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peachpitfics · 10 days

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Loml

Fandom: Bridgerton

Summary: You have been married six months, and it is fresh hell trying to conceive an heir with somebody you are repulsed by. Luckily, your old friend is willing to help you get through it while your husband is out of town.

Length: 2.6k

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Content Warnings: Infidelity/adultery, themes allude to SA with unwanted husband (not described or mentioned), cunnilingus, face sitting, oral sex (male & female receiving), penetrative sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, sex for the sake of breeding, breeding kink?, orgasm.

a/n: This is part ii of Wildest Dreams, requested by anon here! This turned out a little more angsty than I had planned!

Bridgerton master list (tag list)

Six months ago, your father inflicted the cruelest curse upon you when he married you off to his vilest friend, Lord Howard. Six months of marriage, six months of scheduled contact, attempting to make an heir. Agreeing to once per month, having to allow Lord Howard access to your body in order to do so, six attempts were far too many already.

As soon as Lord Howard informed you of his business travel plans, you began thinking about Benedict Bridgerton. Somebody you thought about relentlessly, however, in this case, you were hoping to hold him to a promise he had made you earlier in the year.

Immediately penning a letter addressed to him at Bridgerton House, with details regarding location, date and time. The staff had been quite loyal to you since moving into the grand house. Most of your time was spent in the country, avoiding your new husband – the service staff there thought you were a gift from heaven, far too good for the old codger, as they called him. They looked after you, and you ensured the same for them. They would keep your secret.

Benedict arrived by carriage a week later, the afternoon after your husband’s departure, having written to accept your invitation, but only to discuss what had been promised in the past. Benedict looked the same, but cleaner, his hair shorter. He looked grown up. He stepped from the carriage, baring in easeful smile, just for you.

“Lady Howard” He bowed properly, it felt like a jive.

You did not speak a word, jumping forward and into his arms, throwing yours around his neck. It was the first time you’d felt safe in months. Benedict’s eyes flicked between the housekeeper, the footman and you, desperately trying to understand if this was okay.

“They are my friends; they would never harm me. I know it is strange, but they really do help me keep my secrets” You tried to reassure Benedict, whispering in his ear.

“It is not strange, it is very country, I suppose,” His arms tightened around your back, lifting you off the ground slightly, “I have missed you. I did write” Benedict squeezed.

“I know,” You let him go, holding out a hand to walk him into the house, “I have your letters hidden in my dressing room. I do apologise for not replying” Ben took your hand and followed you into the house, leaving his luggage on the carriage for the staff to care for.

Benedict was amazed by the house, its long concrete walls and vaulted ceilings. It felt similar to a castle, empty and cold. After your evening meal, you took Benedict for a walk around the gardens. Two swings hung from the branch of a very old tree nearby, one of your favourite places to hide from Lord Howard.

“Where has he gone to?” Benedict asked, lighting a cigarette and passing it to you.

“France… I think. I was not paying very much attention when he was speaking. I was too focused on getting you here. I have been waiting for months, building rapport with the staff, friendships even. I just needed him to leave, so we could do this right” You stuttered, watching your feet dangle as you swung back and forth.

Benedict paused, taking the cigarette back and drawing in, “It has not been going well then?” The question was serious, but even he snorted when he got the words out.

“We have been intimate too many times already. I thought this was supposed to be easy. Women get pregnant all the time” You sighed.

“Yes, when they do not mean to of course. Also, you must account for your husbands age” Benedicts eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

“Please, do not call him that” You interrupted.

Benedict exhaled heavily, “That is who he is, y/n. He is your husband. If we do this, we commit infidelity. There are consequences for such acts, are you prepared to accept those consequences?” Benedict asked. You had not ever seen him quite this serious. It scared you, seeing what six months will change in a person.

“I am!” You said adamantly, one stiff nod of assurance. There was no way you could take any more of this. One child, that was all you needed, to make it all stop.

You reached over to Benedict’s swing, his sweet face resting on the rope, thumb caressing his cheek, “Will you be able to live with this? Your child, raised as another mans? Never being their father, or having a role in their lives?” You asked, hoping it was not too cold a question. Benedict pulled slightly away from your touch.

“That is what I wanted to speak to you about…” Benedict whispered, “I know that Lord Howard is your husband and that I am too late, y/n. I will give you a child, if I can. I will give you as many as you damn well want. But I must know that after Lord Howard has passed, you will come to me” Benedicts eyes were soft and glassy in the moonlight, the burning ember of the cigarette fading in his laxed hand.

“Benedict” You shook your head and closed your eyes. How could you make such a promise?

“I do not care if the old bastard lives another 20 years, y/n, I will wait. I will wait in torment for you. Even if I must spend the next decade in hell, learning to bend time, I will. And if we are only allowed a short time together, then so be it because whether it be 5 minutes or 50 years, it will still never be enough time. There is an inexhaustible amount of love for you in my heart. I did not recognize it before, I was selfish and hopeless. The two of you will come home to me, and we will be deliriously happy” Benedict dreamed aloud, starry eyed.

You sat in silence for a moment, looking at each other with tragic longing deep set in your eyes.

Benedict’s eyes cleared, his smile faded, “I know you love me” He breathed boldly.

You jaw clenched shut, your eyes closed over slowly, a single tear running down the far side of your face so Benedict could not see.

“I love you,” He howled toward the moon, “I loved you the moment I saw you. I have adored your passion and cherished your friendship, while cowering in the frozen solitude of my own mind. I have dreamt of you and our life together every day since your marriage date, stirring in agony, every night. Every time I close my eyes, the profound pit of blackness inside consumes me – until I wake again, then my existence is marred by its lack of yours. Your name haunts my tongue, its ineffable song too wistful a sound on my lips. I am left stumbling through life, scattered across the universe, searching for you” His once invincible foolhardiness nowhere to be seen. The peaceful eloquence of his voice so familiar to you, always a poet.

Standing from your swing, hand outstretched to Benedict, you tried to allow your eyes to do the speaking. His sad, desperate eyes, staring up at you in solemn hope, his hand bound for yours. You escorted him inside in silence, the air surrounding dense with disquiet. Leading Benedict into your bedroom, separate from the Master bedroom, you closed the door behind him.

Locking eyes in malicious yearning, your bodies came together, navels pressed, hands roaming across every inch of your torso. Benedict grasped the back of your neck, enchanted look in his eyes as he littered kisses along your jawline and down your throat. You breathed heavily under his lips, breasts heaving against his chest. Reaching around for the bows on your dress, undoing them as quickly as you could, desperate to shed your clothes for him, Benedict palmed at your breasts through your dress. He halted his movements when he noticed your hurry and began stripping himself down also.

“I have been thinking, of one thing in particular, all these months” Benedict panted, leading you over to your bed. You nodded, waiting for him to elaborate. Benedict laid, his back to the bed, your hands in his, guiding you over top of him. You hovered over his nude hips, he smiled cheekily, waving you up higher. You frowned down at him, completely confused by what he was asking. He tugged you upward, your knees resting either side of his head.

“You will have to trust me” He gave a soft, dreamy smile as you gave him a befuddled one back, bare behind resting on his chest. You pursed your lips, Benedicts hands digging into your hips pulling you down onto his face. His breath hot against your skin, his wet tongue sinking betwixt your folds, starting gently at your clit. You jerked in animated surprise, finding yourself lowering back down instinctively. Benedict’s hands kneaded your behind, rolling your hips down onto his tongue. You had done your darndest to replicate the way Benedict made you feel, to no avail, at a complete loss for how you would miss his devastating body.

Your fingers tangled into his hand, drinking in every tangible flick of his tongue against your clit. His lips pressed, sucked and kissed at you, pulling you further into his indulgent dreamland. Benedict’s big, blue eyes staring up at you, grinding down on his face, his premeditated attack on you began, wrapping his flexed arms around your thighs and holding you firmly in place. Blinding pleasure laved over you, your eyes uncontrollably clamping shut so hard you swore you saw every colour imaginable. Screaming Benedict’s name, his amused tongue swirling you to completion, you panted animalistically, unable to move.

“That was incredible. I do not believe I could have prepared myself for how much better that was going to be outside my dreams” Ben moaned into your pussy, lapping at your juices, drinking you in. You rested a moment, watching Benedicts crowning smile, his asinine eyes filled with everything else he wanted to do with you.

Freeing Benedict from beneath you he shuffled up the bed, resting upright against the grand wooden bedhead, his legs out in front of him.

“Shall we try?” Benedict asked delicately.

“Please” You whimpered, crawling to him, taking his cock in your hand.

You laid between his legs a moment, holding him in your hands, moving gently. Leaning forward to kiss his tip, your tongue flicked over his pink flesh, Benedict could not help but moan. Taking him into your mouth, you sunk down in long hot strides, pressing his cock to the back of your throat. His fingers wrapped into your hair, pulling you onto him further. Benedict relished your working on him, libidinous smile engraved on his face, pure bliss.

“I do not think that is how one makes a baby” Benedict chuffed, pulling you up quickly, forcing you to wrap your legs around him. Face to face, you grinned into his splendidly hot kisses, his hand slipping between the two of you to situate himself. You felt his tip nudging against your entrance, hard and waiting, slipping inside of you. You gasped loudly, burying your face into his neck as a biological urge forced you to bounce.

Benedict growled lowly into your ear as you moved into a groove together, slow and tedious in perpetual delight. Benedict placed his hand in the smallest of gaps between you, his thumb adjacent to your clitoris; every movement, sinking to his hilt, he brushed against you softly. You were not aware that it could happen more than once, your heart quickened aggressively, Benedict tongue descending into your mouth as you whimpered louder and louder. Nails embedded into Ben’s shoulders, blood nearly drawn, your eyes holding his gaze, sheer hunger lived in his eyes. Hunger for you. Your pussy began quivering around him, aching, throbbing, trying desperately to take in more of him. Excruciating pleasure erupted from you, grasping his cock hard from within, your legs shook as your wetness spread between the two of you. Benedict did not stop this time, taking his hands to your hips as you ceased moving, manipulating your movements, grunting into your neck. Every time he led you to release, he seemed to get harder, more attracted to you. You did your best to get deep breaths in, to bring yourself back to reality, his cock still pounding into you steadily made it difficult. His teeth edge to edge in painstaking need, his forceful hands and powerful thrust told you he was close.

“Please,” Your voice rang out, his eyes needy and frenzied, “Please, Benedict, put that baby in me!” You continued to beg, his ragged panting and dreary eye contact wavering as you took control of your body again, bouncing heartily onto his cock. Every muscle in his body seemed to tighten at the same time, his hands aggressively pressing you down, as he groaned and grunted fiercely. You squeezed him inside, gently rolling your hips forward, feeling his cock pulsate inside you.

Benedict’s head rested against the bed head, his breath uneven and heart throbbing in his chest. Attempting to get off him, to allow him room to breathe, Benedict stopped you. He blinked himself back to this plane of existence.

“No, it helps if we stay like this” He explained through puffs.

“Really?” You frowned, never having thought about it.

“Yes,” He nodded frantically, “If we stay like this, everything will stay inside” He explained. You hummed in agreement, thinking perhaps that was what you had been doing wrong. Whatever it was that you were doing wrong, you were glad for it. If this made you an adulterer, a traitor, a betrayer, you did not care. Not for this.

Your hands rest on Benedicts chest, fingers splayed in brown chest hair, your eyes lingering over his collar bones and shoulders.

“What are you doing?” He asked, feeling rather observed.

“Taking you in” You purred, taking mental pictures in case you never saw him again. Benedicts hand rose to your face, his thumb rolling over your bottom lip, sliding down your neck to lure you into his most romantic kiss yet. Moments later, Benedict allowed you to slide off him, laying you with your legs up parallel to the headboard. You wondered how many more times you would get to feel like this.

“Shall I leave in the morning?” Benedict asked, a tremble in his voice.

“Absolutely not!” You exclaimed, Benedict lying next to you, a huge grin on his face.

“I joke, my Lady” Benedict laughed as you shoved him gently.

“You will be staying the entire week. I will hold you prisoner if I must” You chortled.

“Excellent, better treatment than home I expect. I will take it” Benedict stretched, every strained muscle flexing in exhilarating sex appeal. “We need every opportunity if we’re to make this baby” He smiled, thrilled at the chance to say such things, hoping one day his babies would come home to him.

“That is not the only reason I want you to stay” You said mellifluously, your soft, thoughtful eyes inspecting his reactions. Benedict frowned placidly, unsuspecting of your joyful surrender.

“You are the love of my life, Benedict Bridgerton,” Tears welled grievously, guileless love calm in your smile, “We will be together. I will be your wife, and I will bring our children home to you”.

Benedict leaned forward, pressing his lips to yours, unhurried and glorious. Tears streamed down his face, amazed and implicit, his sureness of his love for you unwavering.

“How ever long it takes, whatever I must do, we will be together” Benedict smile was humble, but fearless.

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Tag list: @cringycat24 // @blckbarbiedoll // @freyagallileaevans // @junkie05 // @rosabeetroot // @flamewriterr // @marvelouslyme96 // @moreover-clover // @dollarstore-lydia-deetz // @newavenger // @lifealot // @rosie-posie08 // @saintmagx //

If you would like to be tagged in Bridgerton fanfiction written by me, please let me know!

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firefly-party · 2 months

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"You clean up nicely, Stevie"

cw: mentioned blood and gore | mafia/mob AU | steddie pre-murderhusbands relationship big thanks to @dapandapod for beta reading and improving my poor attempt to write sth

Steve Harrington is good at his job. He's quick, he is thorough and most importantly, he doesn't ask questions.

There's nothing that could shock him anymore. He's seen everything.

Steve doesn’t mind severed limbs, gore, blood and body fluids, sometimes creatively mixed in more ways than are pleasant to imagine.

He's used to it, and cleaning it is what earns him a nice living as a crime scene cleaner.

Or just... scene cleaner maybe.

He doesn't work with the police or authorities. No, his specialty lies outside the law, which means he arrives before a mess becomes a nuisance. He cleans until there is not a speck of blood left, until there is nothing to indicate that something happened there. Was there ever a crime committed if there is no crime scene?

The money's amazing by the way. Of course cleaning the remains is a shit job but if you add the hush money on top, well, ain't that a nice bonus.

Again, Steve doesn't ask questions. He doesn't care. It's none of his business.

–

Eddie's shoes are squeaking in the puddle of blood he tried and failed to not step into.

He flips the business card around and squints at the hurried scribble of a phone number that was added right under the name "Stevie".

He trusts Chrissy's background check.

They were in a dire need of a new guy after the previous one decided to catch a bullet with his face after snooping one time too many.

Eddie looks up to the blood stained walls and ceiling and dials the number on the card.

"Hello?"

"Watergate Street 53", is all Eddie replies.

"How many?", Stevie asks.

"Uhm, five?"

"You sure? Might wanna go check again?", Stevie laughs into the phone.

Bitch.

"It's five." Eddie answers, annoyed.

There's a low whistle. "Alright, I'll be there in 20. Payment upfront. 50k."

Then the line goes dead. Eddie rolls his eyes, pockets his phone and looks around for a clean spot to sit while he waits.

–

It's exactly three hours and thirty two minutes later when Stevie empties his water bucket for the last time.

Eddie watches curiously as Stevie takes off the gloves, mask and safety glasses he arrived in. Eddie didn't mean to stick around but he's not trusting this new guy yet (he's also curious, sue him).

His gaze turns into a stare when the other man pulls down the zipper of his squeaky yellow biohazard suit, throwing back the hood and running a clean hand through his sweat soaked hair. He has a strong jaw and long, mole dotted neck that Eddie just wants to taste.

Eyes wide, Eddie’s not able to hold back the sharp intake of breath as he watches in horror the moment Stevie's eyes lock with his and -

Fuck.

Stevie's lips curl into a smirk.

Eddie is so fucked.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie ficlet #stranger things #inspired by the game “Crime Scene Cleaner” that i saw on twitch yesterday #i got this weird idea and wasn't able to let it go #this is kei's first attempt at writing 🙈 holy shit #it's a one time thing. writing is too stressful for me xD

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hometoursandotherstuff · 2 months

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I have never seen anything like this remodeled 1930 home in Rochester, MN. It has 3bds, 3ba, and is completely tiled inside and out. The exterior is basically bathroom tile. Asking $849K. Well, at least you don't have to ever paint, just spray it down with shower cleaner.

You'd think that it would at least be something other than the usual white, gray, and black. And, you don't even have the option of painting. Ever.

Tile stairs go up into the living room.

I don't really like the small subway-type tiles on the walls in here. Even the fireplace is tile. The bookshelves & ceilings, however, are wood.

I've never seen a combination fireplace/kitchen counter.

The lower cabinets are nice.

The backsplash is a herringbone pattern.

The primary bedroom has a fireplace wall. As if it doesn't have enough shine, they had to put mirrored doors on the closets.

The en-suite bath has that nice shower door that looks like paned glass.

What is this nonsense? No tiled walls? This is actually very nice. It can be repainted in a very attractive color scheme.

Bath #2 has large pieces of tile joined by metal strips around the tub, plus a wood-tone ceiling. There are 4 different tiles in here.

Bedroom #3 has the small tiles on the walls.

Well, that's different - twin fireplaces.

The finished basement is set up as someone's bedroom, office, and gym. I like the glass wall partition.

There's also a shower down here.

And, a sauna.

There's an outdoor kitchen with storage.

The kitchen is, of course, tile.

The lot is .25 acre.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/902-14th-Ave-SW-Rochester-MN-55902/91456791_zpid/?

#tile house #unusual homes #houses #house tours #home tour

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cheesecakethots · 7 months

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Maybe your intuition was right about this job.

You were broke, only a few days away from having to live on the streets, streets where dangerous men lurked waiting for an opportunity to snap up young women like you.

You remember shivering at the thought, and so when you saw a job opportunity at some nearby hotel, you thought you were saved. It paid pretty well considering you were only coming in to be a cleaner, but you were quick to realise why.

Gangs and mafia had wormed their way into the very foundations of your city. You were hired to clean and keep your mouth shut if you saw anything. Up until now, you hadn’t seen anything, thank god.

Despite your guilty conscience, you continued working, making a habit of bringing in headphones just so you could block everything out.

You regret every decision you’ve made that has led up to this moment.

You’re practically plastered against the wall, eyes wide and body trembling. The headphones you usually wear are still blasting some pop song, but it’s practically white noise compared to the sounds of crying, screaming and groaning.

It’s a bloodbath. Quite literally too. You can feel pools of it soaking into your cheap shoes, which doesn’t help the sickness in your stomach.

The man, if you can even call him that, still hasn’t noticed you. You won’t be surprised if he turns around and reveals himself to be some bear-man mutant thing. He’s fucking massive, despite the fact that he’s currently sat down, boredly snapping bones. You’re extremely lucky he hadn’t heard your mop drop to the floor after you walked into the carnage.

Fucking move! Move! Move!

You don’t. You stand still like an idiot.

“Are you going to say anything, little lady?”

Now you just might throw up.

He turns his head to the side and watches you with one eye, a grin on his lips. He chuckles a little, before standing.

By fucking god he’s huge. Your knees become wobbly within an instant.

“Hm. I don’t think you should be here, girlie.”

“I-I work here,” you stammer out.

He raises an eyebrow, turning to face you a little more, the grin on his lips widening.

“Is that so?”

He stands to his feet, casually crushing the head of some poor man under his boot. Your eyes divert to the ceiling, struggling to find a spot that isn’t covered in splatters of blood.

“I gotta admit, you don’t look the type to be working here.”

There’s a spot. It’s grimy, and there’s a dull light that looks like it has dead bugs in it.

“I-I need the money, and it’s only- it’s only cleaning.”

Another wry laugh, “Cleaning, huh? Tell me, do you think you can clean all this?”

The light flickers a little. Someone should check that out, but not you, you’d be hopeless with it.

“Maybe for a raise,” you mumble.

He laughs again. That’s good right? He must think you’re funny. Or maybe he thinks the thought of splattering your intestines across the wall is funny.

The spot on the ceiling becomes all the harder to focus on when he’s right in front of you, tall enough to reach your line of sight despite the fact you’re basically looking straight up.

There’s a bit of blood in the toothy smirk he wears, a fact that makes your stomach sink even lower. “You not gonna run?”

You don’t even realise you’re crying until you hear your own pathetic sniffles, “Wha-What would be the p-point?”

He pouts mockingly, the amusement in his eyes clear as day, and you flinch harshly at the sight of his massive hand raising towards you, a sharp breath of air entering your lips and your headphones clattering to the floor.

The hand slowly pats your head, and the heaviness of it reminds you of the fact he could so easily crush your skull. You can feel the blood from him dripping into your hair.

“You’re cute, you know that? In a bit of a pathetic way.”

How lovely of him. You’re not really sure if you should say thanks.

You gulp, and it scratches at your dry throat painfully. “I-I won’t te-tell any-“

“Ya got a boyfriend? Maybe even a girlfriend?”

Only spluttered and clipped words leave you, and so you settle for shaking your head.

The hand on your head crawls down your face, akin to a spider, before eventually settling on cupping your cheek.

“Yeah, I figured. I mean, no offence. If I had a pretty thing like you I wouldn’t let you work in a place like this,” he motions to the hellhole behind him, before glancing back down at you with slightly narrowed eyes. “Hell, I doubt I would even let you out of the house. You’re too cute for your own good.”

God. Why didn’t you just tell your coworker to find someone else to cover? Why, why, why?

A rough thumb wipes under your eyes, creating a thin layer of blood, sweat and tears on your skin.

“Awe, no need to cry,” he coos, and you yelp when his other hand encircles around your waist, tugging you against him.

“I’ll take care of ya.”

#im alive lmao #getting back into writing again fr #tw yandere #yandere #tw.yandere #yanderecore #yandere hxh #yandere hxh x reader #yandere uvogin #yandere phantom troupe #uvogin x reader #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere hunter x hunter x reader

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nataly-gt · 7 months

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i've always been enamored by the idea of borrowers living in larger human spaces that they normally wouldn't be found in, like airports, stadiums, theaters, venues - forming networks and large communities within the walls, all shielded from the humans bustling around outside. of course there would be risks because of all the activity, but i like to imagine they would figure out a system to get by.

maybe the fastest borrowers in the colony would get deployed on missions to gather dropped food from the rafters, racing to collect enough before the cleaners arrive. with all the concession stands teeming with popcorn and junk, they'd have every opportunity to snatch something without getting noticed. imagine borrower engineers siphoning from a soda machine! the concession workers would be so exhausted from putting up with other people that they either wouldn't notice, or wouldn't care enough to look deeper into it.

or maybe some of the braver borrowers would strike a deal with the nicer, more considerate maintenance employees - maybe to help with a pest problem - in exchange for some extra resources. different borrower encampments in the various areas of the building would have specialized jobs, everyone chipping in for the whole community.

all the possibilities! systems to travel between long corridors, maybe ziplines installed beneath the rafters and ceiling fixtures, small enough to be mistaken for wires. the constant struggle to avoid being seen by the hundreds, maybe thousands of people who pass through each day. there's so much that could be done with it! i just love imagining the intricacies of borrower culture, and how their lives could vary across different spaces.

#g/t community #g/t #sfw g/t #giant/tiny #borrowers #g/t writing #gt community

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luveline · 11 months

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steve zombie!au…. maybe in this new camp the reader is placed to do the scouting for supplies/ protecting the camp while steve is the one that has to stay in the camp and starts worrying over her a lot? love your writing jade 🫶🏼

thanks gorgeous! —you and steve settle into your new jobs. he worries, you dote. fem!reader, 1.3k

You watch in mild frustration as another firework shoots up into the air and pops. It doesn't break the treeline, but it's loud.

"Should we really be doing this?" Joyce asks.

Hopper grunts in annoyance and begins a spiel you've had the misfortune of hearing twice already this morning. The fireworks are going to be an alarm, a code in case another undefeatable foe crosses the proximity line. Newly appointed guard and on duty, if someone were to approach now, it would be you that lights the firework.

You kind of hate your new job. You haven't met the new and elusive leader of the camp you've merged with, but you've met his underling Wendy, and she assigned you a job. You're on guard duty and potential runs, Steve's on childcare, and when he asked if you could switch, she said point blank No.

Steve's less than pleased, though he likes being with the kids.

"What use is a warning if we draw other people?" Joyce asks. Frustration must be in the air.

"Kid," Hopper says. It takes you a good handful of seconds to realise he's talking to you. "You can go. Take the evening off."

"Are you sure? Wendy's kinda stern."

"I can deal with Wendy."

You pat the pommel of your sword and nod, starting back through the trees toward camp. Hopper's more than capable of looking after himself despite the argument that awakens as soon as you're far enough away.

Walking back into camp makes you feel weird. More than half the people you see are strangers, cleaner, happier than anybody from The College, though they're starting to merge. You weave between a procession of runners back with a literal wheelbarrow of cans from the grocery store a half a mile east from here. They spray painted on the windows that the place was full of geeks months ago and it remains untouched. Sneaky trick, but one you can appreciate if it keeps all the kids alive.

You can hear them as you approach one of the portables. They aren't truly portable buildings; if you ever wanted to move further into Michigan, they'd stay behind. But they have walls and ceilings and it makes the world feel a little less alien for the kids, who mostly grew up for the last year, nearly two, in The College.

You put your sword against the side of the wall and run up the silver metal steps to ease the door open.

Steve's sitting at the back of the room with four other adults, a little girl in his lap, her head on his chest. She can't be older than five.

At the front of the room sits Sarah, reading from a big storybook. There are no lights on, but she has a torch with different coloured crepe papers taped to the front, and she shines them when different emotions come into the story. Right now, the story is sad, and a light blue light kisses the cheeks of the children in the front row.

They barely notice your arrival. Steve, however, heaves a visible sigh of relief, the arm he's wrapped genially over the little girl's back moving up incrementally at the sight of you.

"Hello," you whisper, sitting down next to him quietly.

"Hi," the little girl whispers.

"Hi," you say back. She isn't one of The College kids, you'd know her face. "Who are you, honey?"

"I'm Mabel."

"Hi Mabel, I'm Y/N."

"Y/N's my girlfriend," Steve whispers, grabbing your hand for a squeeze. You squeeze back.

Mabel looks up at Steve with a smile. "Do you kiss?" Mabel asks.

You laugh, startled, and half the kids turn their heads to see what's so funny. Steve shushes you like a proper teacher, finger over his lips until they all turn back to their story.

"We do sometimes to say hello," Steve whispers, quieter than before. "Why?"

"My boyfriend is a bad kisser," she says.

You tamp down a smile badly, amusement colouring your words, "Honey, I think you should stick to holding hands."

"I think so," she agrees.

Steve pats her shoulder to show his agreement. She cuddles in and turns her attention back to the story. Steve meets your eyes over her head and you both laugh with closed mouths, hot breaths pushed out of your noses.

When the story's finished and the room is too dark to stay any longer, Jonathan arrives to cart off his boat load of fostered brethren, as do the other adults. It's nice to see how many of them accept children who aren't theirs with open arms. Steve carries Mabel until the very last second when Julie, Mabel's older sister, comes to collect her.

"Did you know she has a boyfriend?" Steve asks Julie.

"Is that what she said?" Julie asks fondly, tapping Mabel on the tip of her nose. "You're silly. No boyfriends until you're ten, at least."

Mabel blushes and hides her face.

"Will she forgive you?" you ask Steve as they leave.

He hugs you close, suddenly. At the doorway of the portable with the other 'teachers' still inside cleaning up the kids' mess, you aren't expecting him to be outwardly affectionate.

"I'm her favourite, she'll forget by tomorrow." Steve hugs you tighter still, prompting you to hug back. He groans as soon as you do, as though your touch is a great relief.

"Is everything okay?" you ask.

"I worry about you when you're gone."

"I know, but it's no different than yesterday. They didn't even need me, that's why Hopper sent me back. It's not dangerous."

"It's obviously dangerous." Steve's cheek pushes against the side of your head, almost nuzzling you. "It's the best part of my day when you come back to me."

You feel heat rise to your face, a hot flush of embarrassment that licking over every inch of skin. "Steve," you mumble.

He squeezes your waist and has you take his weight on your chest, bending you backward. "I love you."

"I love you too," you utter.

Steve pulls away from you, something sweet and soft in the set of his mocha brown eyes. "I know. I think that's why I freak out so much."

"You'd miss being adored," you tease.

"By you, yeah." He gives you a long look. You know before he's moved even a millimetre that he's going to give you another thankful hug, lips at your ear as he confesses, "I'd miss you more than anything."

You hug him back with your own relief —you've loved Steve for a very, very long time. It's an unexplainable feeling to know he loves you back, and fiercely. Somewhere in the past is a girl laying in his lap in the woodland bordering an endless intersection highway, wishing he'd want you back. You can't tell her that everything will be okay, that you'll get through it safe and sound, but you could at least tell her that there's something worth living for at the end of the seemingly insurmountable. Someone who worries about you when you're less than 100 yards away.

"You worry too much," you say, pushing his chest gently to separate your hug. You look him straight in the eye. "We're good at finding each other again. And I'm not going anywhere in the first place."

Steve exhales slowly. "Good. I hate when you go places."

"Me too. Let's stay here forever."

You both know it's an impossible thing, but the hypothetical is nice. You can see the weight of the worry Steve carries on his shoulders, worry in his eyes, but he's carrying a lot of love too. You wish it wasn't all so heavy.

#steve zombie!au #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things 4

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lavenderbexlatte · 8 months

Text

day 3: mirror sex

stray kids 1.5k words gender neutral reader insert Reader x Bang Chan NSFW

🖤 warnings: undernegotiated kink, implied consent, themes of negative body image🖤

🎂 happy bang chan day~

kinktober masterlist

connect with me! / masterlist

Truly, these are the dangers of not pre-booking a place to stay.

Last-minute travel isn't usually your thing, but an unexpectedly long weekend means that there's finally time in your favorite guy's backbreaking schedule for a little getaway.

But last-minute travel, with no hotel booked, means love motels.

They're not as creepy as they sound, not usually dirty or weird. Inexpensive, yes, and usually a little older than the resorts and boutiques that most people prefer. They get a bad rap just because of the connotations, but like, people have sex in all kinds of hotels.

You think it's kind of cool, honestly. Homey, in a weird way.

The person at the front desk is a nice older lady, and she doesn't even blink as she asks if the two of you have any plans this weekend.

"Plans outside the room, I mean."

She winks. She's not subtle, but it's sweet.

And now, in the elevator, Chan is looking around in unmasked horror. Taking in the garish burgundy interior, the thinly-veiled adverts for sex workers taped to the walls.

"It's not that bad," you say.

"It'll be fine for two nights," Chan replies, sounding as if he doesn't believe that at all. "Anyway, we're only sleeping here. We'll have stuff to do."

"Oh, come on. We might as well put the place to its intended use."

Chan scoffs, as if the idea of using the sex motel for sex is ridiculous.

"As long as the room's clean, that's all I care about," you continue. "It's a hotel. Whatever."

"Whatever," Chan agrees tentatively.

He's still lying to himself, but he does relax a little.

When you get to your floor, things are extremely normal. Nondescript hotel decor, the faint smell of carpet cleaning solution and lemon furniture polish. Cleaner than other places you've stayed for far more money, honestly.

The room itself is at the end of the hall, which you like, for the privacy, even though there are only five or six rooms on the floor.

You let yourself into the room, and it's as clean and fresh as the rest of the hall. Again, about as good as it gets in terms of a cheap hotel.

"See?" you say.

Chan looks at you, clearly unimpressed.

"What? It's clean. I'll check for bedbugs, but other than that..."

He points upward.

There is a giant mirror stuck to the ceiling above the bed, but nowhere is perfect.

"Even that's clean," you joke.

The surface of the glass is spotless, no fingerprints and not even any dust that you can see from down here. Chan still looks unhappy. Cleanliness is obviously not his concern.

"Don't be a downer," you say.

"Why do people like that?" he grumbles.

You've set your bag down on the armchair in the corner of the room, rifling through it for your toiletries to set out in the bathroom, but you humor him without looking. "Like what?"

"The mirrors."

"In the room?" you glance at him. "Isn't that, like, the sex motel cliche? The heart shaped bed, the red lights, the mirrors?"

This room only has one of the above. Pretty tame.

"It just means you have to - I mean, you can already see your partner, why would you need-"

"You're really thinking about this," you interrupt.

He is. He really is, standing beside the bed and staring up at his own reflection pensively.

"It's so you can see yourself," you add, walking past with your armload of cosmetics.

From in the bathroom, you hear his answer, still pouty.

"Why would I wanna do that?"

Oh, here we go.

"Some people get off on it," you say.

He scoffs a laugh, humorless. You're being generous by not calling him out, here, because he's being self-deprecating. You hate that.

"I'm gonna terrify myself in the middle of the night," he says.

That might be true. He's a little bit of a scaredy-cat. But that's beside the point.

"That's not your actual problem, though," you reply, as you come back into the room proper.

He shrugs.

"Haven't you ever been curious?" you ask.

"About what I look like?" he shoots back, glancing back up at the mirror. "Done. Wow."

"I mean during."

Immediately, like flipping a switch, his ears flame pink. "Not really."

"No? Never?"

He looks at you pointedly. He knows what you're doing. You're not subtle, so that's fine.

"We should find out," you say, grinning.

It's a challenge, now.

Your gorgeous, gorgeous boy hates how he looks. That's common knowledge for anyone who's tried to get him to take a photo together, or shop for clothes, or compliment him on a new haircut. Most of your mutual friends just ignore it. But sometimes you just can't stand it.

He would never be the type to want to see himself in the mirror in the throes of passion, uninhibited. Which is exactly why he needs to give it a try.

"How easy do you think I am?" he accuses, correctly.

"I dunno." Instead of bothering him more, you flop down onto the bed yourself, feet still on the floor, staring up at your reflection. "You tell me."

The bait is laid, and like always, his insatiable ass can't help it. You two haven't had proper alone time in what feels like forever. He nudges between your knees, standing over you as you lay there on your back. You already like the look of the scene in the mirror, the way that his reflected form looms, the way it makes you look small.

"You know," Chan says, "We could put this place to its intended use."

You grin at your own words recycled. Great minds and all that.

"What an idea."

"Just an idea," he assures you.

He drops onto his knees, nudging you up the mattress to make room for himself.

You almost lose track of your own plan, once he kisses you. Hands roam, clothes are lost, the ease and comfort of something you've done so many times. For a while, it's just an encounter like all the others. His hands that know you, his warmth and presence and attention.

And then you remember, suddenly, once you're nude and he is too, and he's asking you how you want it.

"You on your back," you say, trying not to smile at your own ingeniousness and reveal the plan.

"You got it, baby."

He flips over, and he's settled fully into the pillows with you halfway onto his lap before he looks up. He looks up at the ceiling, and he realizes.

"Wait-"

"Gotcha," you smirk, settling fully on top of him.

He could very easily just knock you over and change things up, or he could ask you to stop, and of course, you would. But he doesn't. He just flushes, red again down his ears, his neck, and he covers his face with his hands.

"That's not gonna work," you say, peeling his fingers away from his eyes.

"I can't believe you tricked me," he says pitifully.

"I did no such thing," you reply. "But now that we're here, why don't we play a game?"

"Something tells me I won't like this game."

"Here's the rules," you say.

You pause long enough to rise onto your knees, to seek out his length - desperately hard, revealing that you haven't freaked him out too badly - and line him up.

"I'm gonna make us feel good. And you...have to look."

Chan pouts, putting his full lips to good use. "I'd rather look at you. Don't you want me to look at you?"

He punctuates it by running his hands up your back, hips to shoulder blades, soothing attention from gentle fingertips.

"I think you should look at yourself," you tell him.

"But-"

"Actually, no. I think you have to look at yourself," you decide.

He peeks upward. His flush deepens.

You're not sure why he doesn't like what he sees. From where you are, it's stunning. His slim body lines, the sharp cut of his face and his dark eyes against the bleached-white hotel sheets. Distractibly, biteably pink and embarrassed.

"If you don't look at yourself," you add, dropping your hips just enough so that he can feel you, "I'll stop."

He looks overdramatically betrayed, like a dog when you take their toy away to throw it. It's cute enough that you reach down to squeeze his face in your hand.

"That's the game," you say.

"Fine."

His voice is an embarrassed squeak, but that's consent, baby. You trust him enough to know that although he hates losing, he's not going to yes you to death if things are actually feeling uncool.

Permission granted, and his eyes dutifully trained on the ceiling, you ease yourself down onto his waiting length.

Curiously, once you're seated and he's swearing through his teeth, you tilt your head up to look at yourself, too. The angle isn't as good to see you, but you've got the gist of it. Your spread thighs, your arched back, the little bit of motion as you grind on top of him.

Nice.

"Don't we look good?" you ask, sweet as can be.

He nods against the pillow. "You look-"

"Not me," you tut. "You're not supposed to be looking at me."

Chan swears. You wait.

"I...I look..."

After a second, he swallows, and squeezes his eyes shut.

Pity.

You pull back up onto your knees. His wet cock slips free.

"I told you the rules. Keep looking at you."

#kinktober 2023 #kpop kinktober #stray kids fanfic #bang chan fanfic #bang chan fanfiction #bang chan smut #stray kids smut #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #skz smut #skz fanfic

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leathfaic · 8 months

Text

Soap and Ghost have been a thing for a while, spending their leaves together whenever possible, holed up at Soap's place for the most part, only ever in Manchester when Ghost wants to visit his families graves and they don't want to drive back up that day.

When the call comes that there's been damage to his flat Soap has to leave alone, Simon is out on one of the solo missions they love to send him on. So all Johnny can really do is leave a scribbled note on his bed that he's home sorting trouble with the flat.

A few days later Ghost returns, a bit miffed when he doesn't find Johnny waiting for him on the tarmac or in his barracks. Price brings him up to speed though and the letter explains the rest.

Soap is surprised when he opens the door to Simon in his civilian clothes, hadn't even gotten a text saying he's back, "What are ye doing here ye bampot? Dinnae get ma note that the whole flat is a mouldy mess?"

"Though' you'd appreciate some help." Simon just shrugs looking a little forlorn on the doorstep, suddenly not sure if showing up uninvited was the right move.

Soap grabs his man and pulls him into the flat before the huge fucker can decide to bugger off with his feelings all hurt.

"Ah'd love yer help, juist didnae expect ye to want to spend yer time in ma mouldy paradise after juist returning from a mission. Dinnae exactly haeve amenities exactly, yeah?"

He really doesn't. The flat is a fucking disaster, the one above had a pipe burst while the inhabitants were on vacation, water leaking unchecked for days, it's a bloody miracle that the building is still statically sound. But all the moisture seeped in to the flat below. And when anyone thought of informing him for possible damages it was too late. There's barely a room left untouched. Soap's been sleeping in a nearby hotel, going through his belongings saving what can be saved before calling in professionals to clean out the mold.

There's no way he'll give up the flat, they both know that, it was his grandmother's before, getting passed on to him when she moved to a retirement home. It's where Johnny grew up, his nan taking him in when his parents gave up on him.

So Ghost helps Soap sort out the mess, save what they can save, which luckily includes a lot of priced memories, but they know that pretty much all furniture is a loss. Floors, walls and ceilings will have to be redone too. Be that as it may they spend the rest of the day to also takeling care of the other reasons Soap can't just let a crew of cleaners walk in too. All traces of him being anything but a normal soldier carefully erased, packed up, hidden.

When they crash at the hotel late at night Johnny is still restless, the way he gets when some bug mission is about to start.

"Didn't know furniture shopping for your fla' would get you tha' riled up, sweetheart."

It's meant as harmless teasing, of making Johnny focus his energy on him and getting it out.

Instead the other man seems to dial it up, is not just squirming but also biting his lips now.

Fuck, he hasn't seen him like that unless whatever is about to go off is deadly serious.

So when Soap turns to him Simon stills, waits for the catastrophe that clearly is about to happen. For everything to come crumbling down around them, because that's how his life tends to go.

Instead, with the smallest voice he's ever heard on the man, Johnny makes his world fall into place like it never has before.

"What if we were nae getting stuff for ma place but rather, ye ken our place?

Our place.

It's rare that anything manages to make Ghost freeze anymore. But this? This does it.

He only shakes himself out of it when he sees panic and regret well up in Soap's eyes, can't have that after all. Mouth still not willing to obey his command he drags the other man into a crushing embrace, burying his face in the shower-damn mohawk.

"I think I'd like tha'." he mumbles eventually, his voice all weird and off, gruff from fighting the all the emotion but soft from the love that punches itself clean through all his defenses.

In his arms Soap drains of all tension. Mission accomplished no reason to be nervous now.

He falls asleep in Simons arms like that, deep breaths softly caressing his chest.

Ghost lies awake, his heart pounding a steady rhythm of excitement now.

He's going to go shopping with Soap tomorrow.

For their place. For their home.

Wild joy mixes with perfidious apprehension, parts of his brain refusing that this will really happen, convinced that Soap will wake up, having thought better of it.

That home is a concept lost to him. He is the Ghost for a reason after all.

He doesn't get a wink of sleep. His mocking of Soaps nerves ringing hollow in his ears.

Instead he braces himself, ready to meet the rejection head on, not let it show on his face, makes himself cold as ice.

"Ye look like we're heading to war not to keek at stuff for our home, love."

The armor of ice built meticulously over sleepless hours melts all at once.

"You really sure you want to share a 'ome with me Johnny?"

"Yeah Simon Riley, ye big daftie, think Ah'd nearly piss ma pants and ask ye, just to pull a fast one?"

For the second time in as many days Ghost shrugs helplessly, no defense of his a match for the things Soap makes him feel.

The man knows him too bloody well too, drags him out of the hotel room and gets them going. Let's actions speak over words. A language that works far better for Simon.

Who finds himself in store after store full of furniture, wallpapers and stuff where he comes to find that maybe he is not equipped to handle this.

Part 2

#Part 1 of probably 2 #Check back in for fully trained sas soldiers getting emotionally lost in ikea #ghostsoap #soapghost #simon ghost riley #cod mwii #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #cod mw2 #cod #ghoap #cod hc

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cafeinthemoon · 4 months

Text

Ruins - Part XXII

Chapter 22

Wordcount 4,1k

Title Part XXII

Fandom Shummatsu no Valkyrie / Record of Ragnarok

Previous chapters

1 . 2 . 3 . 4 . 5 . 6 . 7 . 8 . 9 . 10 . 11 . 12 . 13 . 14 . 15 . 16 . 17 . 18 . 19 . 20 . 21

Symbols ⭕ . ➕ . 💛

Warnings: Mentions of nudity, undressing; non explicit sex

Tagging @holdyourwine @lilacshouko @shirayuki-ayumi @telvess @alecfromsaturn (If you want to be tagged in any of my stories, just leave a comment on this chapter or send an ask or a message)

N. A.: I don't even know what to say after so long, except that I'm happy to finally come back and put this chapter out 😭🙏 I've been thinking of it for ages and questioning myself whether I'd be able to give these two a proper honeymoon or not, but this is an issue that haunts me every time I sit to write a honeymoon/intimate scene. The potion stuff was something I wanted to include back in the wedding chapter, but it's end up too long so I abandoned the idea. Now I had the chance to use it, and to try to bring some comedy vibes to soothe things a bit 😅

Anyways, hope you have fun! Missed you all 💜🥰

For you were too tired to stay awake after your brother-in-law left, you never saw the moment your husband came back to the private sections of your chambers, as much as when the rays of sunshine first entered the room. When you opened your eyes, the ceiling and the walls were already touched by the warm light, and the people in the tapestry over your head were as joyful as ever.

You tried to move the sheets from upon you and found out you could do it with no problems. You looked around and sensed the room was too quiet. You were also alone in the bed.

You frowned.

Where did he go?

You took a deep breath and, after some effort, you sat on the bed. You felt a strange, but complete relief with that gesture: your strength came back to you, there were no shivers spreading through your skin and no fear making your heart heavy. Was the transformation finished? You couldn’t believe it’d happen so fast, but maybe the hardest part of the process was over and you’d be able to carry on with your activities while it came to its end. Whatever the case, you were content to see you were yourself again.

You left the bed and headed to the bathroom. You closed the door, turned on the lights around the mirror to wash your face… and were static with what you saw there.

It was still you in the reflection, the same eyes, nose, lips and all, but at the same time it wasn’t. You saw a refreshed, cleaner version of you, with an inhuman glow in the lilac of your eyes and a flawless skin to cover each spot. Yes, you were sure it was still you, but more beautiful, more gracious, even without a layer of makeup and a disheveled hair to frame your expression.

So… this is how being a goddess feels like.

You smiled to yourself.

It’s not that bad.

You brushed your hair (which, understandably, took you more time than you were used) and finished your personal care session without taking your eyes off the mirror. You were a bit ashamed for being so vain, but after all the agonizing hours you had to endure to reach those looks, you couldn’t deny yourself such contentment.

You left the bathroom and searched for your robe. You found it on the same chair Hades left his own the night before. You dressed it and looked around, still finding his absence strange. It was when a soft, rhythmic sound reached your ears – his voice, brought by the breeze entering through the balcony, came to you in the form of a song, but you couldn’t recognize the words at first; you frowned and listened for a while, until you realized he was singing in Ancient Greek.

You smiled. You’ve already heard him sing before, but it was never that sweet. From what you’ve learned during his lessons, you were able to understand some verses, which, in the modern language, was something like this:

Under the red skies

Of the first day of Winter

I saw you

Your tiny feet running upon the ruins

Of the Temple of Love

Where after your touch

White flowers would grow

Would you mind

If I took you away with me?

Would you mind

If I hid you away?

As we built our secret place

Out of your flowers

And out of my song...

You followed his voice to the outside and found him sitting on the small table at the balcony, having a filled cup in front of him. He seemed relaxed, in peace with himself like you’ve never seen him before, especially when you remembered the events of the previous night, with his legs crossed and his eyes lost in the landscape.

You sighed at the scene.

Like a King who has his domains assured.

Change came when you took the first step toward him: the ecstatic glow in his eyes appeared and expanded as he turned to you, swallowing your whole form; he raised an unconscious hand and you accepted it, letting him take you to his lap.

You touched his cheek.

– Hi.

– Hi – Hades took your hand on his and led it to his lips – Young goddess.

A heat came up to your face when you heard that treatment. As much as it was flattering, you couldn’t shake the sensation that you were meeting him as if you were a different person now, and it still too soon to know if you enjoyed it. But you wouldn’t ruin the moment with sad deliberations, so you quickly redirected the conversation through sweeter paths.

– Were you singing about a young goddess as well?

– Yes – he curled a strand of your hair between his fingers – One that would touch the ruins of a dark world with her pretty feet, with the sweetness of a damsel and the courage of a warrior.

– And does she reach her fate with such sweetness and courage?

– Her fate, and much more – he approached and kissed your forehead.

You giggled and turned to the table, taking an empty cup and filling it with the same liquid as his cup, which consistence reminded you of milk, but with the color of caramel.

– What song was that? – you put the recipient of the caramel back on the table and grabbed your little cup – You never sang it before.

– It’s a love song in Ancient Greek. The author is unknown, but it was popular among travelers – Hades explained – It’s much longer than this, but this is my favorite part.

– We should learn the complete lyrics, then – you turned to him with tenderness – Then we will sing the whole song together.

– And we can do that during our travels.

– An excellent idea.

The rest of the breakfast went in silence, but after it you two went to the garden at the upper floor. You were were able to walk through it and that made you happy, still Hades didn’t let go of your arm until you decided to sit on a bench. There were some small trees around it, and you saw butterflies and birds sharing their branches peacefully; a couple of birds arrived, persecuting each other, then leaving as fast as they came, their wings making a rustling noise between the leaves, their little voices at their peak. You laughed at this, which reminded Hades of something.

– So how are your ears going? – he brushed your hair behind the left one – You’ve been complaining about the nature noises.

– They’re getting better. I mean, I don’t think I’d stand a lion’s roar right now, but the birds are completely bearable – you smiled.

– That’s good to hear.

You took some time to silently appreciate your surroundings as they displayed what would be a pleasing Spring morning in Midgard. You thought of this for a moment: the plants, the creatures and that whole environment were those of from Midgard, just everything you saw along your stay in the areas reserved to humans in those blessed lands – and all of them were designed by your husband. You felt your respect and admiration for him grow the same way it did when you took your first walk in the Gardens, when you ate pomegranates.

– You thought of all of this before we got married – you said suddenly; and, turning to him, – You thought of everything.

Hades replied with the same modest smile he gave you when you asked if he was there during the planting of the pomegranate tree.

– I wouldn’t say that. I’d say I’ve work with every necessary resource and with the best people I could find, so everything you’ve seen around would have the power of bringing smiles to the young humans’ faces – he raised his fingers to brush your hair – And, as a payment for all this work, yours will be forever on my sight.

Your smile widened at those words before you could notice. You were really content that, more than wishing to see your smile often, he was also creating reasons for you to show it: not so long after that conversation, he took you to take a walk through the depths of the garden, where exotic plants were hidden, and you spent the next hour talking about them and planning how to include your creations at the Greenhouse in the collection.

When you finally went back to the chambers’ interior, you decided you wanted to spend some time in bed, for your legs were a bit heavy. Meanwhile, Hades went to the kitchen to prepare tea. When he came back, you brought out a subject that has been on your mind for days: the travel to Hellheim.

– I’ve been worried about this for a while, but haven’t had the chance to speak until now – you said while accepting a cup of tea from his hands – Is it too long? Is it a difficult path, or an easy one? How does it look like?

He sat by your side with his own tea.

– It’s certainly a long way, especially for the ones who aren’t used to it – and, smiling at your widened eyes, – But I’m not saying this to discourage you, given that the travels between this realm and that one are far from tedious.

You turned on your side to hear more. Now you were completely interested.

– Really? And what kind of things we find through it?

Your husband started describing those strange lands as if narrating an epic story, going from dark skies, menacing rocks, abysses and terrifying natural phenomenons to powerful creatures, brave, minor deities occupied with their work and suspicious wanderers. You learned to love his ability of explaining concepts and depicting scenarios in a way that the images formed in your mind as vivid as if you were inside them; in that particular case, you also appreciated his power of calming your fears, assuring you that the travel was safe despite the things you were going to find.

After the tea, you told him you were sleepy, even though you’ve slept the entire night.

– I’m sorry for this, because I wanted to spend this day out with you – you told him, giving him back the cup – But I’m too tired, though I did nothing that justifies this tiredness.

– This isn’t but expected, little one – he replied before taking the cups to the kitchen – The transformation isn’t complete yet, and it takes an enormous amount of vital energy. You’ll still need some time to regain it, and an even longer period to manage it when your powers start manifesting.

– I see – you slowly laid down on your pillow, feeling both the sleep and the weight of your future responsibilities pulling you to it.

As if sensing your anxiety, Hades offered you some solace.

– But for now you don’t have to think too much about these things – he walked to the kitchen’s door – Th time to take care of them is yet to come.

You accepted those words and closed your eyes, letting the sleep take over your body, which didn’t take long that time.

***

You thought you were going to feel better the next day, and you weren’t entirely wrong in your expectations, but you in fact needed at least three or four days to feel able to walk, stand and do any other activity without a subsequent fatigue, neither the need of sleeping in the middle of the day. During that period, you were visited by Aesclepius twice, and he was content with your progress, something that made both you and Hades relieved: now, as he explained, your body’s tendency would be gathering energy instead of spending it, so that soon you would be as physically and mentally capable as any other god, and the travel to Hellheim wouldn’t be a problem.

On the other hand, Hades, having diligence as his second name, didn’t stay idle: while you recovered, he divided his time in taking care of you, solving small matters with his brother Zeus, checking on your family through Hermes, talking to Aesclepius about your condition and organizing your travel to the Underworld; he exchanged messages with Adamas at least once in a day, to make sure everything was alright in his domains. You, on your part, spent your time alternating between resting and being worried, despite his advice: at the same time you wanted to tell him to take some rest – after all, it was his honeymoon – you couldn’t do much to help him in this sense, neither in any other.

I’ve been increasing his burden since the beginning. He will deny it if I speak to him about it, but I know I’m not helping in anything; even my preoccupation might become an issue. I can’t wait for this to end.

That was why you received the first sign of a complete recovery with great contentment. You noticed it right after you left the bed that day and, taking a chance when your husband wasn’t in the chambers, you went to the arc where you kept your gifts from the ceremony. You’ve searched inside it with nervous hands and took a small bottle from it.

Your cheeks heated up at the sight of the object, its delicate shape involving a rosy potion which perfume was described as having “its own soul, so once it is used, it will always be recognizable by the ones who first sensed it”.

The gift of Aphrodite-sama. I’ve been so curious about its effects, but her explanations were so mysterious, and I was too ashamed to ask enough questions.

You still remembered how she took the chance to approach you while Hades wasn’t around. She passed by your side and stopped before you with such grace, yet so suddenly that you couldn’t help startling.

She giggled, enjoying your reaction.

– You were already a beauty, dear Y/n, but now – the goddess brushed your hair and cupped your face with tenderness – Now you’re the perfect being…

Aphrodite spent a moment in silence, just appreciating what she had in front of her. Then, as suddenly as her arrival, she moved her hands away and took a small object from inside her dress: a bottle that reminded you of the ones in which people sold expensive fragrances in Midgard, filled with some glistening fluid.

She put it in your hands and warned you to not let your husband see it before you had the opportunity to use it.

– Just one drop or two in the sheets, right before you lie down, must be enough – and, surrounding her mouth with her hands, as to whisper a secret – But it wouldn’t be bad if you used a few more.

You stared at the bottle, barely reaching the size of your palm, thinking of those words.

– Aphrodite-sama, I’m very thankful for your gift – you raised your eyes to her – But I’m a bit confused about it. Is it some sort of remedy, or blessing?

She observed you with a mixture of condescension and diversion.

– Most of the times, if used wisely, it will be a blessing, but in other times it will be a powerful remedy – she blinked her right eye.

It was when finally started to understand.

– Oh, this is a love potion, my Lady – you smiled, then frowned – But Hades and I… We’re already in love with each other…

The Goddess of Love laughed.

– I know, my dear. But the purpose of this potion is not making you fall in love… – and lowering her tone – But falling harder.

She approached you one last time and, with a kiss on your forehead, she left you with the potion and a lot of things to think about.

And now you were there, alone with her gift for the second time, and wondering if that was the moment to use it.

I’m torn between the fear of the effects and the curiosity about them.

After minutes of painful deliberation, you decided to open it and smell its perfume… which filled both your nostrils and your soul, drowning you in a wave of powerful sensations: your feelings, thoughts and memories about Hades were all stirred and turned into one, expanding until you had the urge to pour it out; your eyes were filled with tears, and your breath became difficult as your chest would go up and down in ache as you craved his presence. Even as a young goddess, you could tell that the substance held a terrific power.

Now I understand why she told me to use just a few drops.

You adjusted the sheets upon the bed and knelt over them, stretching for the potion to be poured in the center. You slowly turned the bottle to the side, in your best efforts to control your trembling hand, and observed as the first drop fell on the fabric, disappearing so fast that it was hard to tell it has ever been there. More drops followed it in other spots and over the pillows…

When the sudden crack of the room’s door opening made you scream and drop the bottle on the bed, turning the next drops into a whole puddle.

You sat on the sheets, hiding the bottle behind you as you had a confused Hades standing at the door, staring at you without understanding why his arrival got you so scared.

– Is there something wrong, little one? You look a bit nervous.

You were quick to deny it.

– No… No, of course not! I’m perfectly fine! – you shook your hands around yourself as to reaffirm what you were saying – It’s just the noise of these hinges! I can’t get used to it…

With your face on fire, you fell silent after that, praying that your husband would just accept the explanation and change the subject… but, unfortunately, your pairs weren’t willing to grant you this small wish: Hades closed the door behind him and approached the bed, suspicion filling each of his gestures. At the same time, the perfume made its presence stronger than never as the bottle’s whole content leaked to the sheets on your back, turning any attempt of keeping it a secret unnecessary.

– Y/n, what is it? – he looked around the bed – Are you spreading perfume on the sheets?

You shrugged.

– Ah… Sort of.

– What kind of perfume? – he raised an eyebrow – This one seems to possess some sort of spell. Is it one of your wedding gifts?

You shook your head in a positive gesture and slowly brought the bottle to your front, giving it to him with a shy hand.

Once his eyes laid on the object, Hades turned to you with a strange expression, one that you haven’t seen before, and about which you weren’t sure how to feel; your fingers gripped on the sheets: that was the first time you didn’t know what to expect from him.

But you didn’t need to wait too long to figure that out.

You observed as he held the bottle with an attentive gaze, a smile started forming on his lips: he already recognized the nature of the potion. However, it wasn’t shyness or shame that took over your feelings with the understanding: around him and around yourself, you sensed a quiet, yet steady change that grew as the smell spread through the room; you had the sensation that your sight turned a bit blurry, except for your husband’s figure, and that everything was somewhat covered with a rosy light that reminded you of the liquid’s shade. Maybe Hades was under the same impression, for he stood still, staring at you with a glimmer of hunger in his eyes that scared and interested you at the same time. The temperature seemed to elevate in the surroundings even though the balcony’s door was wide open, so you started taking off your robe and moving your hair away from you neck.

The first words said between you after this were his.

– So… Our friend Aphrodite has her own gift for us – he made this observation with a vague, low voice – So clever of her to handle it to you while I was away…

Without taking his eyes off you, he dropped the bottle on the carpet. You didn’t know if it was anger or diversion you sensed in his tone, so you rushed to justify yourself.

– I really wanted to tell you about it, but I couldn’t disobey her instructions – your voice sounded lower than you remembered it, but you kept going – It’s just that, now that I’m recovered… I wanted to do something special… – the air swirled and heated up around you; the left strap of your gown slipped to the side, but you didn’t mind adjusting it – I wanted to have a proper honeymoon…

And that was the instant that changed everything.

Once those words escaped your lips, the blurry wave of sensations poured out of you at last, reaching for your lover and tangling with his own feelings, pulling him ahead, straight to you: without wasting time, Hades got rid of his coat and shoes, throwing himself over the bed as if afraid that you would disappear if he lingered in his place. You were a bit scared by this new impulsivity, but you wouldn’t push him away: the heat that has been increasing since you first smelled the potion, pulsating all over your body, only calmed own when your husband wrapped his arms around you, pulling you to his lap, your legs spreading and burying in the sheets on each side, his mouth reaching for yours as you helped him take off his blouse with your little hands.

You moved away for a moment to see the results of your work, and the vision left you marveled: yes, you’ve already seen him undressed once, when he stood with you during the worst point of your fever, but you barely gave his figure the attention it deserved; now, with your strength restored and your sight in perfect conditions, you wouldn’t make the same mistake: from his face, your hands slipped over his skin, across his neck and over his chest, your thumbs drawing circles around his nipples; you smiled when a sigh left his lips. You noticed the vine he had tattooed on his left arm, the same pattern of the one on his forehead.

He is perfect.

– You’re so beautiful… – you murmured to him, your fingers brushing over the tattoo – I’m so sorry for making you wait... I promise I’ll make up for it…

You felt his hands going to your hips and tightening around them, bringing you closer. Your gown slipped, exposing your thighs as your knees were buried on the soft mattress.

– I’ll make sure you will – his lips brushed and smiled over yours – But for you, the wait is always worthy…

You felt his hands caressing your thighs, slipping under your gown and pulling it up. Your heart skipped a bit: that was going to be the first time you’d expose yourself for your husband, so that everything had to be in place: you were now a goddess with a well-built, flawless body, but were you feeling that beautiful now? Were you good enough to appear before him with only your skin to cover you?

Heavens, I’ve been waiting for this for so long, but who would say it’d be so scary?

Still, you didn’t stop him, and when the gown was finally taken off, every inch of yourself under his sight, you remembered the conversation you had weeks ago, in that balcony beside the room, and the confidence in it soothed your nervousness, as much as his hands exploring your figure: his right thumb caressed your lower lip, going down to your chin and your neck, where you noticed his hand was able to surround most of it; both his hands went through your shoulders, your collarbones and, finally, your breasts, where he his thumbs caressed you the same way you did to him. A loud moan escaped your mouth before you could stop yourself, and you put your hand over it, your cheeks burning with shame: apparently, erasing one’s shyness wasn’t among the properties of Aphrodite’s potion; Hades laughed, enjoying your spontaneity, and moved your hand away from your lips, putting it around is neck.

– So shy, aren’t we? – and, letting it clear that he had the same conversation in mind as well, – Let’s take care of this together…

He then suffocated any word or moan that might’ve come out from your mouth with a deep kiss, pulling you tighter against himself as your hands tangled in his hair.

Outtake

Part XXIII

#snv x reader #ror x reader #shuumatsu no valkyrie hades #snv hades x reader #ror hades x reader #record of ragnarok hades #shuumatsu no valkyrie x reader

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secretwhumplair · 4 months

Text

Bath

1,776 words | Mirai and the serpent king (sequel to Anxiety)

Content | Slavery, fear, nudity, noncon touch (yes sexual), strong language, implied past and future noncon, mention of choking

I feel we're getting into Dead Dove: Do Not Eat territory.

Notes | Obligatory bath scene! And the long-awaited first interactions of Mirai and the serpent king.

This one is overlength! Please pay overlength fee Jk of course but friendly reminder I have a ko-fi!

Taglist | @yet-another-heathen @echo-goes-aaa @whumpinator

It was a bath.

It made sense—Mirai needed some cleaning after the journey before his master could sully him again. He wished his could stay clean, even just to enjoy the feeling of it for a bit, but he knew well enough that wasn’t what he had been bought for.

A large basin was set into the floor, filled with clear water. Beside it, several jars and a bar of soap were lined up, along with a sponge, a hairbrush—Mirai didn’t look forward to a second brushing in the same day—and washcloths folded into so neat a stack it was impossible to tell whether it was one or several. On a rack on the wall, towls were hung, embroidered at the edges in similar patterns Mirai was starting to recognize from the palace’s floors and ceilings. The wall opposite the door was—well, mostly it was absent, the same sort of slender columns Mirai had seen before framing arched windows looking out over the palace grounds, sloping down from where the bath was situated on a sort of terrace.

The serpent king lowered himself into the basin gracefully, encircling the bottom twice, then looked up at Mirai with only the faintest trace of the hunger Mirai had come accustomed to seeing in his masters’ faces. His heart clenched, but there was no getting out of it.

»Come in, little one. Don’t be nervous,« the serpent king added, again with that little smile. »I won’t fuck you here.«

Mirai could feel his cheeks redden, somehow as embarrassed as he was confused. It should be reassuring, shouldn't it? Or it might be a lie.

He still braced himself before he approached the basin, and lowered himself on the edge, when he realized a logistical problem. He couldn’t simply—

»You may step over me,« the serpent king said, a flash of amusement in his eyes when he noticed Mirai’s hesitation.

Somehow Mirai managed to half-hop over the king’s serpent body into the center of the basin. The lukewarm water was pleasant on his feet, hurting from the days of hurried travel, and he immediately felt cleaner, too; now, surrounded by his master, he tried to keep his thoughts focused on what little mercies he could find. It would help him when the time came, here after a lie or anywhere. He needed to avoid tensing up.

The serpent king had lowered his upper body into the water until it was almost up to his neck, and looking down on him felt wrong, so Mirai moved to kneel before him.

The serpent king eyed him up. »What is your name?«

So much for not tensing up. What answer would be safe to give? Of course, his master could call him whatever he wanted. He had worn many names, most of them degrading or falsely sweet, since he had been first sold. The slavers who had brought him here hadn’t even bothered—

»Don’t be afraid, little one. I am not in the habit of tricking those who are already at my mercy.«

»I—my mother called me Mirai,« but then he couldn’t help himself but add, »but of course it is your right to call me by whatever name you please, Master.«

»Mirai is pleasing enough. Sit.«

And indeed, there was a stool submerged in the center of the basin Mirai hadn’t even noticed, so preoccupied had he been with observing his master and keeping him pleased as best as he knew how.

Mirai is pleasing enough. He swallowed down an odd lump in his throat.

When he sat, the serpent king moved behind him, taking with him the sponge. A hand slipped under his hair at the nape of his neck, moving it over his shoulder, and that was when Mirai realized he didn’t feel the bite of claws. When he quickly reached to hold the mass of hair out of his master’s way, he caught a glimpse of the hand, and indeed, the serpent king’s claws were clipped and filed down to be short and round and harmless.

Mirai didn’t know what to make of it, but he was willing to hold on to it, especially while feeling as exposed as he did now, not even his hair left between his master and himself.

But all that happened was that a flowery fragrance he couldn’t quite pinpoint reached his nose, moments before a warm hand ran over his back with the tell-tale slickness of soap. Then the sponge, now soaked, touched, scrubbing in gentle circles. He was being cleaned by the serpent king himself.

It was a little odd, sure; this task could have been accomplished or even just overseen by a loyal servant; but he wasn’t going to question his master’s whims. It felt nice, really, being gently touched without being fucked, even if he knew it couldn’t last.

When finished with his back, the serpent king moved on to his arms, going even lighter over the bruises the traders had left when pulling him along. It was kind, and it made it easier to relax a little, even as the serpent king moved to his front, never hesitating, fully secure—as he had every reason to be—in his right to touch wherever he wanted.

»I’ll lift you,« the serpent king warned quietly after finishing with his chest, then he picked him up and draped him across the coils of his body. The warning was kind, too, and Mirai tried to focus on the feeling of the smooth scales on his back as he was reclined, his hips and thighs raised to be more accessible to his master.

Once again, he was suprised; the serpent king simply continued cleaning him, lingering, sure, on his ass, and stroking, with feather-light fingers, once or twice more often than was strictly necessary over the insides of his thighs still bruised from the trader’s escapades, and watching his face for a reaction when reaching all the way between his legs, but after all he just continued on, moving down his legs as gently as before.

Mirai simply tried to squirm as little as possible. Looking up at the ceiling, he could see the same beautiful, intricate patterns inlaid as there had been in the throne room, blue and mossy green and white.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

Finally, the serpent king was done. Mirai was clean. It felt nice; it had been a while since his last proper bath. It had been gentle, and kind. He couldn’t trust the kindness to last yet, but if things would continue on in this vein…

»Thank you, Master.«

The serpent king smiled, flushing Mirai with relief. It had been the right thing to say. He wasn’t used to speaking out loud, but even when he had been expressly ordered not to, he had always felt it put him at a disadvantage—not being able to plead and express respect and, yes, gratitude out loud meant they were more easily overlooked, or underappreciated.

He hated the sound of his voice, but maybe he could get used to speaking more quickly than he had thought.

»Did anything happen with your voice?« The question hit him unprepared. The serpent king soaked the sponge once more and easily placed him back onto the stool with a fluid shift of his body, moving behind him again.

»Yes, Master.« He avoided thinking about it when he could, and not just because of the devastation it had caused him in the long run - the disgust or outright punishment he was met with whenever he opened his mouth, until speaking filled him with dread. The event itself had been horrifying enough. »One of my old masters liked to choke me when he took me. One time, he - it was more than my throat could take. It never recovered.«

He shouldn't have said that. The serpent king's face was a quiet sort, but he had long since learned to read the smallest expressions, and he saw the anger flaring up.

His master must have noticed his worry. »I am not angry with you, Mirai. I am angry that someone would recklessly endanger the life of a slave they're responsible for like this. And with those who sold you to me, for trying to scam me by hiding it.

»Does it hurt?«

Mirai shook his head before he caught himself; his master wanted him to speak, so he would speak; his apprehension didn’t matter.

»No, Master.« The pain had faded eventually, after weeks of every breath feeling like a stab, every swallow feeling like dying over again - like he had felt there under his master, passing out with the pain in his throat his final sensation, certain he would not wake up that time. He was sold soon after that, when his voice wouldn't recover. He was worthless to his master without it.

»Good.« The serpent king squeezed the water from the sponge out over Mirai’s head, letting it trickle down his hair.

Mirai remained still as he repeated the process a few times until his hair was sufficiently watered, again trying not to overthink. It didn’t really matter whether it was good or bad that speaking didn’t hurt, he’d have to do as he was asked regardless, but it was nice that his master thought it was good. Right?

The serpent king reached for one of the jars, and soon Mirai felt another liquid drip onto his scalp, thicker than the water before. It smelled—not bad, a little tart, herbal—and was then brushed into his hair.

»I’ll want you to do this yourself, every week,« the serpent king said as he gently—yes, still so gently, much more so than the traders or anyone else had ever been—worked through Mirai’s hair.

»Yes, Master.« Mirai had to trust he’d be given the means to. It wasn’t always so, he knew that, and he would still be blamed if he wasn’t; but there was nothing else he could do.

After he put the brush aside, the serpent king ran his hands through his hair several times, never catching on the slightest remaining tangle. Mirai was used to his masters playing with his hair, and he just was grateful it was this light.

»You’re very pretty already, I’m sure you know,« the serpent king said, in a low voice, but close. Mirai was used to that, too; everything from shallow compliments to words so demeaning even those speaking them didn’t want to say them out loud had been whispered in his ear. He knew which end of the spectrum he preferred. »But you’ll be even prettier. Come, Mirai. Let us go eat.«

#whump #whump writing #slavery whump #nsfwhump #my writing #mirai and the serpent king #mirai #eshihir

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