from laying on my chest to her kissing my neck to hide her red face when I started to delve into her high score. Not just that, but when she aced a math test a few days later, I went above and beyond in telling her how proud I was (she ended up telling me to shut up with a red face and half hidden smile, her large hand coming to cover half of her face).

The first time I called her pretty girl, I knew damn well what I was doing.

I was sitting on the bathroom counter as she curled her hair, just admiring her beauty and features. She was focused on not burning herself, but when she put the iron down and caught my eyes, she smiled, a puzzled look on her face. “What?” she asked while moving closer, her hands coming to my thighs, rubbing up and down my leggings as she laughed slightly. I shook my head, not wanting to admit anything yet, so naturally she moved closer, leaning into my personal space.

I shake my head while laughing, moving myself to kiss her lips with smiles on our faces. I break the gentle kiss to say, “My pretty girl.” Her reaction is immediate, her face flushes pink high on her cheekbones and ears, she tries to hold back an even larger smile which causes her nose to twitch slightly too. My hands cradle her jaw on each side before she plants her forehead on my chest, me sitting on the counter being one of the few positions she can do so.

I can feel her breathing slightly pick up, making me laugh again. She shakes her head in my chest with a small groan before picking it up, and moving back over to where she was standing, holding back a smile and a red face.

So it does work.

My plan was to see how long it would take for her to crack, or melt, either one worked for me. So when the day came where I was fed up with her being so stupidly strong willed, I decided to bombard her all day long.

I kissed every inch of her face when we woke up that morning, telling her how beautiful she is, even throwing in a my beautiful girl before getting out of bed to shower (she asked to join, but I don’t think I could handle seeing her naked and not get on my knees, which would ruin my whole plan).

I even hyped her up a little more the usual when we got ready to go out to dinner. When I would usually just call her my hot girlfriend and poke her biceps or abs, I made show of saying how good she looked, even throwing in a wolf whistle for good measure to get that pretty blush I adored. Now don’t get me wrong, she did look damn good, but it was a little exaggerated when she walked out in a gray tank and jeans, her hair up in a high ponytail with a dusting of makeup on her face highlighting her natural features.

I got the blush that I wanted, as well as an eye roll as she deflected by kissing me on the lips.

It was only after we had a few drinks at a nice italian restaurant that she even acknowledged my praises.

I had called her “so fuckin pretty” after taking some photos of her at our secluded table, to which she responded, “I can’t with you, you know that?” with an eye roll. “I just love my incredibly hot girlfriend, and I wanna tell her, what’s so wrong with that?” I replied. She just shook her head and said, “You’re so down bad for me.” Of course I nodded my head enthusiastically and took more photos.

By the time we were home on the couch, still in our going out clothes and makeup, I was determined to make her crack.

I was seated straddling her lap, her hands unbashfully on my ass and hips (a personal fav of hers as she put it), while mine were moving between her jaw and neck, not deciding which one I liked better. My tongue was in her mouth when my hand just barely squeezed her neck, not choking or anything, but enough for her to moan out in surprise. She pulled away for air, her face flushed and lips bitten a dark shade of pink. God she really was pretty.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I whispered before going back in for more kisses. Her hands now gripped my hips harder, pulling me down onto her thigh, causing pleasure to shoot up into me. She did it again at the same time she pushed her thigh up, the thought of the strong muscle beneath me only adding to my pleasure. This time i’m the one that pulls away to say, “God you’re so good to me, you’re so fucking pretty baby,” while smiling. Hopefully this is the fatal blow that will make her crack.

I’m right.

“I-, I can’t, please, I can’t, you can’t keep doing this to me,” Kate pants into my mouth, a blushing smile on her face, clearly embarrassed at the needy tone her own voice took on. Her bright blue-green eyes plead up at me, coercing my body and soul into her. I stay quiet, hoping to urge her to fill the silence. “I mean it, you have no idea what that does to me I-,” she pauses, taking a deep breath, breaking our eye contact, “I can’t, just-“ I cut her desperate words off with a kiss, needing to feel those pretty lips on mine again. She kisses me back with fervor, gripping my ass and hip impossibly tighter, her hands almost painfully doing so.

Our lips continue to move with a melting passion, each of us letting out occasional moans as we move closer and closer to the fires burning bright in our cores. I break the kiss and a string of warm spit still keeps us connected. I move to kiss her cheek gently, the restraint and stark contrast from the aggressive kissing almost making me shake. Kissing softly down her jawline, stopping just above her ear to whisper, “My pretty baby,” the hand that was resting on her neck squeezing slightly.

Now being possessive wasn’t particularly new for us, Kate liked to show me off and I the same, but we were never directly possessive. So i I guess it caught her off guard when I accentuated the my part.

“Oh my god,” she half says half whines as I smirk, continuing my pursuit of kisses down her neck and onto her exposed collarbones. I manage to get her tank top off, so of course she had to even the score and get me out of my shirt (it was bunched up around my bra anyways). Kissing down her chest, removing the clasp of her bra one handed, pulling her ripped jeans down, those were all easy. But resisting the urge to abandon my teasing and fuck her senseless once I got her in just her underwear was not easy. At all.

I too was stripped down to my shorts and lacy black bralette, my mouth still slowly trailing down her body, gently kissing and biting. My hands explored her hips and thighs the lower I got, the sucking on her chest and nipples making the strong muscles twitch slightly. Every time I pulled away from her warm body to breathe or look at her, I let out a string of praises or minor possessiveness.

The lower I got, the more she squirmed at my words. What would’ve probably only made her blush before this is now making her pant. For example, “God you’re so good baby,” made her let out a particularly desperate moan, her hand coming to the back of my head as I sucked on her nipple.

Something I did know about Kate however, is that she got particularly embarrassed when I went down on her. She had a habit of covering her face with her hands, a pillow, or biting her lips to hold back the moans that only urged me on. She also had a habit of closing her eyes or looking away, especially the more orgasms I gave her, because she had a tendency to cry.

The first time I made her cry in bed, I panicked, thinking something was wrong. It was after a particularly hard loss, a tiring and brutal game against LSU, and I decided she could use an orgasm or two after that. By the time I was getting her closer and closer to her third, I thought that I was crazy when I caught a glimpse of shiny eyes before she covered them with the crook of her elbow again. Amping her up for her fourth however, was when I was for sure that her moans were turning into almost sobs. My heart dropped, thinking I had taken it too far. Of course I immediately removed my head from her pussy and cradled her face with my hands, trying to remove her own from her face.

All I had received in return was a rushed out explanation, “No, no, please don’t stop I’m fine I swear just-“ she had said before I cut her off. “Baby you’re crying you’re clearly not fine what’s wrong was it too much? I’m sorry love I-“ this time it was my turn to be cut off.

“No, no this just happens ok I’m fine just I swear to god if you don’t make me cum these tears will be for real,” she choked out, the waterworks of frustration starting back up again. I had kissed her salty lips quickly before giving her a fourth orgasm, watching as the tears flowed freely once I had held her hand down on her hip. Back then I had watched in awe as her pretty face was streaked with tear tracks, trying to test my luck with a fifth orgasm right after her fourth. Unfortunately her sobs became mumbled words of, “No I can’t i c-can’t too much I can’t please I can’t,” while pushing my head away from her dripping cunt.

Now I’m determined to see those rare tears again.

Hopefully my teasing combined with her newfound appreciation for praise would be enough.

I stand corrected.

After sucking on her thighs for too long, Kate had relented and quietly asked me to touch her. I had removed her soaked panties slowly, kissing every inch of her legs they went down. This is when she would typically look away or look for a pillow to hide in, but thanks to our position on our barren couch, she had no choice but to look at me as I made contact with her wet pussy.

I started out slow by circling her clit and pushing a single finger into her, crooking it slightly. “Keep your eyes on me pretty girl,” I said, making her move her hand from shaking by her thigh to holding the back of my head, keeping my tongue on her as she whines.

Throwing out other praises and you’re so pretty darling, or, you look so fucking good like this, so wet baby made Kate only moan and whine louder, her hand coming to cover her mouth. I get minutes into pumping two fingers into her before I notice she’s gone muffled, so I take her hand away from her mouth by her wrist, and hold it onto the couch with my thumb on her pulse point gently.

“C’mon baby let me hear you, I know you can do it,” I say, watching as she tries to keep quiet by biting her lip, tears beginning to form in her eyes. I decide to push her further.

At the same time I curl my fingers up into her g spot, I suck on her clit hard, all while simultaneously pushing on her lower stomach. This makes her let out a loud and whiny moan, stirring things inside me when she tightens her hold on my hair. The tears begin to flow now, almost making me let up on my assault. Almost.

I keep alternating between sucking on her clit and pushing on her stomach, my fingers keeping pace inside her. “Oh my god,” she panted out, the telltale signs of my girlfriend’s incoming orgasm starting as her breathing picks up. I keep going, never relenting, even when her strong hips try to lift up off the couch, forcing me to wrap my arms around her hips and thighs, pinning her in place.

I take a small breather to say, “you’re close baby, I know it, why don’t you cum for me yeah? god you’re doing so well love.” She throws her head back and whines, a high and needy thing that makes me speed up my hand, even though my wrist is starting to cramp.

Her breathing deepens, sobs worsen, thick hot tears rolling down her cheeks as her strong thighs clamp around my head. Pushing on her lower stomach always seems to do the trick, something about external g spot stimulation? Either way, she’s coming on my tongue with my name in her mouth, combined with many other things I can’t hear because of her thighs over my ears.

Her whole body shakes and twitches, her hips lifting in an arch, her hand holds my hair almost painfully tight to her cunt, not like I was leaving anyways. Her heavy breathing doesn’t slow as I push through what I think is the longest orgasm I’ve ever given her. And trust me, giving head was considered one of my special skills. Wonder if I could put THAT on a job resume?

I slow my fingers inside of her, as well as the lapping of my tongue when I think i’ve stretched that out as long as I could. Her eyes are closed now, breathing slowing, her thighs loosened around my head, allowing me to pull away for air. I slowly remove my fingers from her cunt, causing her hips to twitch again, making me laugh. I suck her excess slick off my fingers, relishing in the way she tastes. Maybe I’m smug, but the fucked out look on my girlfriend’s face as she opens her eyes is totally deserving of a mini victory lap.

I stand up from my position on the floor, my knees cracking on the way up from the way I was kneeling. I kiss my way up her hips and stomach gently, small pecks up her warm body, making my way to her face. The tear stained face I kiss every inch of, something I had started after the first time she cried, a mix of guilt and tenderness I felt for her compelling me to do so. When I finally reach her lips, I swipe my thumb under her eyes, cleaning off any more salty tears or cum. Unfortunately for Kate, going from eating pussy to kissing cheeks means mixing of bodily fluids.

A self confident smile on my face, I kiss my girl on the lips finally, her once limp mouth curving up into a small smile. I pull away, taking in her disbelieving expression. “Where the hell did that come from?” she asks, shaking her head slightly against my lips. “You’re pretty,” is all I say in response.

#kate martin #wcbb #wcbb fic #kate martin is my wife #(real)#kate martin x fem!oc #kate martin vs the bottom agenda #wrote this in my notes app pls let me know of typos #kate martin my beloved #kate martin is pretty and i went crazy #smut #smut and fluff #praise to the max #i genuinely cannot tell if her eyes are blue or green #FIRST REAL POST WOO!#ALSO THERE IS TEARS

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spideystevie · 1 year

Note

allie your vday party is so cute!! what about 💘 + steve with "you slept like a baby. it was kind of cute." from the third list <333

hehehe thank you emma!! obsessed with the idea of sleepy baby steve, lord knows he needs the rest. enjoy some soft, sleepy steve <3 - [0.8k] | join the party!

It was Steve’s idea to do a movie night. The past few weeks had been a hectic blur, your downtimes never fully overlapping until tonight. He promised to snag some movies from work, one you’d been wanting to see and one he liked the poster of.

You were more than thrilled, eager to spend the night with your boyfriend, giving and receiving the attention you’d been without for what felt like ages.

When you made it to Steve’s house that night, you could tell right away he’d had a day. He tried to hide it, his smile wide and beaming when he sees you. The hug he gives you is a tight squeeze that feels like coming home. You can tell all the same and you hold back a frown.

The two of you make it through all of the movie he’d grabbed for you and you can tell he’s fighting off sleep. His head nodding off against your shoulder. When he comes back after putting in the next one, he lays his head in your lap, shimmying against the couch to get comfortable. He’s out within the first half hour.

You knew the amount of stress Steve carried. It sat on his shoulders like a weight, so much so that he always seemed to sag. You’d noticed he’d started to lean on anything he could, against walls, door frames, the counter at work.

He tried to hide it, didn’t want anyone to see what he was carrying, always worried he’d burden them with it. You were the only person privy enough to help alleviate it, to help shoulder that weight. Truthfully, you could only do so much. Sometimes, all he really needed was a good bit of sleep.

The sun has long sunk beneath the horizon and Steve’s living room is pitch dark, save for the flashing of the television. The movie you’d started watching together, his pick, before he’d fallen asleep had long been over and you’d simply used the remote to switch to cable. You kept the volume low, almost on mute so as to not disturb him.

You’re not even sure what’s playing on the screen, too wrapped up in keeping Steve asleep as long as you can. Even if that meant your legs falling asleep and not being able to move them since his head rested in your lap. Your hand smoothed his hair away from his forehead, your fingers threading their way through the strands.

He looks so serene like this, the most at peace you’d seen him in a while. There’s normally a stress crease on his face, a permanent divot between his eyebrows and one stretched across his forehead. Here now, your hand in his hair and his head in your lap, the stress lines have disappeared, melted into his skin.

It tugs at your heart.

Sometime after your legs have gone past pins and needles completely and you've seen the same ad on TV at least 5 times, Steve shifts in your lap. A sleepy grunt gets muffled against your thigh and one of his hands comes up to rub at his eyes. He blinks at the TV in his living room, a confused look taking over his sleepy features. He sits up and though you’re glad you can finally stretch out your legs, you also miss the solid weight of him in your lap.

“Did I fall asleep?” his voice is husky from sleep and you can hear an apologetic undertone to it. He’s pouting when he looks at you but you only smile with a shrug.

“You slept like a baby. It was kind of cute,” you say, smile widening when you take in the pink flush that rises to the surface of his cheeks. He tries to stifle a yawn and fails.

“M’sorry. Movie night was my idea and I-” you shush him, pressing a finger to his lips. His eyes get a little wide.

“Hey, hey, none of that, okay?” you say, dropping your finger and instead moving your hand to caress against his face. “You needed the rest and I was more than willing to act as your pillow.”

Steve smiles at you, a little bashful but his heart is bursting at the seams. It’s pushing against his chest, growing and growing until he thinks it’ll pop and leave him dead. He leans into your hand, nuzzling his face against it. It’s how you know he’s still tired.

“M’so in love with you,” he mumbles, feeling entirely overwhelmed by the feeling. It takes you aback only slightly. A heavy warmth floats to the surface of your skin, sticky affection pumping through your heart and seeping into your veins. You lean forward to press a kiss to his forehead.

“Feeling’s mutual, honey. Let’s get you into bed though, yeah? We can try movie night again tomorrow,” you say, your hand falling off his face and landing on his thigh. Steve nods and gets up from the couch with you, another contagious yawn falling past his lips.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington blurb #📝: a writes!#allie's valentine's house party <3 #allie's vday party blurbs!

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sayafics · 8 months

Text

Dance of Shadows - Chapter I

Hi guys, I hope you enjoy the first chapter of this series!

I know the teaser was an excerpt of another chapter after Aemma died, but I wanted to add some context/depth to Daemon and Saenyra's relationship before that, since there's such a long gap in the timeline before he returns to Kings Landing after beating the Crabfeeder.

I hope I got the timeline right, and I do hope this lives up to your expectations! Please let me know what you think, all comments and reblogs are appreciated <33 thank you to everyone who showed love on tha teaser excerpt!

Next Chapter

Masterlist

Saenyra had just spent the last few hours lounging in the library, browsing through books ranging from histories of the Seven Kingdoms and how they came to be, to the myths and legends of dragons and other beings which lurked the lands they inhabited and the seas they wished to rule, to charming scrawls of love written in between lines of literature and poetry.

She had finally found a book she was content with, eager to return to her room before divulging its contents. If she were to hurry, she was sure she would be able to finish before it was time for dinner.

With the book held in one hand, Saenyra used the other to gather the skirt of her dress. Whilst her sister preferred to adorn herself in gowns of black and red - the designs grand yet mature for her age, Saenyra deigned to dress herself in shades which resembled the skies on a warm autumn eve or the sun on a bright summer's day. She would parade around the Keep in hues of yellows and blues, greens and pinks - whatever it was that her heart so desired.

As she made her way through the Keep, eyes roving around the walls as she treaded through corridors and weaved past bowing knights and respectful Lords, she turned the corner only to bump into a solid figure.

Saenyra stumbled back, her hand letting go of her skirt to brush against her forehead as she took in the figure in front of her, a slight pout on her lips. Her eyes found her smudged reflection glinting in a shining and tainted armour, gleaming in the light of a new day but stained with the signs of a bloodied battle.

Her eyes continued their path until they met a set of familiar violet hues.

Oh.

Before her stood Daemon Targaryen, looking as though he had slaughtered an army single-handedly. His eyes were bright with the thrill of a good fight. He looked lively, and if she peered closely enough, she could see how he trembled with unbound energy that coursed through his veins.

At the sight of his niece, the one so quiet and quaint who looked up at him with wide eyes and parted lips, Daemon found an unfamiliar softness seep into his features, "niece, my apologies."

He rarely saw his little niece around the Keep when he did come, he preferred to keep company with whores and dragons.

It was with poorly hidden determination that Rhaenyra would find him, trailing his every step.

When Rhaenyra had found him before his bloodbath in the city, he had gifted her a necklace. A piece of shared ancestry, a piece of home. Now, glancing at Saenyra's bare throat, he wished it had adorned her instead.

Daemon was not one for apologies, even Saenyra was aware of that. So, to hear the words brought a heat upon her cheeks as her gaze became down-turned, "I fear I must apologise too, dear uncle. I must have become too distracted with my thoughts."

A smirk tugged at Daemon's lips at the sight of her bashfulness, amusement colouring his features as he spoke, a teasing tone tainting his innocent words, "ah yes. I believe it is only right if you make it up to me then, don't you think?"

Daemon had never spoken to his neice in such a way, too fearful of what his brother might do. Of what he, himself, might do.

Daemon could not be the reason his darling niece shed tears. He would not forgive himself if he was the reason she were to break.

Seanyra's head had never looked up so fast, eyes flitting around the corridor as she leaned closely, as though she was sharing a secret - "of course. Only if you promise not to tell Kepa." Father.

The easy slip of High Valyrian made Daemon heady with the desire to hear it again, and his eyes burned into her at the eagerness she showed as she was desperate to make things right. His smirk grew broader at the show of her naivety, but still - he would make no fool of his sweet neice, his little 'nyra.

"Anything for my Zaldrītsos." Little Dragon.

Her heart twisted slightly at the endearment, despite the heat that flushed her body once more - although said good-naturedly, the word was a stark reminder that the only dragon the girl had was the one pumping through her blood. It was a subtle reminder of the differences between Saenyra and her sister, of how Rhaenyra has conquered a dragon and emanated a fierce and challenging nature, whilst Saenyra was simply a dragon by name.

Daemon could see how her eyes dimmed at the word, hated how her smile wavered - the Seven Kingdoms would rave about the similarities between Daemon and Rhaenyra, how the two had fire running through their veins and charging their souls, how they would burn each other to ash should they get too close. And with Saenyra, they would whisper about her lack of spark, how she didn't have the charm of a Targaryen, nor the fire of one too.

All that tied her to the Targaryen line was her silver-white hair and lilac eyes.

But a part of Daemon, a dark and repressed echo that grew louder as the days went by, found that he preferred it as such. She was a calm summer evening, a quiet winter's day.

Daemon was chaos, and Saenyra was peace.

Her voice broke him out of his reverie, "so, what is it that you want?"

There was a curious smile on her lips, her eyes searching his as she became impatient. He huffed a laugh, teeth bared in a broad grin - "I guess you shall have to wait and see."

Daemon knew what he would ask. He had been thinking of doing so from the moment he had stepped foot back in King's Landing and seen his Saenyra. She had grown tall, her hair flowing down her back is careless ruffles, flowers twisted between the intricate braids that adorned her head as a circlet rested atop her brows. Her gowns were tight fitting, the neck would swoop low, or her arms would be bare of fabric, and sometimes, if he was lucky, careful patterns would be cut into the lining of her waist to reveal the milky skin that lay underneath.

Daemon would be lying if he said a part of him hadn't grown feral at the sight, something dark and desperate coming to life within him as his desires for Saenyra grew stronger.

It was something unexpected, especially by him. He had expected, if anyone, it would be Rhaenyra he would pursue. The two were in a silent battle for the place of heir at Viserys' behest, fervent prayers that the next child Aemma gave birth to would not be a boy. So it would make sense to present a united front. To present themselves as a joint option, a better choice to the other heirs Viserys would force his wife to bear.

But Rhaenyra and Daemon had the fire of a dragon running through them, and they would ultimately burn each other and leave nothing but destruction in their wake.

Daemon cleared his throat, forcing himself to stray from his traiterous thoughts and focus on his task - he had to attend the meeting with the Council, he had to reach Viserys before they filled his head with lies about Daemon - before they seeded doubt and had him sent from the Seven Kingdoms once more.

"I must take leave now, dear niece."

Daemon skirted around the girl, his golden cloak billowing behind him, the soft and bloodied material brushing against her cheek in an imitation of affection he longed to show himself. His moves were slow and sluggish as though he was hoping she'd stop him. And she did exactly that - "where are you going, Kepus?" Uncle.

He inhaled sharply at the Valyrian word, there was a frown on her lips as her head twisted in question and Daemon felt as though he would kneel for her and give all of himself right there, if she had simply asked.

Her hand came to hold his own as she tugged at his fingers. Daemon risked a glance down, eyes tracing over her nimble fingers and how they dwarfed against his own. She tugged again, "Kepus."

The word was stressed and elongated, hoping to catch the man's attention as he kept gazing off to a place far from where she could see.

"The King wants to see me," it wasn't a complete lie, but it was an easy one, "I wouldn't want to keep them waiting."

She nodded, understandingly. But there was a part of her left unsure by his words, Daemon was never one to obey with such ease - always at the ready to challenge those around him, including his own brother. Even if he was King.

It seemed, however, his words were enough to snap her into a state of disinterest, she turned away from him with such ease and continued on her way, a soft "I shall see you later, then," passed over her shoulders with a friendly smile as she walked away from him.

Daemon found he could do nothing but watch.

***

Saenyra hadn't left her chambers much after her encounter with her uncle - with no dragon to tend to, and the lack of duties as a second-born and the burden of being a girl, she had no pending responsibilities. Left in the confines of her room, she made due with what she had - her books.

There was not much else to do in King's Landing, with no Kingsguard assigned to her yet, she was not free to roam the cities that belonged to her father.

Saenyra ate in her chambers, despite the call for her to join her family in her father's - were she to join, she was sure the room would be full of praises for a successful Rhaenyra - whether it was how she was getting on with her lessons with the Septa or a new dragon-riding trick mastered, or whispers of possibilities of their future son - a new heir and a new King in the making.

Anything but Saenyra.

All throughout the hours of the night, even as she laid her head to rest, her mind would tiptoe back to the voice of her uncle.

Despite all his time in the Keep, and all his trips out, Saenyra had never been able to bond with her uncle the way she wishes she had. The way Rhaenyra had.

Daemon had been the Master of Laws, the Master of Coin, and now Commander of the City Watch. And throughout it all, she had been unable to bond with her uncle in a way she was desperate for ever since she was a child. She remained oblivious to his glances and heated stares, to the dark whispers in his mind and the temptation that lurked under every passive graze and touch.

It was instead Rhaenyra who found him, who bonded with him. Who found common ground in their love for riding and dragons and violence. Rhaenyra who adored her uncle as he adored her. As everyone adored her, in a way Saenyra craved for them to cherish her.

The two would gush over dragons and tales of battles and wars, a wistful tone taking over Rhaenyra's voice as she spewed questions at her uncle whenever he dined with them, and a look of admiration would sparkle in Daemon's eyes as he answered every question with ease.

Saenyra would sit quietly, never speaking aloud unless spoken to, and even that was quite rare. So, for her uncle to say he wants something from her? It was a surprise, indeed. And a bubbling sensation of guilt began to fester as she realised that she felt excitement build at the prospect. What would Rhaenyra think? Would she be hurt? Jealous?

Saenyra was not blind to how Rhaenyra was captivated by Daemon, how she craved him and called to him. Although Daemon was both of their uncle, there was an unspoken claim placed upon him from the moment Rhaenyra was old enough to articulate her fascination with the man. A silent boundary, a whispered challenge Saenyra had never dared to overstep. And she was worried she may now.

Would he ask to take her dragon-riding? Perhaps he would ask her to steal him some lemon cakes, as he had when she was much younger? Or maybe he would ask for a favour she couldn't provide.

Perhaps, he wanted her help to get Rhaenyra something. Or to tell her something.

Saenyra wasn't blind to Daemon's own infatuation with her sister, whether it was because of her claim to the throne or her violent beauty. The man was enamoured, even if he tried to deny so.

She resigned herself to the idea of having to wait until Daemon had finally asked her whatever it was he decided, a frustrated sigh escaping her as she rolled onto her side and faced the open balcony windows, watching as the soft winds blew a quiet tune through the curtains. Her eyes traced over the dark shadows of King's Landing, her eyes finding the moon and seeking comfort in its shallow glow.

With steady breaths, she fell asleep quickly, her mind flashing with images she had long learned to ignore. What good is being a dragon dreamer when you are unable to tame one?

***

In the cities of King's Landing, Daemon had taken to throwing himself in the arms of lust as he sought out ways to expel his energy and frustration in the brothels of Silk Street.

He had been here for perhaps hours now, gyrating and grinding against the softness of his paramour. Mysaria wasn't a quiet lover, her moans drawing an audience as he pounded relentlessly, chasing a high that escaped him at every turn.

No matter how hard he tried, how much he relied on his imagination - it wasn't what he wanted. This wasn't who he needed.

The meeting with the Small Council hadn't ended badly, but Otto's reminders of his duties to the Bronze Bitch of the Vale continued to follow him. A dark reminder that although his marriage was not consumated, in the eyes of the Seven Kingdoms and in the eyes of his brother, Daemon was a married man. And even if Targaryen men had taken on second wives before, he knew his brother would never accept such an ordeal.

But still, such moral obligations hadn't stopped him from chasing his pleasure in brothels and amongst whores. Yet, Mysaria's dark hair was a pitying reminder of the woman he felt no love nor lust for and so proved to be a dampener for his fun, amongst other things.

He sighed out of frustration, halting his hips as he laid his head against Mysaria's shoulders. He pulled out roughly, tugging a blanket over his naked form as he trudged towards the window in a hollowing mix of rage and despair. His eyes found the stars, seeking comfort in their luminous glow as his mind flitted over myths and legends of constellations etched into the dark sky.

Mysaria followed, consoling the man as she praised him. But her words had no effect on him, so she offered him something more instead.

"I could bring in another? Perhaps one with silver hair."

Daemon was tempted to say yes, urged to give in to his fantasies and imagine.

But it wouldn't be what he wanted. No, the whores of Silk Street - the bastards of the Targaryen line, although their hair grew white it wasn't the right shade. Too different for him to be able to pretend.

And Daemon didn't want to pretend.

Twisting his fingers and tugging strands of golden-white hair were a mere illusion for the girl he pretended he wanted.

The girl he truly desired was one he would never taint, her hair brighter and longer - the wisps of her soft, white hair were their own streaks of light, like beaming stars in the night sky.

No, it wouldn't be the same.

It wouldn't be what he wanted - what he needed.

Daemon Targaryen wanted Saenyra. But he knew he could not have her.

He would not take her, for fear of corrupting her. Of ruining her, and breaking her beyond repair.

Taglist: @marihoneywk @ahristata @gracielikegrapes @luanasrta

#daemon targaryen x y/n #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon x reader #daemon targeryan #daemon targaryen #otto hightower #house of the dragon #hotd #smut #daemon targaryen smut #daemon targeryen x reader #daemon targaryen fluff #dance of shadows

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angelltheninth · 2 years

Note

Ohh, ok, can I have feral Kiba rough fucking Fem!Reader + biting and breeding kinks?

Kiba! I think he was one of first characters that I fawned over in the franchise. He was just so cool and I'm gonna be honest I thought that the fact he had fangs was so cute.

Pairing: Kiba Inuzuka x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, established relationship, rough sex, biting, breeding kink, rutting instincts, mating instincts, feral Kiba

Word count: 0.9k

Ao3

A/N: I'm surprised that there's not a lot of Kiba content out there. He's such a cool guy, and one of the goodest boys in the anime. Where's all the love?

Kiba growled into your ear, his clawed hand digging into your hair scratching, "Stay still babe, I need to get inside, then you can squirm all you want." You arch your back against his naked torso, your ass against his pelvis, while he's trying to work his big cock into you.

You noticed for a few days that he'd been holding back while you were having sex but didn't know why. It was like there was some sort of boundary he set for himself that he would go over, not with out your say so.

He was also struggling every time he was about to finish, not to get there but to hold off through your orgasm long enough for him to pull out, shooting his cum across your cunt and stomach.

When you brought up the issue he was a little bashful about it. Even with your mouth around his cock he was hesitant to admit what he really wanted. It was only when you started riding him, whispering how good his cock feels, how much you love to be filled up, how much you want to feel full of his cum you see something in his eyes shift.

"Kiba? Are you- oh!" He growls into your shoulder as he picks you up by the hips and slams you repeatedly down on his cock a few times. He quickly changes positions, turning you on your stomach, letting his cum drip from between your legs as you try to clamp down around nothing, "Wait, not yet, I'm really close."

"I know baby, just..." Kiba took a deep breath, the tip of his cock rubbing in between your folds, "Hold still." His voice was a full on growl, it sent the most wonderful shivers down your spine and made you spread your legs apart wider, allowing him easier movement. "Tell me if it's too much okay?"

"Okay." You gulped as you felt his clawed hand lay over yours, squeezing and interlocking your fingers as best as he could from this position.

You were not ready for the sheer force of his thrust, for the way he smacked against your ass cheeks with every roll of his hips, keeping you perfectly still while he rutted his cock deep into your cunt. With every stroke you heard him growl, curse and tell you how good you are at taking him, pleasing him, how hot and wet it feels inside you.

"You're still holding back." You clenched your walls around him, tilting your head and bearing your neck to him, "Do you think I can't take you? I can. Please Kiba, fuck me like you mean it, like you want to." You took a deep breath, uttering the two words that made him absolutely lose it, "Breed me."

His fangs snapped close to your ear, on full display, his pupils narrowing into thin, sharp lines. He pushed and pushed, trying to get his cock in deeper than it could go, pulling your hips back, making you moan with every thrust of his thick cock in your dripping pussyhole.

"You wanna be breed huh? Are you my bad girl? A bad girl that wants her cunt filled with my seed?" You bit into the pillow case to stifle your moans. It helped very little. If anything it made Kiba even more animalistic, to know that he's making you feel that good, as if your walls clamping down on his throbbing dick wasn't proof enough.

Your walls started spasming around him, your mind going blank as you orgasmed on his dick, trying to milk every drop of his hot cum, "Yes! Fuck, fill me up, as much as you want! I'm all yours to- ohmygod!"

Kiba huffed and groaned as he sank his cock in deep, flooding your cunt with his hot cum, giving you exactly what you asked for and more. "Wanted to do this for the longest time. You're gonna look so pretty when you're full." His hand sneaks from your hip to pet your stomach.

He pulled back roughly, more jets of cum spraying across your ass and lower back and dripping down your thighs. You tried your hardest to keep as much of it inside, reaching between your legs and pushing it back in with two fingers.

"Damn that's hot. You're so fucking sexy babe. So sexy for me." Kiba leaned down and pressed hot kisses along the back of your sensitive neck, leaving goosebumps and love marks. "Thank you for doing this for me."

"It wasn't just for you trust me." You pulled your fingers out letting the combined cum drip down onto the sheets. Kiba snickered as he settled into bed and pulled you against his chest, "Still not done?" You smile as you look back at him and grind your ass against his still throbbing length.

"It's enough for now." With his fingers he gently gripped your chin and planted his lips against yours, "I love you."

You hummed into the kiss, a little string of saliva still between you two as you ran your tongue over his sharp canines before pulling away, "Then maybe you should share things like this with me more."

"If that's what you want. I'm sorry I was holding back before. Didn't mean to make you worry." Kiba nuzzled his nose against yours, making you giggle at the gesture.

"You can always make it up to me." You husked against his lips, your eyes somehow filled with even more lust then before. Kiba smirked at you and dragged his hand between your legs. You were still sensitive from your orgasm so even the lightest touch on your clit made your hips jerk forward. "We'll canceling our missions for tomorrow, I've got another one for you."

"Sounds like fun. Let's see if you can keep up." Oh. Oh you really liked this new side of him. Hopefully it sticks around for a while.

#naruto x reader #naruto fanfiction #naruto smut #kiba inuzuka #kiba x reader #kiba smut #kiba imagine #kiba fanfic

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zombiewhor3 · 1 year

Text

WE HAVE SHIT TO DO

rick grimes x fem reader

WARNINGS: smut, penetrative sex, male/fem orgasms, weapon usage, mentions/usage of liquor, Negan, mentions of character deaths, mentions of upset/un-comfy reader, mentions of murder, season 7 era tbh,

a/n: just watched the episode of where Carl died and where Rick read his letter and i am a sobbing mess, i cried so hard throughout the entire episode an honestly in the comics it says he has a happy ending so lets pretend that Carl never died and had a happy ending and that he just ran away because it's breaking my heart!

: sorry for the long wait, i've been trying to catch up stuff on my wattpad and i have a few drafts that i have saved so i'll be trying to post those throughout the week!

the runs had been hard, and food rations had started to become smaller and smaller by the day, and with children and people of Alexandria they needed to find something.

But it was hard with Negan breathing down their backs, constantly making random appearances to claim 'his deliveries' that they were supposed to somehow fulfill for him and the Saviours.

she had one of her hands intertwined with his while his cock was hitting her g-spot making her mouth form a sudden 'O' shape while their lips connected in a frustrating lust for one another.

she let out a soft cry into his mouth feeling as she was so close from her big O that she was bucking her hips up for one of his thumbs to rub circles on her clit to send her over the edge for him.

without a hesitation he used his thumb to spin on her clit hearing as she let out a loud set of delicate moans from her mouth, and it made him pull his lips away from hers just so he could hear how beautiful she sounded aloud while he fucked her.

"s-so close!" she whimpered feeling as her walls clenched to try and bring his throbbing cock even deeper into her tight soaked walls, one of their hands were holding onto the others so they could keep their bond of love even closer during the moment.

"shh shh, come on let it go"

he cooed to her feeling as she let out a loud whimper while her juices spurt out onto his cock that was irresponsibly not covered by a condom, however it felt to good for him to stop and by the time he knew it he was shooting his load inside her

"fuck" he practically gasped feeling the warmth of their juices creating a slight warmth over his cock, she let out a whine as he hadn't pulled out of her yet because he wanted to take in the moment

a loud knock at the door seemed to disturb her as she jumped sending a slight accidental pleasure to his cock that was still buried full length in her cunt.

"you done fucking in there Rick? because we have shit to do!" Negan called out while tapping his bat against the door so harshly Rick thought that he was going to somehow break through it.

he pulled out of her watching as she covered over her mouth to hide a loud gasp that she knew was surely to spill from her mouth, "one minute Negan please" Rick asked only hearing the knocking start to get louder and louder surely he was trying to scare him.

Rick had wiped himself and slipped on his lower half of clothes before Negan flew open the door smiling once he saw y/n covering herself with the tangled bed sheets around her.

Rick ran a hand through his hair while he pulled out a fresh white t-shirt from his dresser slipping it on while he holstered his knife and looked at the man standing in front of him.

"Rosita come here for me please"

Negan called out watching as the women slipped down the long and quite narrow hall leading to the bedroom, she stood behind him as she kept her gaze down on the floor.

"you and Rick are going to go on a scavenge trip and i don't care how long you're out there for, either you find something cool or useful for me or option one you don't come back at all and in that case i'll bash someones head in or option two i smash all of these sorry fucks heads in" Negan smiled rubbing his hand over Lucille.

"now get the hell out" he ordered watching as Rick skimmed past him as he followed Rosita back down the long hall and once Negan heard the front door shut with a slam a smile appeared on his face.

this time it was wider and cockier almost like he thought the girl trying to cover her nude body from him was a joke, his smile was implicating that he thought this was all so damn funny.

"can i please get some privacy Negan?" she asked calmly as her nails started to practically burn holes into the fabric from the strength of her grip that she had on it.

Negan rested the bat against the inner wall of the bedroom next to the snow white painted door frame, he used a hand to rub over the stubble on his face, he sighed and flipped his back around.

his hands rested clasped in front of him as he fiddled his thumbs and whistled impatiently, she slipped into the bathroom to wipe her self clean before she slipped back into the bedroom to put on a fresh set of clothes.

"you can stop whistling now" she bit at him while she adjusted the collar of her flannel that covered the blank tank underneath, she flipped over the cuffs on the sleeves and folded her arms.

"wow god you two really go at it" Negan remarked at her watching as her posture awkwardly changed in front of him, because her shoulders seemed to scrunch up at the uncomfortable remark.

"is that stuff never seems to go right around here? is you two's fucking getting in the way of my deliveries that you and your people should be making?" a hand rested on her lower neck as he made his way up to her chin watching and feeling as she swallowed harshly.

"you seem un-comfy baby" he spoke rubbing the side of her cheek, "i think you should leave" she spoke calmly but also with a slight fire in her voice wishing that he would just see himself out.

Judith let out a loud cry just a few doors down making Negan smile once more as he picked up Lucille and made his way along the hall making sure to scrape the floors up with him.

"don't please" y/n spoke pushing past him so that she could stand in the door frame the loud sound of her crying ringing through her ears like loud feedback echoing off of a microphone.

"oh please i'm not gonna hurt her what am i a monster?" he bit back bitterly skimming past her, he placed his bat down next to the recliner in her room while he lifted her up from her crib.

he sat back in the recliner while rocking her gently with his knee while he stroked the back of her head, y/n didn't understand how a man so cruel and so monsterous could have a heart like this.

how he could act so sweet after threatening to bash everyone's brains in if Rick hadn't followed his orders as directed.

y/n was surely biting her fingernails raw looking at the two, she seemed to have a liking to him, but it wasn't like she knew how much of a monster he was, after all she was only past a year old she truly didn't know anything about the real world yet.

it was making her sick seeing him hold her, seeing as he was able to get her to stop crying, she looked down the hall to see Carl standing there cocking his head while he looked at the quite visible nervousness y/n was emitting into the air around them.

she shook her head at Carl to go back with Enid who had her head peaking out into the kitchen to watch what Carl was doing from the hall even though she couldn't get a good enough view.

y/n gestured for him to return back to the room he had just appeared from but instead he walked his way down the hall his hand slipping out the silver knife from his holster.

y/n tried to put her hand out to push into his chest but once she saw the fire in his eyes she let him go, she let him slip into the bedroom to see the man that killed her friends holding his little sister.

it was causing an ache in him, it was making him so god damn furious that he was clenching the blade by his side,

"would you look at that it's the serial killer in the making isn't this a nice surprise for me" Negan teased looking down at the knife clenched with a fist down by the boys side.

y/n grabbed his wrist to take the knife from him and shockingly he let her, he let it slip out from his hand without even an ounce of a fight,

she slipped it back into his holster while turning his body away and sending him back down the hallway to where Enid was now waiting for her boyfriend with an explanation.

"he's a feisty one for sure, quite bold if you ask me"

Negan spoke to y/n while sitting up from the chair and resting the now sleepy Judith back in her crib, she pulled a blanket over her and handed the stuffed rabbit that rested next to her in her crib before he grabbed his bat and showed himself out of her room.

y/n shut the door behind her once she checked the baby camera to make sure that it was still on and hadn't run out of battery power again, she followed Negan into the living room thankful that the two kids had left the house to venture somewhere else.

"you have any bourbon or whiskey? i could really use a drink"

Negan asked plopping down on the couch and resting his feet a top of the coffee table un-apologetically while his eyes flicked over to look at the obviously unamused y/n.

"not much i think in the last of our rations we have maybe half a bottle i'm not sure last time i checked your men took it all"

y/n spoke sharply while opening the cupboards until she found the bottle of whiskey, she grabbed a clean empty glass and poured him some before she set the glass and the bottle on the table.

he moved his feet out of her way before he took his first embrace of the liquor in his glass, "perfect" he sighed happily as he downed his first glass of the brown liquid, "what is this exactly?" Negan asked watching as she had taken a seat on the opposite end of the couch away from him before she answered his question.

"Deanna's old husband had a old liquor cabinet so i'm guessing something vintage or some shit we found it in Spencer's room but i suppose whiskey is simply whiskey"

y/n reflected back at him while crossing her legs, she stared out the window where the curtains had been pulled back to let in just the right amount of sunshine necessary to light up the room so it wouldn't be as gloomy and dark for them.

"not when it's cheap but times are tough so anything will do these days but i have to admit this don't taste cheap sweet heart"

Negan admitted as he poured himself another round, after he downed it he licked his lips clean and looked at her.

"you've had your drink can you leave me be now" y/n spoke bitterly towards him as she got up from the couch,

"not until your boy toy and that chick gets back with my shit, is that what you call him boy toy or fuck toy?" he blabbed back before giving up on the glass and instead just pressing the glass bottle of liquor against his lips taking a swig of the burning liquid down his throat feeling the aftermath of the sting start to kick in from the liquor.

"i call him Rick that's all" she answered his question sounding uninterested in the games he was trying to play with her

she was tired of looking at his face and that smug ass smile laced on it, tired of looking at the leather jacket he wore that once had her friends blood splattered on it and she was sure as hell tired of looking at the damn bat that now sat between his legs.

because it was the same bat he used to bash in her friends heads the same bat that she had taunted her and the rest of her group with, the same bat that had smeared blood on her face because she refused to look at it that night when he ordered her.

she gulped looking down at it, Negan chuckled as he could catch her glance at the piece of wood, "is Lucille bothering you because i can promise you she isn't quite thirsty right now but if they come back with nothing she's gonna be damn thirsty for more of your friends"

"please just leave me alone Negan, please that's all i ask of you, you can have that entire bottle of whiskey if it'll get you to stop running your mouth to me hell i'll find you all the damn bottles that you want if it'll keep you away from me"

she spoke trying to hide the fire she could feel her body emitting, she could feel the anger every time she looked at him and it was starting to grow so much she wasn't sure she would be able to hold back from simply killing him but she knew that would be a foolish idea.

that killing him would reek a havoc on the people of Alexandria.

she slipped into her and Rick's bedroom sinking into the bed as she could hear the sound of his men outside, and well she could see partially some of them through the shadow of their figures through the light cream colored curtains covering the window.

she picked up the comic book that rested on the night stand next to the bed, her and Carl had a thing for comic books often swapping whenever they finished one, she ran her fingers over the cover before she set it back down onto the wooden night stand with a sigh.

she prayed that Rick would be back soon, and she prayed that if he did come back he'd bring something Negan wanted or else she knew that surely there was gonna be a blood bath in Alexandria.

it had been a week since Rick came home, and that meant she had spent a week living with a cruel man, it was hard keeping Carl out of the house away from his sister but she knew it would prevent him from pulling anything stupid when his father was away.

they had come back with two large bottles of rum, a pallet that had been slightly filled with cans of sweet corn and an old jack knife that Negan had let Rick keep himself as a so labeled "trophy" for being such a good scavenger for him.

Once Negan was satisfied with the resources Rick had brought to him he gathered his men and left, but not without making sure to take a look at the women who was soaking into her bed from the ability of not being able to look him in the face anymore.

Rick could tell that she had lost her mind spending the past seven days with him, that she was truly going crazy with the taunting and the comments and well the fact she felt so guilty for just simply trying to protect Carl from doing something stupid.

Rick pulled her into him so he could rub her hands and plant kisses onto the back of her neck and her shoulder blades feeling her shudder and slightly tremble at the needed contact.

"is he gone? i can't stand to look at him anymore"

she admitted feeling as he intertwined one of his hands with hers rubbing the top of her hand with his thumb,

"he's gone for now at least i'll make sure to take you out for scavenging next week to see if we can bring anything back for us"

Rick peppered kisses on her back trying to settle her as he knew that the true real life fact was that Negan could come back any day or any time he pleased and he could tell that it was starting to severely upset her, he knew that she hated him for what he did and in all truth Rick couldn't stop thinking about killing the man himself.

He knew that no matter what he did or no matter if he killed or defeated Negan nothing would ever be the same he had already tried that and it cost him two of his men, two of his innocent men.

"i want to kill him Rick i have to kill him i need to" she spoke with a sudden change of tone starting to lace and bite back at her.

she squeezed his hand, "but i can't put anyone else in danger, because i can't lose anyone else and i already know he has Carl on his list and i won't do that to you"

he shushed her softly again to calm her down from the amped-up ramble that she had been starting to spew out again

"and we won't lose him if we follow the plan we have, just a few more days and we can follow out the plan and see how it goes for us but i just know we have to try and fight our way out of this"

Rick was almost all jittered up from the thought of taking Negan down, the thought of taking him down so no one else they loved or cared about could ever be hurt again from him.

"then we'll find a way to kill him together without getting us killed and we'll find a way to take down his men with him"

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ficthots · 2 years

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Blackout

A/N: Okay here’s a birthday fic for Peter that I’m posting on Andrew’s birthday because we wouldn’t have our beloved Peter #3 without him! It’s a cute, fluffy, adorable piece. I hope you guys enjoy it and as always let me know what you think! (P.S. these pictures are exactly how I picture Peter in this fic, okay bye!)

Word Count: 6.2k+

Birthdays are funny in that they vary depending on the person being celebrated. There are those who adore birthdays and attempt to stretch them out for all they’re worth. One single day isn’t enough to celebrate them so a birthday week is more appropriate or even a birthday month. There are those who despise birthdays and detest growing older, forgoing the festivities entirely.

People like your best friend, Peter, are completely indifferent to them. He wouldn’t mind a handmade card and a single cupcake and would be content. If someone decided to throw a bash he would appreciate the effort that went into the planning and those that took time out of their schedule to attend. The key being he was simply happy to be involved.

Every year you tried to gain insight into how he was feeling about his birthday to gauge what he would most enjoy and for the last few years it had been incredibly simplistic. Last year consisted of cake, ice cream, a singular present, and a handmade card which had sent him over the moon.

May had snuck into the apartment whilst you two were sleeping and decorated the space. Balloons littered the floor, streamers hung from the walls and ceiling, a happy birthday banner strung along the wall met you both with a surprised laugh.

Peter had started the day with a birthday bagel and a large smile and ended the day with consuming ¾ of an entire birthday cake and a crafty birthday card which took you three hours to make that he swore he would cherish always. This year was going to be different. Very different.

He gingerly opened the card you had presented to him the day before his birthday, eyeing you with questions dancing in his eyes as you bounced excitedly on the couch next to him. When two faux plane tickets fell out onto his lap, his brows furrowed.

“Okay, so obviously I couldn’t get the real ones yet because they’re on my phone, but I’m taking you on a trip for your birthday this year!” You couldn’t contain your excitement as he monitored you from the corner of his eye, trying to read what the tickets said your destination was.

He chuckled as he saw the city written in gold lettering, glitter cascading down onto his shirt. “Vegas?” You jumped up and did your best Elvis impersonation you could manage. “Uh huh. It’s only for a quick weekend getaway, but I wanted to do something big for you this year and what’s bigger than Las Vegas!”

Peter rubbed his face and laughed at your excitement as you bounced around the living room. “We leave tomorrow morning?” You landed on his lap, his hands pulling you into him to wrap you up in a hug. “Thank you. This’ll be great,” you placed a sloppy kiss on his cheek as you stood, taking him with you and leading him towards his room.

“We need to get you packed. I’ve been packed for three days. Do you know how hard it was to keep this a secret from you?” He leaned on the doorframe, watching you in adoration as you rambled on about how long you had been planning this birthday surprise for him.

It was freezing. You peeked your eyes open and the room was wrapped in darkness. Only a top sheet covered you as you attempted to gather your bearings and let your eyes adjust to the pitch black surroundings.

As you moved your neck you felt like a semi truck had run you over, a headache pounding against your head, eyes feeling like they were going to fall out. You whimpered, a groan following as the body in bed next to you began to move.

“I need you to stop moving,” a hand landed on your bare back, stilling you. His voice was scratchy and sleep riddled, but you knew it was Peter. You rolled over facing him as you saw his eyes were heavy with exhaustion, bloodshot and barely opened.

The mattress below you felt like a water bed as you rolled. “I’m gonna throw up,” you whispered out. The thwip of webs echoed in the quiet room as a trashcan landed under your chin seconds later. “Do it in the bin, please,” he grabbed a fistful of your hair as you dry heaved.

Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you reached blindly on the nightstand next to you for the bottle of water you explicitly remember placing there for your future self. “Peter, I can’t-I can’t find it,” you murmured out.

A loud sigh left him as he prepared himself to sit up for the first time. He exhaled dramatically as he propelled himself up to scan the room for the bottle. Another web released as he found it, but this time not as nimble as before. You heard the thump of it hitting him in the temple.

Giggles fell from you as he tossed the bottle to you, laying down whilst rubbing the spot, landing harshly on his pillow as you sipped, washing the remnants of bile from your mouth.

“Are you as naked as I am right now?” He spoke out after a few minutes as you rubbed at the bridge of your nose, a dull ache persistent.

Your hand went below the sheet and felt your bare thigh. “Mhm,” you mumbled back as he groaned. Neither of you spoke again as you searched your memories, trying to piece together what had happened the night before.

“Fuck. Did we-did we do it?” You swallowed thickly at the possibility. The relationship you two had always teetered on more. People commented all the time on the closeness of you both. You were a borderline couple as is, but this was a threshold you had only ever thought of, never acting on.

There had been a few drunken kisses exchanged before, his touch familiar and comfortable because it happened so often, and you said you loved each other constantly. Nearly every single day, but was Peter in love with you like you knew were with him?

You sighed as you peered at the boy next to you. He was incredibly handsome. Sure, you’d harbored a crush on him for a few years, but you knew better than to act on it. However, drunk you was an entirely different person, obviously, and although the actions from the previous night were slipping your mind, based on the current situation, sex was entirely plausible.

“I’m thinking yes, but I don’t remember anything. Do you remember anything, Pete?” He shook his head, hair flopping around as he did. “I don’t. I take that back. I remember a lot of lights. Like neon lights. Signs maybe?” You chuckled as you moved to your back. “That means we were on the Strip.”

Your left hand went to your face, rubbing your eye when you felt something unfamiliarly cool brush against your skin. You peeked your eye open to see what it was. As you held your hand out in front of you both, you looked at the gold band around your ring finger.

“When did I get a ring?” He leaned over, resting his large head on your covered chest, nuzzling into you. “Dunno,” was all he offered in return. You dropped your arm, tracing circles on his skin.

A loud, shrill sound rang. “Oh no, no, no. Peter, get it! Turn it off!” Your hands went to your ears, burying your face in the pillow as he climbed over you, grabbing the hotel phone and answering it.

“Hello? Okay, thank you,” he placed the phone back on the receiver and pushed off of you, standing up. “We set up a wake up call,” you groaned, pulling the sheet over the top of your head, cursing your past self for it.

Peter shuffled around as he gathered his clothes, slipping back into them. He slowly approached the curtains. “Close your eyes. I’m opening them,” you started to protest, but to no avail. Without any hesitation he pulled them apart, light flooding into the room, piercing your eyes.

As he turned around his hand went to his mouth, looking around the room in bewilderment. You reappeared from under the covers and saw what he was gawking at. The entire room was borderline trashed.

Bedding and towels littered the floor, webs hung from the walls, takeout trash took up all possible countertop and table space, discarded alcohol bottles filled the nightstands and dresser top.

“Oh, babe. What did we do?” Peter’s laugh followed his question as he looked at the damage, moving towards the bathroom. Your gaze went upwards, looking at what awaited you on the ceiling.

In webbing, words sat there. Your eyes widened, sitting up fast and staring at the bathroom that Peter had just gone into in complete shock. JUST MARRIED. It stared down at you as you let it wash over you.

Slipping back into your t-shirt and panties you quickly approached the bathroom door, knocking fervently as the shower began to run. “Peter! Pete, open the door,” the door slid open as he appeared before you.

You reached in and grabbed his hand, seeing a gold band adorning his finger, matching yours. “Oh my god. Peter, oh my god!” He laughed as he held his hand up to yours. “We match. Look,” he continued chuckling as you walked back to the bed and sat with your head in your hands.

He followed you, concern etching across his face at your mood. “Babe, what’s wrong?” You looked into his honey eyes as he crouched in front of you, pointing upwards, silently telling him where to look. His head tilted back, jaw opening and closing like a fish out of water at the wording.

“Holy shit. I don’t remember. Did we actually get married?” You shook your head, running your hands through your hair, pushing it away from your face. “I have no idea, Pete. I seriously am having such a hard time remembering anything. We’ve never gotten drunk like that before,” small tidbits of memories flashed in your mind.

Caesars Palace, laughing at the statue of the naked man and his penis. The Cosmopolitan and the chandelier bar. The Bellagio and the gardens. New York New York and the roller coaster. No memory of a wedding.

Your eyes flew open to see him standing in front of you, rubbing his face tiredly. The gold band looked immaculate on his slender flinger. It looked like it was always meant to be there. Your heart tightened at the thought that it was there because of you. For you.

“I don’t remember. I remember we started at Caesars. That’s where we found out that if you gamble they give you free drinks. We got shit faced playing video poker, walked around the casino floor and saw that statue of the naked guy. We laughed at his penis for like five minutes straight before we left. Where did we go next?”

Peter leaned on one leg, snapping his fingers as the memory washed over him. “We went right. You wanted to go to some bar you had heard a lot about. Like a lamp bar or something? We only got like one or two drinks there,” you laughed as you remember trying to act distinguished in the high end resort.

“Yeah, we-we ordered Cosmopolitans thinking it was funny. I sat on your lap the entire time because there was only one seat available. The waiter didn’t think it was as funny, but it was because I spilled the drink down the front of your white dress shirt,” Peter’s eyes closed as he recalled the events.

“That’s right. I had to buy another one. You didn’t want to walk all the way back to the hotel, I offered to swing us and you said, ‘You can’t do that. Spider-Man only exists in New York. Las Vegas doesn’t know about him,’ which is not true because I make national news almost every week,” you rolled your eyes as he approached you, hands cupping your jaw.

“Okay, let’s get ready. We’ll try and think of more, but I’m starving and so hungover and want waffles so bad,” he smushed your cheeks together, placing a gentle kiss to your forehead as you nodded your head. His eyes fell to your hand that rested on his hip. He hesitated for a second as he saw the band that sat on your skin.

Peter’s hands fell from your face as he moved back to the bathroom. “Do you want to shower first?” He stopped as he stood at the door, scratching the back of his neck, a light blush tinting his skin.

You nodded and smiled at him. It was a major step, but one that you felt was right in the moment. As you approached him, chests brushing together as you squeezed past to get in the bathroom, you gently kissed the underside of his jaw, feeling him still completely at the motion.

You didn’t want to overthink the situation as you undressed, the door open, his bare back facing you, offering you some privacy. It was silly, you thought. Not only had you two slept together last night, but you were married. Literally man and wife.

What did you want to happen? Lean into the drunken mistake and see what could happen? You had known him for years, he was your best friend, you loved him. You really did. Is this how you imagined this happening? No, not at all. Could you work with this, though?

You crossed the small bathroom, placing your hand on his back. He turned and saw you standing before him, completely nude. He swallowed thickly, almost frightened to look down and see anymore of you.

Letting your hand move to the back of his neck, lightly tugging at the stands that sat there, leaning towards one another. “I want to kiss you really bad, but I haven’t brushed my teeth and I got sick less than a half an hour ago,” he laughed, agreeing with you and watched as you stepped back from him.

“Do you-you wanna shower with me?” You let the question hang between you two, nerves wracking you. He could turn you down easily. Not wanting to let this go any further between you two. You braced yourself for the rejection that could answer every question swimming in your head, possibly shutting down any chance of making this weird situation work.

He only nodded, doe eyes staring down at you, a slight tremble to his hands. Your lip sucked between your teeth, gently gnawing at the flesh as you mimicked his move, nodding along with him. The water splashed against your shoulder, dipping your head back to feel the water pulsate against you.

Your headache was still pounding, but Peter’s arms enclosed around you, pulling you towards him. You opened your eyes and saw his toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, yours in one of the hands wrapped around you, pressing into your back.

You took it from his hands, quickly running over your teeth, setting it on the shower lip. As soon as it was out of your hand, Peter had you pulled against him, lips crashing together. He turned you both so he stood directly under the water, hands holding your jaw in place to meld to him as he explored you.

An involuntary moan slipped past your lips as you felt his tongue brush against your lips, your hands tangling into his soaked hair, his stubble rubbing against your face as you two moved forward in whatever mess your drunkes selves had gotten you into.

Knowing Peter possibly felt the same turmoil of feelings you did made you feel better. Of course this was a complete disaster, but there was a chance you could make this work. You just needed to remember what the fuck had happened the night before.

“Watch, watch this. You-ya think you’re the only one who can do cool stuff?” You pulled Peter’s attention to yourself as you awkwardly jumped from a bench in front of The Linq. His jaw fell slack, clapping at your small exertion.

“Holy shit, that was awesome. I need to make you your own,” he looked around to see if there were people around you both, wrapping his arm around your neck and pulling you into him as he whispered into your ear. “I’m gonna make you your own web shooters. Can’t be Mrs. Spider-Man if you don’t have your own web shooter,” you nodded enthusiastically, sipping from the insanely large frozen daiquiri bottle you had purchased earlier that evening.

You hands grabbed at his dress shirt, crumpling it in your fist as you pulled him into a kiss. He fully leaned into you, hands pawing at your waist to get you as close to him as possible. “Thank you, Mr. Spider-Man. If I have my own web thingies then I can help you! We can save New York together,” your eyes glistened with tears at the idea of being crime fighting partners together.

He wiped at your eyes, a large goofy smile taking over his features. “No, no, no. Too dangerous for my wife. I’ll save New York for the both of us, ‘kay?” You sniffled as he kissed the apples of your cheeks. “M’kay. Wait! That’s the Eiffel Tower! When’d we get to Paris? You didn’t have to take me to Paris for our honeymoon!”

You groaned as you sipped your orange juice, a piece of paper in between you both as you mapped out the night, trying to place when and how it had happened. The only things that had been filled in so far was the start of the night at your hotel, The Wynn. Then you walked to Caesars, followed by the Cosmopolitan, and then New York New York where you both rode the roller coaster.

Photo evidence existed at the New York New York signaling you were already married, the bands clear as day in the souvenir picture. There was a large gap between the New York New York and the Cosmopolitan, knowing it had happened sometime between then.

The bar shenanigans had happened at or around ten pm and the photo from the ride was stamped at midnight, right when the ride closed for the night. You vividly remember begging the ride attendants to let you on for the last one of the night, claiming you were newlyweds and there was nothing more in the world that you wanted.

The Bellagio happened sometime after that, followed by getting dinner as husband and wife at In-N-Out. That trash was evident in the hotel room.

You two sat at a breakfast table by the pool, trying to piece the night together. Sunglasses sat on both of your faces, your hair put up, the heat already scorching. Peter’s fingers tapped the pen along the side of the table, hand rubbing at his jaw in confusion.

“And we have absolutely no pictures from the wedding? No pictures of us getting the rings?” You shook your head, resting your forehead in the palm of your hand. “I don’t think so,” your knee was continuously bouncing, but he reached out across the table, taking your hand into his.

“Babe, we’re gonna figure this out. I’m just sorry I got you into this,” his thumb brushed along the top of your hand. “What do you mean?” He leaned back in his chair and shrugged. “I’m pretty sure this was my idea. I mean I don’t entirely remember, but god it sounds like something I would do,” you laughed and nodded your head.

“Does sound like something you would do,” the server came over, placing eggs benedict in front of you and waffles in front of Peter. He thanked her as she lingered by the table for a minute, fluttering her eyelashes at the boy across from you.

She had been flirting with him since you had been seated in her section. At first you didn’t mind, but the more she did it and the more obvious it became, the more irritated you grew.

A sudden wave of jealousy washed over you at the audacity that this woman had to flirt with him right in front of you for the fourth time that morning. For some reason you both decided to wear the rings. Neither of you really said anything after you exited the shower together, got dressed, and both slipped the rings back on as you walked down to the pool restaurant for breakfast. It just felt right. At least for the mean time until you decided what your course of action was.

“I just wanted to say that you’re very handsome and if I could get your number,” you scoffed at her and her boldness and held his hand up towards her as his face grew pink. “We’re married, but thank you,” she opened and closed her mouth, quietly apologizing and scurrying off as Peter smirked.

“Jealous, huh?” You shrugged, stabbing the breakfast potatoes harshly. “I mean the ring was right there. She saw it,” he leaned on the table, both elbows on the surface. “You’re cute when you’re jealous,” your face grew warm at his words. You couldn’t fight the smile that took over your face when you looked at him.

He had such a large smile, showcasing all his teeth. “Eat your waffles.” A ding on your phone brought your attention to the screen. “Oh shit, Peter. These are our wedding pictures.”

“No, no, you don’t understand. We just got married tonight and all we want to do is ride the roller coaster. Please! My husband has been dying to do this since we landed here and I promised him we would,” the attendant rolled her eyes and motioned for you two to go through the line.

You jumped, spinning around and wrapping your arms around Peter’s neck in a tight hug. “C’mon, we gotta go!” He pulled you behind him, the top buttons on his shirt undone, hair a tousled mess from the night.

“When they take the picture on the ride we have to show our rings, okay?” You took his chin in your hand, trying to be serious, but failing as he nodded, leaning down to attack your neck in kisses. “Whatever you want, Mrs. Parker,” butterflies erupted in your stomach at the name.

Peter helped you sit in the coaster seat, pulling down the chest restraint for you, your dexterity practically non-existent. “Remember to show your ring!” You screamed out as the ride pulled out for the last course of the night.

“I’ll take a double double, animal style fries, and a lemonade,” you said, fully leaning your weight against Peter, exhaustion taking you over. He ordered the same, escorted you out to the Uber in the parking lot, and let your eyes fall shut as you went back towards the hotel.

The room was scorching when you entered, immediately taking your shoes off, ripping the comforter top from the mattress as you walked past. Peter handed you your burger as you took a huge bite, moaning as you chewed. He pulled you into his lap, eating your first meal together as husband and wife, giggling about the events that had transpired from earlier in the evening.

You grabbed his web shooters from his arm, letting him assist you in putting them on yourself as you shot the strands out all around the room. He put you on his back, crawling onto different walls to let you feel like you were Mrs. Spider-Man.

He took them back from you and the shit eating grin on his face made you laugh. “Here, lay-lay down. Close your eyes. I’m gonna do somethin’ for you,” you laid back on the bed, squeezing your eyes shut as you heard him working above you.

The bed shifted as he laid down next to you, snuggling into your neck as he did. “‘Kay, open your eyes,” you did and a loud gasp flew from your mouth as you saw the webbed writing on the ceiling.

JUST MARRIED. You sniffled as Peter kissed your neck and jaw, moving your head to capture your lips. “Love you,” he murmured against you. He climbed on top of you, deepening the kiss as you smiled against him, unbuttoning his dress shirt.

“Love you more.”

The sun had your skin feel like it was sizzling as you laid by the pool. A large shadow covered you and you peeked a glance at who was in front of you. Peter stood to the side of you, water dripping from him as he pushed his hair back, black swim trunks hugging his thighs as he smiled down at you. His muscles were on display and you couldn’t help but stare at the gorgeous boy.

“Come get in with me,” you shook your head and giggled. “Can’t get my hair wet,” an exasperated sigh fell from him as he got on his haunches to the side of you. His skin was cool to the touch, showing the water was a good temperature.

His fingertips tilted your head towards him, lips capturing yours sweetly as the water droplets from some stray strands dripped over your face. “Please? I promise I won’t get your hair wet,” your lips pursed in thought before giving in.

As you climbed into the water, Peter shot a group of guys a mean glare as he got in after you. “What was that about?” You asked as you leaned on the pool's side. He shrugged, looking back towards the group and seeing they had turned their attention elsewhere.

“Those dickwads have been oogling you since we got to the pool,” you looked over to where they sat and you smiled at the boy. “Didn’t notice. You’re sexy when you’re jealous,” he rolled his eyes as he approached you in the pool, hands landing on either side of you.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s rude to stare, no matter how pretty you are, but you’re mine,” your face burned at his words. You were his. Technically speaking you were his. He smiled as he leaned down, lips brushing together again. “Should we go to the chapel?” You asked as he pulled back, a sigh falling from him, his head dropping as he nodded.

“Seems like a smart choice, doesn’t it?” When your phone had gone off, the email only said that your wedding photos were ready for viewing at the Little White Chapel. It was going to be your best bet for answers.

Your hand gently touched his cheek as he went to move from you. “Hey, we’re good. Okay?” He smiled at you, kissing your forehead as you followed him out of the pool.

“Okay so tonight we need some sort of game plan,” you hobbled around the room, one heel on as you slipped into the other one. Peter stepped out of the bathroom and stopped in his spot as he eyed you.

His white button up and gray pants looked great together. He was rolling the sleeves to his elbows as he took you in. “Jesus, I’m gonna have to fight guys all night, aren’t I?” You stood up straight as you finished putting your earring in, beaming at him as he walked towards you.

“I look okay, then?” He laughed, tucking his web shooters into his pocket, smoothing his hair back as he put his shoes on. “Gorgeous, babe. Breathtaking as always,” your cheeks burned at his admission, going to your purse and pulling out two small Fireball shooters.

Hiding them behind your back, you smiled at him as he sat on the bed. “I need to see the chandelier bar at the Cosmo, the gardens at Bellagio, and we need to see the Eiffel Tower at the Paris,” he nodded his head at your plans.

“I only have one request,” you stood between his legs, one of his hands gently rubbing your thigh as he spoke. “I need to get In-N-Out at some point tonight. Don’t care when it is, but I need to,” his eyes narrowed at you and tried to look behind you.

“What’s behind your back?” You placed one of them in his hands and were giddy with excitement as you unscrewed your lid. “Just to start us off for the night,” he chuckled, taking the lid off of his and clinking the bottles together before swallowing the entire thing down in one go.

“Fuck. We’re gonna get hammered. Do you think we should leave notes for ourselves so we remember what happens tonight?” he asked as he followed you out of the hotel room.

“Nah, we’ll be fine. I don’t blackout when I drink, I’ll remember.”

The old woman that sat at the desk of the Little White Chapel, clasped her hands together, a look of excitement and joy washing over her as you two entered the building. Her name tag read Cheryl, but you didn’t recognize her despite the sheer joy seeping from her at your arrival.

“If it isn’t my two favorite newlyweds! Come, come, we have your adorable pictures ready,” you nervously turned to Peter, seeing him shoot you an uneasy glance as you followed her over to the computer.

When you took the seat next to Peter’s she giggled and turned the screen. “So, I see today you want your own chair. Last night, you refused!” You awkwardly laughed at her as she pulled up the pictures.

Your eyes widened and you brought your hand to your mouth, a gasp escaping you as you set eyes on your ceremony, your memory crystal clear on what had led to that moment you were looking at.

“Cheryl, can we have a moment?”

“Baby, baby, baby,” Peter’s hand enclosed around yours and pulled you into him. Your giggles were loud as you stood in front of the Bellagio fountains, waiting for the show to start. “Yes, that’s me,” you pushed your pointer finger into his cheek as his eyes scanned over your entire face.

“I have a secret to tell you,” he whispered out as your head fell to his chest, a surprised look etching onto your face. “Me? I know all your secrets, Peter,” your eyes scanned the crowds around you, but you pulled his head down to meet your lips as you whispered into his ear.

“I know you’re Spider-Man. Don’t worry, I won’t tell no one. Your secrets safe with me,” he didn’t move back far as he stared down at you, that goofy grin you loved so much that made your heart skip a beat every time you saw it took its form.

“No, that’s not it,” his hands moved from your hands to your jaw as he continued, watching your brows furrow in confusion. “I love you. I’m so in love with you. Stupidly in love with you. Have been for yyyeeaaarrsss,” he dragged out the word, laughter mixing with his words as he spoke.

You pulled him to you, securing his lips to yours. “Peter! I haven’t told you before cause of things, but I love you, too. So so much. I didn’t think you would like me back,” you felt tears welling in your eyes as you spoke, sadness closing around you at the thought.

“No, baby! I love you. I so love you,” you jumped into his arms, legs wrapping around his waist, kissing your best friend for the first time romantically. Declaring your love for one another in a way that was possibly the least romantic way for it to have happened, but you didn’t care because Peter loved you.

Your eyes widened as a thought popped into your head. You pulled your head back from where it had been in his neck and looked down at the love struck man. “We should get married,” his eyes matched yours as he nodded his head eagerly.

“That’s such a good idea, babe! See, that’s why I love you. You’re so smart,” he spoke against your lips squished together. He set you down and grabbed your hand, smacking his own against his forehead.

“We gotta get rings and I need a new shirt since you won’t let me go back. I can’t marry you without a ring, sweetheart,” you wrapped your fingers together with his as he started pulling you towards the Forum Shops. “Okay, but they have to be matching. I wanna match with you,” he nodded his head, kissing your temple.

“Genius. Absolutely genius.”

You covered your eyes with your hand as you looked at the images. Uncontrollable laughter started to flow from you as Peter joined in. Neither of you could breath as you looked at the wedding picture album, wiping tears from your eyes as you looked at him.

“I can’t believe we did this, Peter,” he nodded his head, laughter still wracking him. There you two stood at the altar, Elvis Presley officiating, as Peter dipped you, locked in a deep kiss, one of your legs kicked up.

His hand never left yours, thumb continuously rubbing the back of your hand. “Fuck, I know,” he finally manged to catch his breath and you looked at him, guilt wracking you.

“It was my idea, Peter,” his eyes looked around widely as he tried to place the memory. His eyes met yours, widening as you nodded your head, a laugh escaping you. “You told me you loved me and I said we should get married. So we did. This was all me,” he rubbed his jaw, bringing your hand to his lips, kissing the band that wrapped around your finger.

“Let’s order these pictures because they’re amazing. We’ll get back to the hotel and talk about it, okay?” You nodded your head as he called the woman back in.

“We’ll take the lot.”

Cheryl placed the bouquet in your hands, a tiny veil adorned your head as you turned back towards Peter. You nervously bounced around, looking at him.

You were about to marry Peter and it was the best idea you had ever thought of. Now, you were shocked Peter went along with it, but it meant he loved you too. All those years spent pining for him, living in the same apartment together, could’ve been spent as a couple.

It was incredibly silly when you thought about it, but you were about to rectify that right now. Peter’s smile grew as he eyed you. “My beautiful bride. Fuck, I’m gonna marry the shit out of you right now,” you let him pull you into a kiss, all nerves forgotten. He winked at you as he walked into the chapel to wait for you to walk down the aisle to him.

“Cheryl, you’re amazing and it’s Elvis right? He’s gonna marry us? Cause that’s what my fiance wants and I want him happy,” You asked Cheryl as she helped you adjust the veil back into place that Peter had knocked off center with the force of the kiss he had planted on you.

“Yes, honey. Elvis is out there with him now. You’re all set,” you gave her a big hug as the music echoed, signaling it was time for your walk. You practically ran down the aisle to meet him at the end. There was Elvis, in all his glory, waiting to marry you both.

When you reached the altar, Peter took your hands in his, bouquet forgotten and tossed onto one of the pews. “This is one of the best impersonators I’ve ever seen,” Peter whispered to you in amazement. You nodded enthusiastically, scanning the costume the man adorned. “Oh my gosh, I know!”

The ceremony was fast, done in the blink of an eye, but Peter stopped Elvis before he finished. “Wait, wait. I have to say something. Honey, you are the light of my life. I thought I knew happiness before I met you, but that doesn’t even compare to how I feel when I’m with you. You are the love of my life. You are the funniest, sweetest, most caring and loving person I know. I cannot even begin to imagine my life without you, baby. I know this is crazy and we did this so fast, but that’s so much better. We get to figure it all out together. You and me. Husband and wife. Mr. and Mrs. Parker. Forever. I cannot wait to spend the rest of my days with you. We should go to In-N-Out for dinner after this and then-”

You paused the video as Peter continued rambling, laughter wracking you both at his words. Tears were streaming down your face as you sat on the hotel bed with him. When you two got back to the room you silently cleaned up, not knowing what to say to each other.

Confessing love is one thing, but getting married is another beast. Something that should’ve happened in the future. Not on a drunken trip to Vegas.

Peter cleared his throat as you looked at him, wiping your eyes. “I meant it. Every word. I know it’s incredibly stupid what we did, but I’m happy. I’m so happy. I really do love you that much. I’ve loved you since I’ve known you. If you don’t want to stay married that’s fine, but I just want you to know that I love you. A lot.”

You leaned forward, joining together in a deep kiss as you laughed through wet tears. “I love you, Peter. I think we can work this out,” a triumphant smile graced his features. “I know we can, babe. Best birthday ever.”

Your laugh bounced off the walls as he attacked your sides, lips nibbling on your neck as he moved you both to lay down. “Peter, how do we clean the webs off the ceiling?”

#ficthots #tasm!peter x reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #tasm peter parker #tasm peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #andrewgarfield!spiderman #andrewgarfield!peter parker x reader #tasm fanfiction #peter parker andrew garfield #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter imagine #tasm!spiderman x reader #tasm!peter fanfiction #tasm!smut #peter parker x reader smut #tasm!peter smut #tasm!peter x reader smut

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omgkatherine01 · 10 months

Text

Fire Of the Dragon: Chapter 2 - Driftmark

Series Masterlist

Chapter 1, Chapter 3

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Fem! Targaryen reader

Note: Short chapter this time, sorry...

Please comment, like and share ❤

Your mother died a dragonrider's death.

That was Daemon Targaryen told his daughters that night after he returned without Laena by his side.

Visenya, Baela and Rhaena had stayed together the whole night, finding comfort with each other after their mother and unborn sibling's death.

Daemon stayed the whole night with them as the girls cried themselves to sleep.

It had to be a bad dream, Visenya hoped.

But it wasn't.

She and her sisters woke up in a heavy heart.

Their mother wasn't around anymore.

She was dead.

She wasn't coming back.

Laena wasn't there to greet them every morning, giving them kisses on the top of their heads, helping them with their hair, laughing...

She was gone.

Visenya couldn't clear those words from her mind for days. Not when they left Essos.

Not when they reached to Driftmark.

Not while Laena's mother, Rhaenys pulled her and her sisters in a hug to comfort them.

Not in the funeral...

Laena Velaryon was gone.

And she won't return.

At the funeral, Daemon's youngest daughters escaped from his side to be with their grandparents, even if they didn't know them well. Visenya, on the other hand, held on to her father's hand, as she watched Ser Vaemond turn towards Princess Rhaenyra.

She turned to look as well.

Princess Rhaenyra's sons, Jacaerys and Lucerys Velaryon, didn't look like Velaryons, like Baela and Rhaena did. Nor like Visenya. They looked nothing like their father, or their mother for that matter.

When Vaemond bashed how Velaryon blood was true and old, everyone looked at Rhaenyra and Visenya's father had laughed, taken away the attention.

After the funeral, Daemon took Visenya with him to the balcony where everyone were eating and drinking, remembering Laena as Baela and Rhaena sat on a bench.

"How long are we going to be here?" Visenya asked softly.

Daemon looked down at her and leaned against the wall. "A couple of days, perhaps. However, your grandparents wish for us to stay a little longer. I'll find us somewhere to stay."

Visenya nodded lightly and glanced around. She straighten up when she saw Queen Alicent approaching them with her knight, Ser Criston Cole trailing behind her.

Daemon followed her gaze and his jaw clenched by the sight of his good-sister. "My Prince," the queen greeted and her eyes landed down at his daughter. "Princess Visenya."

Visenya bowed softly, "Your Grace." Alicent's eyes soften more, and she smiled softly, "How you have grown." She looked from her to Daemon, "I am very sorry for your loss."

Daemon gave a small hum and Ser Criston clenched his jaw. Visenya looked from her father to the Queen, "Thank you, Your Grace," she said softly.

Alicent placed her hands on Visenya's arms, "My daughter, Helaena, is around your age, you used to share a nursery when you were at the Keep."

Visenya looked toward three of the four children of the Queen. Aegon had been few years older, but much taller, and Helaena was looking through the stones for bugs while Aemond stood with his brother.

"I shall say hello to her, Your Grace," Visenya said as she looked at the Queen. Alicent smiled softly and gave a small nod. With that, Visenya bowed to her and glanced at her father before she walked toward the princes and princess.

Helaena was looking at what seemed to be a spider, speaking in riddles. Aegon groaned and walked away from them all as he looked at Helaena.

She cleared her throat and he turned to her, standing straight. "Hello," she said, deciding to turn to Aemond since Helaena seemed to be occupied.

"Hello," he said. "I'm Visenya," Visenya introduced herself.

Aemond gave a small nod, "Aemond," he said looking a little cautious. His nephews and big brother had not been good company over the years in his childhood, he had been the butt of their pranks and jokes simply for not having a dragon, he didn’t want to add another person to that.

"You're Prince Daemon's daughter, aren't you?" Aemond asked.

Visenya nodded, "And you're the King's son, so it makes us cousins."

The roar of Vhagar was suddenly heard and everyone looked up to see the large dragon interrupting everyone's thoughts. "She's mourning," Visenya said. "Vhagar."

"Is she yours now?" Aemond asked.

Visenya shook her head, "No, I... I do not have a dragon, to be honest," she said sadly.

Aemond seemed surprise, "You too?" he asked quietly.

Visenya nodded, "I guess you do have one as well?" Aemond shook his head, "Do you want to claim Vhagar?" he asked, wondering why she wouldn't have claimed such a mighty dragon.

Visenya shrugged lightly, "I didn't felt it was right to claim her right after she lost her rider. My mother. Step-mother, to be honest," she confessed, "And my father didn't let me get near Vhagar since mother died, so..."

Aemond nodded and looked down before at her, "I, uh, I'm sorry, about..."

Visenya nodded, and gave him a small smile, "Thank you," she said softly.

They heard Daemon calling for Visenya and she turned back to Aemond, promising they would speak later. Aemond nodded and watched her go back to her father's side before looking out to the shores.

Taglist:

@parkchaeyoung1997, @alwaysholymilkshake, @holb32, @zoleea-exultant, @ladybug0095, @froobiefroob

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x oc #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen #aemond imagine #aemond icons #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond x oc #aemond x original female character #daemon targeryan

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hederasgarden · 2 years

Text

The Trouble With Books

Summary: You and Rhett discover a surprising new kink together. Pairing Rhett Abbott x F!Reader Word Count: 1.2K Rating: Explicit, 18+ only. Fingering, dirty talk and discussions and descriptions of consensual non consent, bondage, and chasing kink. A/N: I have fallen down the rabbit hole on CNC due to @green-socks. Thank you @mayhem24-7forever for beta’ing and @callsignhurricane for the banner. Reblogs and comments feed the muse.

Please read the warnings carefully!!

It’s early evening, the hazy pinks and oranges of dusk still visible outside the front window. Rhett’s sitting on the couch beside you, your nose buried in a book. He’s watching tv and drinking a beer, relaxing after a long day's work in the fields. His hand rests on your upper thigh, soaking up the feel of your skin.

He doesn’t register what’s happening at first, assuming you’re just trying to get comfortable on the couch. But when you shift for the third time in the span of two minutes he looks up. You’re so engrossed in your book, bottom lip drawn between your teeth and breathing real shallow, that you don’t even realize what you’re doing. When you move again, his gaze drops to your lap. He watches you squeeze your thighs and rub them together every so slightly. Then you make that little breathy sound and oh, he’s intimately familiar with what that means.

Whatever you’re reading is getting you hot under the collar and making you a little bashful. That piques Rhett's curiosity because while you indulged in the occasional romance novel none of those have ever produced this kind of reaction. He smirks and sets his beer down, knowing he'll have to be quick. You're liable to fight him from seeing the book and he can't have that.

"Rhett!" You shriek when he plucks it from your hands.

He’s quick to hop out of your reach, putting the couch between you both.

“I got a right to see what’s getting you so turned on, girl,” he says, flipping through the last few pages that captured your attention so completely.

He expects something a little smutty, words about throbbing members and heaving bosoms but what he actually finds gives him pause. It’s detailed, intimate, and fucking filthy. He can see how what’s written carried you away, the picture they painted for him is vivid enough to feel a stirring low in his spine. It's not just the smut though. The scenario described and how much it seems to excite you is what surprises Rhett the most. It’s not something that’s crossed his mind before, at least not in its entirety because the two of you had some fun with rope before.

No, what gets him adjusting himself in his jeans is your response to it. How turned on you are by such a taboo thought.

“You like this?” He asks, careful to keep any judgment from his voice.

Oh, there’s that pretty look he loves so much, that mix of embarrassment and desire. “Rhett…” You trail off and he smirks.

“It’s alright if you do,” he encourages.

You wrap an arm around your midsection and step back. “It’s just a book.”

“Hell of a book,” he says, tapping the spine against his palm and moving towards you. “But that doesn’t answer my question. Do you like what was written?”

He already knows you do but he wants to hear you say it. You’re quiet for a long minute. He sees your throat bob and the way you curl your nails into the crook of your elbow. When your whispered “yes” comes a second later, it’s so quiet that he almost misses it.

"Thought you were a good girl," he teases. "Reading some sweet love story but you're sitting here, pretty as pie, reading something filthy with a straight face."

Your eyes widen when Rhett closes the distance between your bodies. The press of his half-hard cock against you is unmistakable.

“What else do you read in secret?” He asks, thumb catching on your bottom lip.

Before you can answer, he’s leaning in to kiss you, pushing his tongue in your mouth. You moan when he walks you backward. A hand behind your head keeps you from knocking into the wall, but Rhett doesn’t ease up on the kiss. The hand on your chin slides down to grasp your throat lightly. When he finally breaks the kiss, you look a little dazed, lips swollen. He loves that slow blink up at him, how you wait for him to make the next move.

“How wet am I gonna find you?” He asks, sliding a rough palm between your thighs to cup you through your sleep pants.

Your breath hitches but you don’t answer him. He doesn’t need you to as he can feel how damp the cloth is against your cunt. The little noise you make when he rubs his fingers there goes straight to his dick. He wants you bad enough that he’s almost willing to stop his teasing and take you to bed right now just to feel you wrapped tightly around him.

But he wants an answer from you, needs to know if this is something you want from him or if it’s meant just for the pages of your books.

“What did you like about that scene in the book?” He asks, working his hand into your underwear.

“I don’t know, Rhett,” you say, eyes fluttering when he finally gets his fingers on your skin.

You’re warm and velvety soft. He fucking loves how you feel and he knows by now just how to drive you mad. He keeps his touch light, moving up and down but never quite giving you what you need.

“If you wanna come, you're gonna find the words, darlin.”

“I…I liked that he was in control, took what he wanted,” you pant, grasping his arms.

He can see you’re struggling to speak, distracted by what he’s doing to you and caught up in the fantasy he’s asking you to tell him. A part of him worries this conversation should be something done when you’re both clear headed but Rhett knows you, how shy and anxious you can get about these things. It’s always been easier to get you to tell him what you want when he’s buried deep in that beautiful cunt. Tonight his fingers will have to do, though he’s pretty sure you don’t mind one bit.

“What else?” Rhett prods, slipping two fingers inside without much effort. You’re ridiculously wet and the thought of fitting a third in there almost has him coming in his jeans like a schoolboy.

You groan and your head falls back against the wall with a dull thump.

“I liked how he tied her up and she… she had to let him do what he wanted.”

Rhett loves how expressive your face is right now, unburdened and free. Almost like you’re speaking right from that warm sweet spot he has his fingers buried in. You’re close in more ways than one he thinks with a little smile but he needs to be absolutely sure.

“You want me to do that to you?” He asks, waiting to see just how far you want to take this.

“Yes, god yes,” you moan, shifting your hips forward to get his fingers deeper inside.

The broken, desperate tenor of your voice nearly does him in and he grins himself against the side of your hip.

“Want me to chase you down like they did in the book, huh?” He continues. You shudder as his thumb finally circles your clit and he pumps his fingers in and out of you. “Ignore you when you cry and tell me to stop?”

“Yes…yes…”

“Fuck you over the hood of my truck until I’m coming inside you and there’s nothing you can do to stop me?”

You don’t answer him but he doesn’t need you to. You come hard on his fingers, your back bowing and your mouth open in a silent cry. He lets you ride his hand and tire yourself out against him until the only noise in the room is your desperate little pants and the soft, wet sound his fingers make while they move in and out of you.

When you finally halt your movements Rhett withdraws his hand from between your thighs. He loves the little whine you make in response and how you look up at him through your lashes, shy once again. He grins and cups your cheek. His thumb sweeps back and forth over your skin because he knows you always need him soft afterward.

“Well, that was somethin’,” he tells you, awed and incredibly turned on.

“Rhett…” You start, staring at his chest, somewhere between ashamed and satisfied “I, um…”

“You don’t gotta explain,” he assures you, kissing both of your cheeks. “I like the idea too.”

That has your head snapping up. He chuckles at your struck expression. “I’ll admit it wasn’t on my list before tonight, but your book…. well, it was eye opening.”

“She’s um, a really good writer,” you tell him, nodding.

“I’m less interested in reading, more in doing,” he says, running a hand down your trembling side. “Maybe this weekend we can go out to the west pasture. I got a nice new rope I’d like to try out.”

“We could do that,” you agree, touching his chest.

Your finger taps his sternum and he watches your face. He can see you’re working up to something.

“You should probably read chapter 10 though…there are a few other things I like there."

✥

Sequel - I'll Be Your Fantasy

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kaylinalexanderbooks · 1 month

Text

Find the word

Thanks @space-writes for the tag here!

Rules: find the given words in your WIP(s) then tag some people with new words!

My words: return, allow, free, away

Your words: positive, breathe, hair, accent

Tagging softly @writernopal @the-stray-storyteller @mk-writes-stuff @blind-the-winds @little-peril-stories @loopyhoopywrites @buffythevampirelover @cowboybrunch @elizaellwrites @bread-roses-and-chrome @sleepywriter00 @mysticstarlightduck @revenantlore + OPEN

TSP intro

TSP tag list (ask to be +/-): @thepeculiarbird @illarian-rambling @televisionjester @finchwrites - you know the drill; y'all can join in if you want

Keep reading for:

Sweet moment between Maddie, Kelsey, and Wilfredo the amigurumi tiger

A day in the life for Úrsula

Debate about phone brightness

Time for a group training session! Gabriel plans.

Return - from The Secret Portal Part Two (Maddie POV)

“Maddie, I do want to have lunch with Hye-Jin!” she snapped. Her tone surprised me. Kelsey sighed. “Sorry. It’s not Hye-Jin, it’s Dr. Asghar. She’ll do whatever it takes to get results out of me, regardless of my comfort.” “Dr. Moon seems okay, though, maybe he’ll talk sense into her.” “Dr. Moon is not okay just because he’s nice,” Kelsey insisted. “But he did tell her we’ll find another way next time. But he also didn’t stop her this time.” “Hm,” I said, thinking. “Well, think positive, then: this won’t happen again.” “It still happened this time.” “But never again,” I repeated. Kelsey rocked on her feet before sighing. “I guess you’re right.” My eyes went to Wilfredo in my hands. I thought for a moment about what Kelsey may need. “Do you need, like, a hug or something?” I lifted my gaze to Kelsey. Her eyes slowly shut tight as her face bunched together, and she nodded. Wilfredo still in hand, I stepped forward and pulled her into my arms. Her face buried into my shoulder, despite being a few inches taller, though her arms took a moment to return the gesture. I tried to think of something comforting to say. “Hye-Jin thinks it’s cool you crochet.” Kelsey let out a laugh-like exhale. “You showed her Wilfredo?” “Well, I didn’t show her; I just held him, and she saw him.” Kelsey pulled away first. “Glad you love him so much. Thank you. C’mon, let’s go to lunch.”

Allow - from School of the Legends Year One

As she ate, Úrsula paid close attention to the harmonies of the baroque music emanating from her speaker. Every part perfectly balanced. Complimenting each other. Contrasting when needed. Úrsula had Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos memorized. Why wouldn’t she? They composed an hour and a half of pure perfection. She swayed along to the up-tempo beat, humming along in between bites. She had been attempting a new hobby of composing her own music just six months ago. She usually worked on her piece around the late morning--after breakfast and she practiced the cello she’d requested...about two years ago now. She liked to think that she’d gotten pretty good for someone who was taught by only herself, the books, and a few instructors she’d found in online videos. Her self-composed piece, however, she was not as confident in. Music Theory was relatively hard to grasp--each time she accidentally found parallel fifths in her four-part harmony she wanted to bash her head against the wall. Besides, she was no Bach, Beethoven, or Mozart. She wasn't a prodigy of her time--she was just a girl with a lot of time. After she finished clearing off her plate, she pressed the pause button on her music. Usually, Úrsula would allow whatever was playing to finish as she awaited Mamãe to bring her whatever dessert she had made, but she had left her book on a cliffhanger. It pained her to leave the music, but at the moment, this was her priority. She leapt on her bed and picked up her book right where she had left off, not bothering to get into her usual comfortable position, as she was too excited. Immediately, she felt her surroundings disappear. She left the confines of the room she’d lived in for the past five years, and entered the world that only existed in the ink forever tattooed on the face of the binded yellowed pages. After a while, when Úrsula turned the page, she found not more story, but the acknowledgements from the author. She sighed, smiling as she closed the book. She wiped her eyes--watering from the ending. She set the book temporarily on the bedside table beside her, glancing at the time. It’d been almost an hour--surely her mother should be in with the dessert soon.

Free - from The Secret Portal Part One (Akash POV)

“I think you have an excellent point,” said Liam. “Keeping your phone brightness low and in dark mode saves a lot of battery.” “But when you go outside, you can’t see your screen without raising the brightness,” said Gwen. “That’s an excellent point,” said Liam. “That’s why you have it on automatic brightness,” Kelsey said. Liam pointed to Kelsey. “Also a good point. You have anything to say, Rose?” “I don’t care,” said Rose. “I keep it up halfway.” “I think it’s fine having your phone brightness all the way up,” I said, inserting myself into the conversation. “I mean, the wide variety is actually helpful for those with different needs. If you can’t see well, you need your brightness up. If you have sensory issues, it’s helpful to have the option to turn it down. And both light and dark mode can be beneficial for those who struggle with their sight.” “Since when were you a debater?” Liam asked, crossing his arms, but looking impressed. “Just making small talk,” I admitted. “Boo!” said Liam. “Hey, George! If you’re free, I’d like to work on that scene for my movie.” “Isn’t it cheating using technology from another dimension?” George asked as he stood. “No,” Liam countered as Sam stepped aside so George could follow Liam into the kitchen. “I’m taking advantage of resources at my disposal. If I were a multibillion-dollar company, I’d be able to get the effect I want. But I’m not. I’m just a dude who wants to impress VFS.” As they disappeared toward the elevators, Gwen perched herself on the back of the couch and Lexi stole George’s spot. “Oh, no, he warmed that seat up, that’s weird.” She moved to the other side of the couch. “Okay, that’s better.”

Away - from The Secret Portal Part One (Akash POV)

My team huddled together. “Okay,” said Gills, “we obviously need to have an offense and two groups of defense: one for Custos, one for the Shoeless team. That’s three groups. There are nine of us, so we should have three on each team. J, you’re on Custos defense.” “Why?” Jazlyn asked. She snorted when Gills looked at her like she was stupid. “I’m kidding, G. You’re adorable when you’re flabbergasted by other’s dumbassery.” She ruffled his hair, causing Parker, Tyler, and me to cackle. “Only Cassidy and Niri also have powers useful against Custos,” Gills continued as he smacked Jazlyn’s hand away. “Oh, thanks, Gabe,” said Liam as Parker laughed and clapped Niri’s shoulder and high-fived Jazlyn with his other hand. Jazlyn gave Liam a half-mocking pat on the head. “Don’t take that as a compliment, Cassidy, I’m facing the facts,” Gills said flatly. “And Beaumont, unless you find out how to shift some wings onto your back, you’re on Shoeless defense. You, too, George.” “Got it,” said George. “But what if—” “You’re not gonna run up the wall to fight Custos. They have a teleporter and your sister on their team. You’re the only one who stands a chance against them.” “Fine.” “I think I could be on offense,” I offered. “I can swoop in and grab the sphere.” “Were you not listening?” Gills asked. “Your powers wouldn’t work near Custos.” “I can build up the momentum and catch myself on the way down,” I reasoned. “No, you’re on Shoeless defense,” Gills stated firmly.

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