#fic: servant of the spiral | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aemondsbabe · 4 months

Text

A Kindness

summary: you're finally ramsay's most favorite toy, but is that really a good thing?

pairing: ramsay bolton x reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, dark content it's ramsay hello, blood kink but no injury/gore, mentioned major character death (again, no injury/gore), slight au (ramsay wins battle of the bastards), choking, rough sex, dirty talk, humiliation/degradation, slapping, piv sex, unprotected sex don't be silly wrap ur willy, hair pulling, creampie, slight breeding kink, puppy play, boot humping idk how to else to phrase it, slight angst but a happy ending for ramsay lmao, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 6.2k

a/n: my first foray into dark or at least semi-dark writing and my first time writing ramsay! i've had this one in my head for such a long time so it feels really good to actually get it out! hope everyone enjoys and please make sure to heed the warnings with this one!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

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“Dip the cloth again, you dolt,” you snap, looking up from the scroll of parchment rolled out before you on the table when you hear the coarse woolen cloth begin to scrape dryly across the silver Ramsay’s… thing was supposed to be polishing, “If I have to remind you of that one more time, I’ll tell him you tried to touch me. I wonder which part of you he’d hack off for that, hm?”

Reek’s eyes go wide at your threat and he nods his head frantically, quickly reaching over and dunking the cloth into the small bowl of vinegar before him. “Yes, m’lady. Apologies, m’lady.”

A small sigh leaves your lips as you rest an elbow on the table, nose scrunching up slightly at the sour smell that seems to hang like a cloud over the room, the small one by the kitchens.

Probably where the staff ate, you think, staring blankly at the fire crackling away in the hearth. You’ve tried hard to picture it – Winterfell in its former glory, trussed up with wolf banners and filled with children’s laughter, how it was when the Stark’s called it home.

Your eyes linger on Reek and for a second, you’re halfway tempted to ask him about it – what it was like living here, being one of them. You don’t, knowing the question would fall on deaf ears at the least, or send him spiraling to the point of being unable to finish his chores, and then it would be your head on the chopping block as well.

Distantly, you hear the familiar baying of Ramsay’s hounds and your eyes flick up to the narrow slit windows on the wall; you do your best to ignore the way Reek’s head swivels to the sound in the same instance yours does, the way that adrenaline so keenly rushes through you – a burst of panic leading the charge before you have the chance to correct it.

Anticipation, you remind yourself, jaw clenched, Passion, excitement.

Your eyes vacantly scan over the parchment you’d nabbed from the library earlier that morning, an account of the birth of Arya, apparently the sister of the one that had actually managed to escape some weeks back, no doubt frozen now in one of the snowy forests that surrounds Winterfell. You don’t really care, your thoughts once again reverting back to Myranda. Bitterly, you remember how he never made her stay behind when he went hunting, never made her watch over his man-servant, never made her second guess.

The last one is a lie, the truth woven deeply into the many nights you’d spent up with her – listening as she fretted about each word she’d uttered to him that day, hoping each one had been right and had been said at the right time, that he wouldn’t find some made-up cause to punish her. Tendrils of jealousy had twisted into you even then, even as she painted a picture of what he truly was.

Just as men’s voices filter through the windows from the courtyard outside, your lips quirk up into a mean, victorious little smirk.

It’s her body he fed to the dogs, you think, the voice in your mind a proud hiss, Just like Violet’s and Tansy’s and Kyra’s. You remember the day well enough, remember the shock of seeing your friend's body laying in the courtyard as you’d run out to greet Ramsay, teal eyes staring at nothing. It had been you that had warmed his bed that very night, and all the ones after it.

“There you are,” a familiar voice sounds from behind you, nearly making you yelp as Reek scrambles to stand up from the table. Before you even have a chance to, a strong hand clasps over your shoulder, stilling your movements, “No, no, don’t get up on my account.” Rusty copper stains color his hand, dried blood outlining each of his nails. You don’t let your mind linger on what the source of it could be.

You whip your head around and swallow nervously as he chuckles lowly, “Ramsay!” You breathe in greeting, the corners of your lips tilting up into a tentative smile, though that’s quickly washed away as you take in the messy splotches of red that stain his coat and tunic, that snake their way up the pale column of his throat and dot the sides of his face.

He looks every bit the hunter and you wonder, not for the first time, what that makes you.

“You seem quite comfortable here, pet,” he drawls, leaning down until he’s eye-level with you, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re more at home down here with the help,” he continues, hand tightening to the point of pain on your shoulder, making you grit your teeth, “Than you are in our chambers where you’re meant to be.”

Our chambers. A privilege he never granted her. Stupidly, your heart sings.

His hand tightens on your shoulder once more, finally drawing a pained whine from your lips.

“Y-You told me to watch him! To make sure he –” You’re cut off as Ramsay unceremoniously hauls you to your feet, clawing at your leather doublet. A cry leaves your lips as the hand on your shoulder tangles into the hair at the nape of your neck, tugging as he forces your head back, blue eyes flicking to your neck as you swallow thickly.

“I told you to be in our chambers when I return from hunts,” he corrects you, standing to his full height as he holds you tightly, forcing you unsteadily onto your tip-toes, “That I expected you to be at the door, ready and waiting for me.” His lips ghost over your ear as he speaks, his voice a low growl that shouldn’t excite you the way it does.

“I’m sorry,” you wince internally at the way your voice comes out as a pained little squeak, your hands scrambling to hang onto his forearm, nails digging into the stained quilted fabric of his jacket.

“You know how I get after a hunt,” he suddenly pulls away from you, his hand pulling out of your hair, a gasp leaving you as your heels drop to the floor. You blink as he reaches up, not flinching from years of practice, though instead of striking you or harshly gripping at your jaw like you expect, his hand cups your cheek. Your chest rises and falls as he strokes his thumb over your cheekbone, blood stained fingers now delicate against your soft skin.

“Today’s was a special one, too. Don’t you remember?” He questions, icy eyes sliding from yours to the red-headed man still standing by the table, glimmering cruelly as he smirks.

Still, you nod your head, knowing Reek won’t answer. “To celebrate killing Jon Snow,” you breathe, gripping at the leather of his tunic, desperate to win even a scrap of approval.

Surprisingly, he grants it – fixing you with a proud little grin, like how an owner would look at a dog that’s just mastered a new trick. “That’s right,” his hand ruffles the hair on the top of your head, a gesture that should feel demeaning, yet it sends a tingle of pride through you instead, “Seems you can remember something after all.” He pulls away and traipses over to Reek, hands clasped behind his back.

“Surely you remember too, Reek? You were in the kennels that evening when the dogs had their treat, were you not?” He taunts, the playful inflection in his voice entirely for show, “Our little problem’s been dealt with and now we hold not only the Dreadfort but Winterfell as well! What do you think about that, hm?” Ramsay studies the other man carefully, eyes flitting over his face as he takes great pleasure in the subtle twitches of pain that still manage to flicker through the harsh conditioning he’d endured. Your eyes stay fixed firmly on the stone floor.

“A… A great victory, master!”

“Yes, a great victory, indeed,” he smiles, watching Reek for another moment before turning back to you. His smile morphs into a cold, callous frown that ties your stomach into knots, each of his steps making your heart hammer faster in your chest. “You know, it’s actually rather amusing,” he starts, bloodied fingers twirling a stray lock of your hair, “How my hounds seem to be continually more well trained than you, pretty little idiot.”

Pretty, pretty, pretty! Your heart thumps dumbly, a rabbit in a snare.

“I’ll do better!” You whimper, shaking your head frantically as your eyes meet his, “I can do better, really, I was just confu–”

The hand in your hair shoots down suddenly, yanking several strands with it as he clamps it around your neck. “Confused?” Ramsay murmurs, watching with rapt attention at how you struggle in his hold, lips quivering as the words die in your throat, “Really? I give you one task, I ask one thing of you, and you can’t even figure that out? You still disappoint me?”

He’s not expecting an answer, you know this, and yet you still try to give one as your mouth opens and closes, like a fish out of water, only the faintest little whines managing to escape. You feel faint, both from his grip around your throat and from the myriad of emotions coursing through your veins – your heart twists at the thought of failing him, your stomach is in knots as various punishments flash through your mind, and yet your center still sparks, still sends little glimmers of arousal through you.

His grip loosens enough to allow you to suck in several shaky lungfuls of air as he snickers, endlessly amused at how eager you still are, how you still yearn so deeply for him. Again, he pats your head condescendingly, muttering little hushes as if you were a crying puppy. “Lucky for you, pet, I have plenty of experience training stubborn bitches,” Ramsay chuckles, blue eyes glimmering with mirth when he feels you swallow apprehensively, “I think we’ll have your behavior corrected in no time, won’t we? Even the stupidest of beasts can still learn a trick or two.”

Before you have time to react, the hand cradling the crown of your head harshly grabs at your hair again, tugging you suddenly toward the door. “Ah!” You yelp, stumbling as he all but drags you behind him, your hands shake as they struggle to grab onto his forearm, “Ramsay, pl–!”

“You should be grateful I am allowing you the kindness of walking!” He growls, sparing you a glance over his shoulder as he leads you through the Great Hall, “Pity I’m so protective of you, really, I’m sure it would be quite entertaining for my men to watch you crawl.” His drawled threat sends a spark of fear down your spine and you pant, chest heaving, as you shuffle behind him; your cheeks burn as several of his soldiers sitting at the long wooden tables catcall as you stagger past them.

Finally, the two of you reach your shared chambers, that fact sending a little torrent of satisfaction through you even now. Unceremoniously, Ramsay all but tosses you inside and you whimper as your hip collides with an edge of the decorative table just inside the door, no doubt hard enough to bruise but at least it breaks your fall.

“It’s quite unfortunate, normally find your impudence amusing,” he starts lowly, pressing the old wooden door closed with a thud before sliding the lock into place with a self-satisfied grin, “But I know you know better, don’t you, little one?” He asks as he stalks toward you.

Your breath catches in your throat as he stands before you, studying you silently for a second in the same calculated way he studies a deer through the sight of his bow. Not knowing what else to do, you silently nod your head as your eyes slip down to the floor, like a child being scolded.

“You’ve been with me the longest now,” he murmurs as if you don’t know, one bloodstained hand grabbing at your waist as the other fits around the back of your neck, once again forcing your eyes to his face, “We grew up together, you and I. You know my ways, my rules, isn’t that right?”

Again, you nod your head, bottom lip trembling with the want to explain yourself, although you know that would only make things worse.

“That’s what makes your disobedience so frustrating,” his blue eyes bore into yours as he speaks, his lip sticking out in a mocking pout, “Because you do know better and yet you’re stupid enough to act out anyway, hm?” His tone is sharper now, dangerous like the pointed tip of an arrow.

“I wasn’t acting out!” The words claw themselves out of your throat before you can stop them and instantly you know you’ve made a mistake, but now you’re desperate to remedy it, “I wasn’t, really! I j-just misunderstood you, that’s –”

Your pleas come to a screeching halt as his hand smacks across your face, the other grips at your jaw tightly, tight enough to make you whine softly in his grasp. Your eyes squeeze shut for a second, cheek stinging, before they open and lock with his again, wild and desperately.

I wasn’t being insolent! You scream silently, hoping he can somehow hear you, that maybe all of your years with him would’ve granted that ability, I would never! I was doing as you said, like always!

“I was wrong earlier, wasn’t I?” Ramsay mutters, so close to you that your foreheads nearly touch. Your eyes widen slightly at his words, heart thumping in a hopeful little staccato, though he wrenches that away quickly enough, “You’re not a dog at all, no, a dog would be obedient and docile.”

Your brows knit together with confusion at his words, biting so hard into your lower lip that you’re shocked you don’t taste blood. Although, you can’t help the surprised little gasp that leaves you when his hands begin quickly tugging at the laces of your bodice as your own remain in white-knuckled fists at your sides, the whole of you determined to stay still like a statue, a plaything.

“No, you my sweet little pet,” he growls sarcastically, low voice morphing into a pleased chuckle as he tugs your bodice off; the shirt below it quickly follows and a small part of you blooms with pride at the happy little sigh he lets out at the sight of your breasts.

“You’re just a dumb puppy, aren’t you?” He chuckles against your throat, nipping at your skin more so than kissing it, although you relish the feel of his lips on you all the same. “A dumb, defiant little puppy,” he continues, hastily pulling at the ties of your skirts and you whimper despite yourself when they finally fall to the floor, pooling at your feet, “That’s in desperate need of more training.”

He stops, pausing for a mere second, and pulls back just enough to look at you, no doubt gaining satisfaction from the desperation written so plainly on your face. There’s a hunger in his cold eyes – a predator silently deciding to go for the jugular, nocking an arrow on his bow.

You whine as he properly kisses at your throat now, his hands rough against your skin as he grabs at your hips. One skims higher to cup your breast, the unexpected gentleness of his touches causes you to shiver and whine in his grasp and into his mouth as he kisses you finally, his full lips moving steadily in time with yours.

Harsh pants leave your lips as your heart pumps madly in your chest, his touches always work you up so quickly. The thought of him still being fully clothed as he left you bare and vulnerable made you hotter still; the feel of his warm leather tunic against your exposed skin, of his bloodied hands against your supple skin, drives you mad.

Before you have time to second guess your movements, you begin blindly pulling at the strings on his leather tunic, desperate to feel him against you. Surprisingly, he lets you tug it off of him, granting you a last meal of sorts, and you can’t help but to smile into the kiss, gasping into his mouth as he unbuttons his jacket himself before quickly tossing it aside as well. He’s panting nearly as harshly as you are as the two of you part long enough for him to pull his shirt over his head, your hands immediately go to his chest the second it joins the ever-growing pile of clothes on the floor.

Your eyes flicker over him as the two of you pause, the knot in your belly growing tighter at the sight of his taut stomach and chest, the low, warm glow of the many candles dotted throughout your chambers accentuating each muscular dip. Your fingers shake as they trail over him and you feel a sick sense of pride twist in your stomach at the fact that, unlike so many men, his skin isn’t mottled with years of scars and bruises. No, his is flawless, a pale, unmarred, ruthless canvas – a flawless killer.

Of course, he can’t let you have this reprieve for long. A good trainer doesn’t spoil his pet.

A soft, broken gasp leaves you as one hand wraps around your neck again, slotting perfectly against your throat like a collar, as he walks you a few paces further into the room, closer to the small hearth by the bed. “Kneel,” his command leaves no room for anything but obedience; you swallow thickly, nervously, and do as he says, lips parting ever so slightly when your knees rest on plush bear skin instead of hard stone.

A kindness, even now.

Ramsay’s lips twist into a proud grin as you stare up at him, legs folded beneath you with your hands poised perfectly on your thighs, a familiar stance he’d taught you years ago. “Good girl,” he mutters, fingers threading gently through your hair as you moan softly.

“Thank y – Ah!”

“No,” he chides harshly, tugging your head back by the roots of your hair until your neck is bared to him, your back arched, “Puppies don’t talk, dumb little thing,” he growls, shifting more closely to you in order to gain a better hold on your hair, close enough that you whimper as your front is pressed firmly against the length of his leg, the thick fabric of his trousers rough against your skin as one of his feet slots between your thighs, “A well-trained pet certainly doesn’t.”

The knot in your belly seizes at his words, aided by the laces of his leather boots brushing oh-so gently against your center, the knotted fabric sticking against the wetness already leaking from your clenching cunt. You whine, high-pitched and frantic when he clutches your hair tighter still, his fist white knuckled against the crown of your head.

“A well-trained little pet would always obey their master, wouldn’t they?” You can’t miss the breathiness of his voice now, his tone lower and smoother than it normally is, and the sound makes your hips hump against his boot before you can stop yourself, your nipples stiff, nearly aching, as they rub against his trousers.

A low, rumbled laugh echoes through your chambers when your arms wrap around his leg, fingers digging desperately into the firm muscle of his thigh. “Aww,” he coos mockingly, licking his lips as he watches you, his attention making blood rush to the apples of your cheeks, “Is my pretty little puppy getting off on this? Does your cunt drip when I tell you how stupid and worthless you are?”

The sound of your blood pumping furiously through your veins thuds in your ears, Pretty, pretty pretty!

You whine as you try to eagerly nod your head, his hold on your hair preventing you from moving much, though your hips rut steadily against his boot now – pressing tightly against the worn fabric, the knots from his laces rubbing perfectly over the throbbing little pearl at your center.

“You look like you’re having fun,” he drawls, cold eyes shining as he studies you closely, chest heaving in time with yours as his cock hardens in his pants, “Are you having fun, little one?”

Again, you try to nod, keening brokenly as your eyes stay fixed on his. You pant harshly against his leg, breath fragmented as they’re punched out of your lungs, the knot in your belly growing tighter and tighter with each pass of your slick center over the laces of his boot.

He knows, of course. As soon as he ordered you to stay in the kitchens with Reek this morning, he knew – knew you’d follow his orders to the letter, even if they contradicted his previous ones. He knew he’d find you there, knew he’d punish you for it, knew exactly how he wanted to break you down so that it could be him who built you back up. He’s known you the longest, you’d grown up together. He knows, of course he does. He’s nothing if not a thorough hunter.

A loud, broken whine leaves you when he flexes his foot, pressing his boot harder against you still. You’re helpless to do much else aside from stare up at him, gasping, while your hips buck against him as quickly as your sore muscles will allow, your high barreling toward you at a breakneck pace.

All of that comes to a sudden, screeching halt though when he moves again, shifting his weight until his boot is just out of reach. The sudden lack of stimulation makes your back arch further still, your muscles taut like a drawn bow.

“Oh, poor little puppy,” he laughs, watching gleefully as you whine loudly, the peak that had been so close fading away, leaving you aching, “If you thought it was going to be that easy, you haven’t been paying attention.” He taunts, crouching until he’s eye-level with you, smirking as his movements cause his pull on your hair to become tighter, making you wince, though his hand thankfully releases its grasp once he settles.

“Mmm,” you mewl softly as he caresses your breasts again, jumping slightly when he thumbs over your nipple before softly pinching at it, giving the other one the same treatment. Your eyes flutter shut as you arch your back further still, pressing against the palm of his hand as he kneads at your chest, eager for any stimulation you can get.

“Myranda was never like this,” he says suddenly, his voice low, steady, calculated. He smiles cruelly when your eyes snap open at the sound of her name, the back of your throat tight as tears already blur your vision – just like he wanted. “No, Myranda always behaved perfectly, she always did exactly what I said.”

He leans forward suddenly, the side of his face pressed firmly against yours so that when he speaks, you’re sure to hear every syllable, to feel them punctuated against the skin of your neck. “She was perfect. I never had to punish her for the same thing twice, you know. Not like I do with you.”

You shudder as his lips press against your skin again, pressing eager kisses against the wet trail of tears running down your cheek. He admires the way your shoulders shake as you sob, the way the subtle movement makes your breasts bounce, the way your cheeks flush so prettily, how your eyes always shine so brightly with fresh tears in them.

Ramsay loves breaking you – adores the moment when his arrow is finally launched free from his bow, adores the moment he sees it pierce your little heart. He loves you, in his way.

Not that he’d tell you that.

He lets you sob for a moment longer, all the while pressing hot kisses against your cheeks, relishing the salty taste of your tears as the little droplets of blood still caked to his skin mar your pretty face, staining it with delicate streaks of red. His cock twitches at the sight, black pupils nearly drowning out the blue of his eyes – maybe one day he’d bring you hunting, what a sight you’d be covered in the bright blood of a fresh kill.

“Myranda never needed training, puppy, not in the way you do,” he nearly whispers, the corners of his lips twitching up into a small smile as he leans back enough to grab at your chin, tilting your face up to his, “That’s what made her so boring.”

“Huh?” You breathe, sobs stalling for a second as you process what he’d just said, your obvious surprise making him laugh lowly again.

“What? Does that shock you? That I found her boring?” He questions, eyebrow raised, “Why would perfection be interesting?”

Your eyes search his face as he shifts, kneeling rather than crouching. A little glimmer of pride sparks to life within you as he kisses you again, your lips moving against his frantically, mewling when he pushes his tongue into your mouth and nips at your bottom lip.

“I never got to train her,” he breathes against your lips, grunting at the way your hands skim over his chest and stomach, grabbing at him so frantically, “I hardly got to punish her; if I gave her an order, she would follow it blindly – it made her predictable, it made her boring.”

“N-Not like me?” You whisper hopefully, meeting his gaze through half-lidded eyes as you pant, your chest pressed tightly to his.

“No, sweet pet, not like you,” Ramsay smiles, making your heart sing as it leaps beneath your ribs, “I get to train you, don’t I? And punish you when that little puppy brain can’t follow the simplest of orders.”

You should be offended, should feel mocked and belittled, but you don’t. Instead, you nod your head eagerly, preening like a proud little bird at his praise, because that’s what is, really. Ramsay will never be one to sing your praises softly like other men, but he admires you all the same.

Before you have time to reply, he grabs at your waist and abruptly maneuvers you, manhandling you until you’re poised on your hands and knees, cheek pressed firmly against the fur rug beneath you.

“I get to play with you, pet,” he drawls lowly, pressing a hand into the small of your back and grunting appreciatively when you arch down like he wants, licking his lips as your cunt finally comes into view, shining already in the low candlelight. He smirks at the way you moan when he presses his hard length against you, grinding against your slit, chest heaving at how warm you are even through his trousers, “Don’t I?”

“Yes!” You nod eagerly, pressing back against him like a wanton whore, nearly dizzy with need when his fingers bump against you as he quickly undoes the laces on his pants, “Yes, yes, yes, please!”

“Ohh, so you can be good, hm?” He teases, groaning in relief when he pushes his trousers down just enough to free his cock, too impatient to remove them entirely, “Seems my training’s working nicely.”

Mindlessly, you nod, willing to agree with whatever he says so long as he gets inside you.

Mercifully, you don’t have to wait long. A loud cry fills your chambers as he presses into you, the slight sting of his thick cock stretching you open making you shiver, a familiar sensation since he was rarely ever patient enough to work you open on his fingers.

Immediately, he sets a brutal pace, his hips pressing against yours tightly each time he pushes forward, the head of his cock nearly kissing your cervix with each harsh thrust. Your cunt clenches at him greedily and your hands scramble against the rug beneath you, fingers tangling into the furs, desperate for something to anchor yourself.

“Fuck, tight little cunt,” Ramsay grunts harshly above you, his hands gripping meanly at your hips, hard enough to leave bruises.

“R-Ramsay, fuck… fuck,” you whimper beneath him, your eyes squeezed shut tightly as the knot in your belly threatens to unravel, your walls pulsing rhythmically around his length each time it spears into you.

He chuckles breathlessly at your little murmurs and runs a hand up the length of your back before grabbing at the hair at the nape of your neck, relishing the little cry you give as he pulls you up until your back is pressed firmly against his chest. “Are you close already?” He mocks smugly, his fingers untangling from your hair to wrap once more around your throat as his other paws at your breasts, his fingers pinching and pulling at your nipples.

You swallow thickly, throat bobbing under his grip, and nod your head the best you can, grabbing at his thick forearm.

“Do you think I’m going to let you?” He teases, biting harshly at your shoulder as his hips keep up a punishing rhythm.

You nearly sob at the question, so desperate, but still you shake your head, cunt pulsing around his length. “No, n-no…” You moan mournfully, voice hoarse from his hold.

He chuckles behind you, his chest rumbling against your back as he kisses and bites at your earlobe, your shoulder, any part of your neck not covered by his hand, each touch driving you mad. “Finally, that little brain seems to be working,” he grunts, laughing lowly as he abandons your breasts long enough to slap your cheek, blessedly soft this time, “I’m having too much fun playing with you to let you go that easily,” He drawls, chuckling once more when you whine.

“In fact,” he continues, reaching down and rubbing his fingers roughly against your aching bud, just enough to make you cry out before he suddenly pulls away again, tugging his length from you as he lets you flop to the floor with a little grunt, “I want to see you do a trick,” he whispers, rubbing over your ass before smack it roughly, making you jump, “Roll over.”

“Wha –” You start to question, only to be cut off with a loud cry as his hand spanks you once more.

“Be a good fucking puppy and roll over.”

His order leaves no room for questioning and obediently, you listen and roll over onto your back with a little whimper. You keep your legs bent up when you settle, keeping yourself on display for him, clenching around nothing as you eye his hard cock bobbing against his stomach, the tip red and leaking.

“Good little pet,” he praises, his words going straight to your pearl as you shudder. Hastily, he pushes your legs up further, one hand holding you open as he presses his cock back into you, savoring your loud whine, the way your eyes roll to the back of your head.

He resumes his harsh pace, slamming into you as he chases his high now, blue eyes trailing appreciatively over your trembling body, watching as your breasts bounce with each unforgiving thrust he gives.

“Please, please, Gods, please!” You whine frantically as he presses his hips against yours, grinding into you, the thatch of hair at the base of his cock rubbing against your bud perfectly, “Ramsay, p-please! I – fuck!”

He laughs breathlessly at your cries and leans down when you arch your back toward him, mouthing savagely at your chest, teeth nipping at the fat of your breasts before he licks over your nipples. He knows each touch is only driving you closer and closer to your release, yet he still doesn’t give you permission, a part of him meanly hopes you’ll slip over anyway and give him another reason to punish you, like he actually needs a reason.

Still, you have been good today and he does love how willing and docile you become when you peak, so malleable – entirely submissive, entirely his.

He bites and kisses his way up along your chest and neck before licking into your mouth for a moment, eagerly swallowing each desperate little cry before grabbing at your neck once more. Greedy, he turns your head to him, needing to see that empty-headed, hazy look in your eyes when he lets you finish.

His cock jerks at the sight of you, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as you try desperately to hold off, cheeks flushed, reddened lips parted. He grunts, feeling his balls tighten, his thrusts beginning to lose their rhythm.

“Cum, puppy,” he growls, forehead pressed against yours.

Your lips part in a silent curse as your high slams into you, each muscle in your body contracting at once. Your eyes bore into his wildly as your cunt spasms tightly around his cock, eyes rolling back as he fucks you through it.

“Fuck!” He grunts, growling lowly as his cock spasms within you, your walls all but milking his own high from him as well. His hips slam into you a few more times before he stills, gasping as he fills you with his spend.

The two of you lay together for a moment, panting loudly against one another. Ramsay is the first to move, shushing you as he pulls his softening length from you, making you whine.

Distantly, a part of you twists gleefully when you feel his seed drip from you, another thing he never dared do with her.

“Here,” he says softly, offering you a hand, which you gladly take, letting him help you stand since you doubt you’d be able to on your own. Finally, you stand on your feet, albeit unsteadily, and grab onto the foot of the carved wooden bedframe to steady yourself. Strangely, he stays with you, neither of you saying anything as he holds you, blue eyes studying you as they gleam with some unknown emotion.

After a moment, you try to pull away, meaning to leave as you always do, not one to wait around for his order anymore.

“Stop,” he murmurs, only pulling away once you still, “Stay.” He orders, an unfamiliar softness to his voice. Your head reels, eyes staring unfocused as you try to make sense of… whatever this is, whatever his game may be now.

He returns quickly enough, a damp cloth in his and from the small wash basin he keeps on the vanity. You reach out to grab it, to clean yourself off like you assume he wants, and yet he stops you, holding the cloth out of your grasp until you lower your hand again.

“Obedient puppies get rewards,” he says softly, all of the harshness from before absent from his tone as he answers your silent questions. You nearly freeze when he presses one small, gentle kiss against your forehead. Finally, he makes quick work of wiping between your legs, taking care to wipe away any of his spend that leaked from you.

“Thank you…” You nearly whisper, voice scratchy from his earlier treatment. That doesn’t feel like the right thing to say but if it isn’t, he doesn't say.

Silently, he cups your chin, lifting it enough to give him room to check your neck, trailing his hand over it lightly until he must be satisfied that you’re okay, that he hadn’t treated you too badly.

Kind, even still.

A few moments later, you recline in the plush bed, watching as he kicks off his boots before joining you, lying with you under the soft blankets. This part, at least, you’re used to – lying together like this but not touching, not cuddling, that’s too intimate, too close.

He hadn’t said that, wouldn’t say that, but you knew.

A surprised little gasp leaves you when he pulls you close, hands, clean now that he’d taken a moment to wash them, resting on you gently. One smoothes up and down your arm as he lets you lay against his chest, cheek pressed against his collarbone, his chin resting on your head; the other grabs at your thigh, pulling you to him until you’re tucked into his side, one leg propped over his hips.

“You did well,” he says softly, chest vibrating under your cheek as he speaks, “With your training, I mean. You did well. I’m… proud of you.”

“Thank you.”

The two of you are silent after that, neither of you knowing how to handle this new territory that you seem to be spilling into, but you don’t care, not with your heart pounding quickly in your chest. You’d think you were dying if it weren’t for the savage sense of victory threading through every inch of you.

Proud, proud, proud! The word echoes in your head with each pump of blood through your heart. It was so small, the barest of compliments, but from Ramsay it meant the world. It was something he’d said to you, only you, never to her, not once. Never to anyone else.

His chest rises and falls under your cheek, breath steady and even. He always falls asleep quickly, normally you do too. But not this time, not tonight, not wanting to let this moment fade just yet.

He loves you, in his way.

tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @wickedfrsgrl @echos-muses @iamawhorecrux @avidreader73 @marvelescape @rae-11 @ms-morningstaarr @chaotic-fangirl-blog @grsveeth0m @twglitching @hb8301 @delulumhaggy @burntliquorlips @simp-hub-bro @badxbabyyy @venchi-cremino @targaryenbarbie @fan-goddess

(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)

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pomefioredove · 1 month

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Saw you took specific requests. Here's mine:

Jamil with a religious reader who gives him a protection talisman.

Fun fact, prayer beads are used in multiple religions as they help count prayers (Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, Hinduism, etc).

So let's say reader comes from a world where magic exists but it's exclusively on religious grounds. Meaning if you wanna do magic you gotta pray to the right god or make a deal with some form of mythological creature.

Reader knows that Jamil's is always in danger due to the constant assassination attempts on Kalim, so they make a set of prayer beads and ask a diety to bless it in order to protect their boyfriend (could be Allah, Indra, Shiva, Buddha, Susanoo, whichever). Jamil accepts it and heads back home appreciating the sentiment but not really believing.

Except any form of danger keeps getting thwarted. Drink/food he's trying is poisoned? Conveniently spills over/has a whole in the bottom. Accident happens? Conveniently pushed out of the way. Someone tries to hurt him/kill him? Struck by lightning and straight up dies.

Not even his own parents are safe. They try to slap him to "discipline him" then they get zapped (lightly tho).

you know!!! I love this prompt so much... I'm a religious studies major so this kinda stuff is so ^w^ to me I get so excited.

summary: giving jamil a protection spell type of post: short fic characters: jamil additional info: reader is gender neutral, the existence of religious beliefs in twst is. confusing. so we're keeping it vague, not proofread, reader is yuu

Perhaps it was because your world was still considered "magicless" by Twisted Wonderland standards, or perhaps Jamil was never superstitious to begin with.

Either way, he wasn't exactly as excited as you'd been hoping for.

"It's nice. Did you make it yourself?" he asks, inspecting the beads. "A bracelet?"

"Prayer beads, actually. And yes, I did,"

"It's well made. What's the purpose?"

You hesitate. The nature of religion in this world is still confusing to you, although you can surmise there's got to be some kind of belief system. It's best not touching on for now.

Besides, Jamil has never been much of a believer in higher powers. For good reason.

"For protection," you explain. "Not that I think you can't handle yourself. But I worry about you over break, you know..."

He's quiet for a moment, inspecting the gift in the palm of his hand. And then he tucks the beads away in his pocket and smiles.

"I'll keep them with me, then. Thank you,"

Even if he's not exactly keen on the idea that these things will make his life any less terrible, they're from you.

And so he keeps his promise, and tucks them away after you part.

By the time he's "home" (back in Kalim's family home) he's all but forgotten about the little blessing at the bottom of his pocket. Not that you can really blame him- "vacation" is more of a title than a reality when he's back.

The first incident happens not even a day after.

The al-Asim summer mansion is certainly nothing to scoff at. Though it's only one of many, this one in particular houses a large sum of physical treasures, line with gold and ivory, stuffed full of spices and all the makings of a feast that could feed thousands, a shining jewel of the desert.

Jamil is not all that impressed.

Especially when it comes to navigating such an ornate building on orders. The polished-to-perfection floors present a challenge when you're carrying three crates worth of grain to the kitchen on the lowest floor.

Damn these stairs.

Though Jamil may not be a religious man, he still asks whatever deity may be up there to smite the slippery spiral staircase he's descending.

His arms strain to uphold the weight of the boxes, and his legs strain to keep a good footing on one of the many long and elaborate and narrow servant passages designed specifically so that the unwanted workers of the family can slip by undetected.

Quiet, diligent, and he has to be quick, too. Kalim is expecting him for a game in one of the many lounges soon.

Another unfortunate "vacation". How he'd much rather be spending it with you...

For a brief moment, Jamil swears he can feel the beads in his pocket warm against him, reminding him of their presence.

And then he slips.

The crates free themselves from his careful grasp and tumble down the stairs, creaking and thudding but mercifully staying intact.

Jamil, however, isn't made of wood. He winces as he feels himself tilting forward- and then... somehow, a strong draft pushes him on his back.

He lands just shy of his tailbone, luckily not hurting anything, except for his pride.

What a turn of luck.

The next happens at dinner.

Jamil keeps his earlier blunder to himself. His pride is damaged enough as it is, after all, and so he tries his best to conceal how shaken up the experience left him by moving swiftly across the kitchen.

"We have a dish ready for you to test," someone shouts.

He sighs. How many more evenings of this will he have to endure?

Though, he reminds himself- this may always be his last.

The thought makes Jamil chuckle as he's handed a hot dish and a clean fork. He can only stop to smell the roses for so long, so there's no chance of savoring such an exquisitely prepared meal before he's off to another part of the kitchen.

Just as the fork digs into the food, the dish slips out of his hand and shatters on the kitchen floor. Everyone falls silent.

His eyes widen. "How- ugh. My apologies,"

Now this is just getting ridiculous. How clumsy can he get in one evening? He's usually much more careful...

"Look," the head chef says, the whole kitchen crowding around the food as it dissolves.

Jamil's stomach lurches. Cyanide. It has to be. If he'd eaten that dish right there and then...

The kitchen is swiftly cleared out, and he's sent back to the lounge.

it only gets stranger from there.

What Jamil initially wrote off as clumsiness and luck seems to become a pattern-

a flying arrow at the archery range just narrowly misses him when he bends down to fix his sandal.

The al-Asim family tiger (because of course they have one) chooses to toy with a visiting prince rather than him in the courtyard.

A strong draft pushes him on his rear end seconds before a sandbag falls from an under-construction part of the mansion.

He would call it fortune if he believed in such a thing.

By the end of the vacation, everyone is absolutely perplexed by his string of good luck. Jamil isn't unfamiliar with how dangerous his family's position in life is, and he's had his fair share of injuries as a result, but this time all he has to show for it is a slightly lesser sense of annoyance than usual.

It's only the end of the trip where he ponders (unfortunately aloud) about the string of coincidences, and the beads in his pocket.

Kalim goes on to babble about Jamil's "good luck charm" to anyone who will listen, much to his annoyance.

"Oh, I want one too! Can you ask them to make me one, too?" he says, folding his hands in a pleading motion. "It's so pretty!"

"It was a gift. But... I suppose I can ask..." he sighs, and then smiles to himself.

Of course you'll come up with some excuse to say no. Because, for once, this charm is all his.

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #jamil viper x reader #fun prompt! I liked it #queued

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elusive---ivory · 1 year

Text

Yandere!Vampire x Reader

Hey!! Howdy!! fics have been a little slow, but!! I am still getting used to writing again, so please bear with me. My requests are still open!! Please help me with ideas!!!

Warnings: mentions of blood, nsfw mentions, violence, yandere tendencies, kidnapping, murder.

A vampire's life is filled with solitude. He is distraught with grief. After living in the human world for over a thousand years, he found life on this Earth monotonous and dreary. He's experienced the world, but his heart is still empty. His thirst for blood lives on. He yearns for a companion.

However, he has yet to find the right one. Until you came along. You were walking with your friends late at night. He was looking for a new host to feed on. His thirst led him to follow you, closely. You were interesting to watch. Usually, he didn't find mortals interesting, but when you were out with your friends, you got up to all kinds of mischief. Your friends were pranking people's houses, while you were looking for cats to pick up from the street and pet them.

He smirked. Frankly, human life was meaningless to him. But, why does a small human like you interest him so?

He couldn't bring himself to drink from you, so he took another victim instead. He trapped himself in his mansion. You didn't leave his thoughts. His servant was worried about their dear vampire master. His chambers weren't disturbed. His cold heart started to beat again in his chest. You were the person that he wanted to spend eternity with.

His servant was the first person to catch onto their master's lovesick expression. On the cover of the night, they went to your home and abducted you while you were deeply asleep. You woke up in unfamiliar surroundings. The mansion was huge with spiraling staircases, and a large portrait of the Vampire sitting in the living room.

You were confused as to how you got into some goth dude's mansion. The servant was making human food in the kitchen. You walked in, surprised at the little man at the stove.

"Oh good, you're awake." The servant muttered sarcastically. "The master requests that you eat this human slop." It was a beautifully made plate of waffles, pancakes, and fruit all laid out on a plate.

"Wow! I don't know if I can eat all that." You said, smiling gently. You sit down at the table and began to take as much as you would like. "Thank you so much."

The servant scoffed, stepping down from their stepping stool. "Don't thank me. You should thank the master. He's the one that didn't kill you."

"The 'master'? Is he the guy that owns this place?" You asked, looking around the kitchen. Curtains wrapped in tin foil decorated the kitchen, as well as most of the giant home. You began to piece together what kind of person who might live here.

"Yes, of course. You should get dressed. There are clothes for you on the table." The servant sipped their tea. "Hurry up!" They scolded.

You looked at the outfit. It was a gorgeous Victorian gown with a deep red color and it was velvet to the touch. You smiled, running back up to your bedroom. Putting on this dress was like a dream. The corset fit nicely and wasn't as suffocating as most corsets of the era were. The dress hung snugly around your waist.

You looked at yourself in the mirror. It was very rare that you'd find yourself enjoying your appearance. You smiled to yourself while fixing your hair. You felt something like a ghost touch your neck gently. When you whipped your head around, you found no one there.

You could hear an airy laugh as you opened your bedroom door. A chill ran down your spine. You didn't want to think the house was haunted, but with vampires existing, ghosts aren't a farfetched idea.

You helped Servant for hours on end. You were getting ready for the arrival of the Master. You looked at the portrait of the Vampire again, and you heard that laugh once again. This time it was right inside your ear.

"Enjoying my masterpiece, kitten?" The Vampire purred deeply.

You jumped, turning your head, looking directly at the master of the household. You blush immensely, trying to maintain eye contact. You find yourself stuck on words. Before you go to say something, the vampire interrupts.

"Did a cat cut your tongue, dear girl? Please, speak. Tell me your name, darling." He pulled you close, placing his slender hand on your hip. "Could I call you 'Kitty'?"

You were taken aback by all of this sudden affection. While you were very flattered, the Vampire could tell that you didn't trust him with your heart.

He smiled softly. "I don't mean to frighten you, dear. I simply want to have a meal with you."

You gulped, nodding slowly. "Alright, but afterwards, you have to let me go."

The Vampire chuckled darkly. "Of course, my love. I promise you'll be able to leave immediately after."

He looked over at the Servant, who simply pushed their glasses up.

You sat across the vampire with a long wooden table divided them. You looked at your meal, it was a combination of all your favorite meals. You were frankly shocked.

The Vampire watched you with a smile. A tall grin appeared on his lips. He watched you eat like a wolf watching his prey. You were oblivious.

When you were finished, his eyes were glued to the plate. You got up from your chair, wiping your mouth off with a napkin. "Thank you for the meal, dear sir. But, I must be going."

The Vampire grinned sinisterly. "Oh? Aren't you going to stay for dessert?" The Vampire used his powers to pull you towards him from across the table.

He pulled you into his arms. His pupils glowed a bright red. His pointed teeth grazed your skin, then he bite into you, drinking you slowly.

The feeling of being drained slowly was a wonderful feeling. For a moment, the sharp pain in your neck didn't matter compared to the euphoria. You fall to your knees, half-drunk, while the pain in your neck starts to bulge.

The Vampire handed you a tiny vile. "Drink, my love. Drink and spend eternity with me."

#yandere #yandere boyfriend #yandere x reader #male yandere x reader #yandere vampire #yandere vampire x reader #yandere x darling #vampire boyfriend #vampire boyfriend x reader #vampire aesthetic #yandere boyfriend x reader #yandere boy #yancore

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olivyh · 1 year

Note

Howdy do~! Since requests are open, I would like to request a fluffy fanfic in which Falena, Leona's older brother, invites Leona's female s/o to visit the palace after hearing about her from Cheka. Of course, Leona feels a little reluctant to introduce his girlfriend to his family. How will the visit play out? Thanks a lot!

A/N: thank you for the request <33 I was a little nervous about writing another Leona fic- his character is so interesting to explore but I'm always worried about him being ooc </3 this came out a lot longer than my other fics for some reason,,,, also I only have two more weeks left in the UK <//3 but that means more time & energy put into this acc <33

The beastman bites back a grumble as he tosses his phone off the side of the bed, not caring when he hears the device hit the ground with a thud and a crack. The prince turns his attention to the setting sun outside, the heat of the Savanna finally dying down and cooling down the sweat that had beaded on his skin from practice. He could hear the rest of the dorm through the thick wood of his door, wincing when he hears a shout and then something shattering.

His brother had invited him to the palace (One call and about eighty messages that he had refused to answer to), followed by about a million calls from Kifaji (the old bird really didn't know when to shut up, did he?), and, finally, a call from his sister-in-law. He could tell by the calm bite of her voice that she was no longer requesting that he bring his love to the palace- she was demanding that he do so. Leona has no choice but to begrudgingly give in to her wishes, despite the desperate clench of his heart at the thought alone.

The man rolls onto his back, taking a deep, shaky breath that rattles his chest as he throws his head back against the silk pillows and allowing the cold to seep into the back of his neck, eyes tracing over the shapes of the beams that crisscrossed his ceiling. The chill of the outside air mercilessly traces weak lines in his skin, penetrating every pore until it finds a home deep within his bones as a sudden burst of annoyance has him letting out a weak growl as he grabs a pillow and throws it as hard as possible at the wall, the fabric making contact with a soft thud as it lays limply against the wall.

"Shit," The man growls, thinking of the castle. His mind spirals, pulling and pulling until it unearths memories that he'd hidden long ago, tugging the emotions with it.

Confinement.

Isolation.

Fear.

As much as he'd hated NRC, it was his home. He couldn't imagine being forced back into that prison, decorated in intricate patterns of gold and jewels as far as the eye could see. The lock that had kept him confined was decorated in rubies and amber, the clinking would have driven him mad if he hadn't gotten out of there as soon as he could. He remembered how the cold felt there too, how it seemed to bite at any and all exposed skin, how the stars provided little comfort against the darkness of the night when his mind would wander into the shadows of the Pridelands and offer itself to the claws of his birthright.

He was free in NRC, he was free with his lover. He could be carefree, smile and nip at their shoulders playfully without the jeers of the servants and maids, without the confines of propriety looming over him. Leona wanted nothing more than to isolate them from that world he grew so accustomed to.

"Leona?" His door creaks open, and he rolls over, raising an eyebrow.

"What is it?" He grumbles, staring at the figure of the human slowly approaching his bedside. In the darkness he could make out their smile, soothing the ache within him for a moment as they slowly place their knee on the edge of his bed, raising their hand and brushing some of his sweat-soaked hair off of his forehead. They don't flinch at the feeling.

"I was going to ask you to shower, but," They finally sit beside him, rubbing a warm hand over his shoulder gently. "What's wrong?"

They were so soft with him that he felt as though he would rather die sometimes, their feather-light touch reminiscent of the reverential touch upon blown glass or the petals of a flower. Not the touch of a second-born prince cursed with the touch of destruction.

Not that he wanted them to stop, ever.

"Kipenzi," He mumbles the pet name quietly, despite how loud the rumble of his deep baritone seems to rock the air around the couple. "My family wants to meet you." The excited look that flashed in their eye for a moment breaks his heart, even more so at the crestfallen look that falls over their face not even a moment later. The silence in the room is deafening, as though the insects and animals outside the dorm had been just as shocked by the statement as his lover.

"How do you feel about it?" They ask after a moment. Leona freezes.

"I have to bring you. I don't have a choice anymore," The beastman grabbed the hand that rested on his shoulder and pressed a chaste kiss to their open palm. When they'd first started dating he wouldn't have ever dared to do such a thing. What a fool they make of him. A lovesick fool.

"You do," The mutter. Leona can't bring himself to meet their eyes, opting to stare blankly at the way their shirt fits around their torso, memorizing every crease of the fabric. "I don't have to go."

An odd part of him yearns for them to tell him that they wanted to go, for them to see the place that made him the man in front of them, a reasoning behind what he really is and what will never be- a future that he wanted neither of them to be a part of.

"Cheka misses you," He knew he wasn't a lie, but he knew for sure that nobody had told him that. It was likely the little rat that told his brother about his lover. "We should go for him."

He feels the way the air shifts around him with their smile as they lightly pull way their hand, the lion biting back a disgruntled huff at the loss of warmth.

"Let's go, then," They sit up. "You need to shower first."

"Make me."

"I'll join."

Leona chuckles. "Deal."

The next morning crept through the open windows, the sun gleaming almost painfully against his eyelids as he slowly remembered what would be transpiring that day. His lover seemed to be much more excited about this trip than he was, so he forced himself to bite back any bitter comments. He passed through the mirror in a blur, settling in as they meet in the center of the square, whisked away in a split second by a chauffeur and sent flying off towards the palace.

"I'm sorry," He mumbles to them quietly in the backseat, his tail making its way around their wrist and holding it firmly. "I wanted you to do some sightseeing."

"No worries," They smile up at him, eating away at his guilt. He knew he was being stubborn, and that he was shutting down again.

Please, he begged his mind, not now. Anytime but now.

"I missed you so, so, so much!" They didn't even have a minute to step out of the car properly before Cheka had sped his way over to the couple, wrapping his arms around the human's legs affectionately and blinking up at them with round, deep chocolate-brown eyes.

"Hi, Cheka!" They chirp, crouching so they could hug the young prince properly, nuzzling the top of his hed affectionately. "I missed you too, little guy!"

Leona bit the inside of his cheek, feeling a familiar warmth blossom in his chest. It was no secret that he cared deeply for his nephew- despite how often he shoved him away and called him a pest. It was a secret, however, how much he adored the relationship between his lover and the young boy, how their friendship grew and developed the more time they spent together. Cheka had told Leona once that he'd considered them to be in the same position as Leona- family, and a mentor, and a playmate.

"Come on! Baba's waiting inside!" The small cub tugs at their arms, leaving servants to unpack their bags from the car and lug them into the palace. He can't help but notice how the human's footsteps waver as they enter the building, in awe of the intricate tapestries and the sheer size of the place. The grand entry hall was lined with statues made of pure iron and draped in golds and silvers, the multicolored gemstones that hung from their necks cast splinters of color through the hall as they caught the sunlight and threw it.

The wide, open windows adorning the hall and framed in exquisite silk curtains that hung loosely to the ground let in the harsh sunlight of the savanna and allowed them to see over the vast swaths of land that the Kingscholars ruled over, houses and builds as far as the eye could see. Servants bowed to the Prince and his lover, lowering their heads as they turned their eyes to the floor.

Leona couldn't help but notice the way they tensed at the action, walking ever-so-slightly closer to the beastman. He leans over, careful of any prying ears.

"You okay?" They bite their lip and gulp, looking straight ahead of them and nodding. He grabs their hand in his own, noticing how their palms were slick with sweat as a chill settled on their fingertips despite the heat. "Don't be scared by it. It's all just a show." His voice sends a noticeable chill up their spine, which, under normal circumstances, he would take pride in being able to tease them with his voice alone. Now, however, it worried him more than anything.

Another nod and an affirmative squeeze from the beastman, a promise of more comfort once they were away from the countless eyes of the servants and other visiting nobles.

The doors to the greeting room swing open, and Leona feels the way their grip tightens upon seeing his brother and wife standing at the end of the long carpet, framed by the backs of their thrones.

"Glad you could make the trip, kaka mdogo," Farena states plainly, a grateful smile dancing onto his lips as Leona scoffs slightly, nodding towards the man. "I suppose this is your lover, then?"

He nods and takes a step forward, gently pulling the nervous human with him.

"Yeah, this is them," He says, rather informally in contrast to the air that the King and Queen give off. Out of the corner of his eye he can see them smile up at him softly, their grip on his hand loosening in the slightest.

His brother's wife steps closer to them and Leona feels torn- the nervous look on their face made his heart scream to protect them and hold them close, but he was also terrified of angering the lioness. He opts to stand next to them, frozen.

She gingerly lifts a hand. "May I?" They nod and she places her hand on their cheek. "Relax, sweetheart."

Her soft tone- the same tone she uses when she speaks to Cheka oftentimes, Leona notices- seems to work wonders on them as they take a shaky breath, smiling nervously. "You're stunning." she chuckles. "It's no wonder Leona fell for you."

"T-thank you, Your Highness," They sputter, flushing a bit under the attention.

"Shani works fine, my dear," She corrects softly, backing away for a moment. "Please, no need to be so nervous. You're practically family now."

Family.

The word seemed to hang in the air for a moment, still as it hovered just out of reach of Leona's fluffy ears atop his head. Was that it? It was strange, he hardly felt as though he were a Kingscholar himself. However...

Hearing they could become one made his heart race, imagining their first name paired with his last. Their form, which he had grown to love so deeply. He misses the second half of the conversation, too lost in his own mind to even notice the way his nephew clung to his legs and tried to grab at his tail.

"Come now, we prepared an early dinner," The woman motions for the human to walk beside her. They look to him, an uncertain look in their eye as he uses a similar hand motion, silently telling them that he's right behind them.

His chair was too far from theirs at the elaborate table, too much food and too much space for a fairly small gathering, the dining hall was meant for larger groups. The other end of the table felt desolate and cold, a lifetime away from the warmth of the top of the table. Leona remembered how he would sit at that far end with his mother, and his father would sit on the other end with Farena.

"-Oh, he was such a dear-" The man in question chuckles, sending a warm glance at his younger brother, who focuses more on mindlessly stirring the liquid in his cup. "He would often come into my room when we were younger, you see-"

"Farena," Leona begins, a warning note slipping onto the end of his words like a weight.

"Please, Leona," The man's words would be a plea, if not for the shifting of power underneath the breaths that escaped his mouth. "Jokes aside, we truly are glad that Leona had finally found a lover, I was truly beginning to worry."

"You think I was that hopeless?" The younger prince snarls.

"I wouldn't say hopeless," Shani places a firm hand on her husband's shoulder, a frown on her face. "Uninterested, I would say."

His human giggles, casting a teasing glance over at Leona as his frown deepens. The pull of the longing for solitude begins to eat away at his heart, his mind racing to gather any sort of excuse to finish the dinner as quickly as possible.

"I'm glad I managed to catch his interest," They begin.

"How did the two of you meet? I can imagine it was rather difficult to meet, seeing that you're quite different," The King begins.

"They stepped on my damn tail when I was trying to take a nap," Leona shoots a sly grin over at them, a little embarrassed at being questioned in front of his entire family. Minus-

"It wasn't my fault!" They deny, taking a small sip of water.

"I'm sure there's a dent there somewhere."

"Is there really?" Cheka asks quietly, voice breaking towards the end in near terror. "Can that happen?"

"No, my love," The Queen comforts the boy, casting him a short smile. "It was an exaggeration."

"Then they snuck into my room and disturbed my sleep. I had to put them in their place somehow," He glances over to the flustered human.

"N-not in that way, your Majesties. There were issues at my dorm-"

"Keep tellin' yourself that," He could see the way their eyebrows furrow on their forehead as the shade decorating their face darkens more by the minute. They eat in silence after that, occasionally filling the space with other questions- mostly of their life at NRC and their family. The second prince detested his forgetfulness as he noticed the quake in their voice when they spoke of the home they could not return to. The King and Queen seem to notice

"Cheka," He hears his lover say softly. Leona's gaze travels over to them as they lean far off their chair, far enough that if the armrest weren't there they would be tumbling to the ground. Their hand was extended, gently wiping off the juice that the boy had spilled down his chin as it dripped onto his shirt, staining the expensive fabric. "Here, sweetheart." Their tone was gentle, loving as they wiped at his chin with the napkin. The boy looks up at them, beaming, the gap from his missing tooth only serving to add to the wide-eyed gaze of the young prince (Leona vaguely remembers the boy excitedly telling him about the missing tooth over a video call, brandishing the tooth like a trophy as he held it a little too close to the camera for the man's liking).

Something about the way they treated him with such kindness, a gentleness compared to the reprieve of a soft breeze on a hot day. Leona practically feels the ghost of their fingertips against his flushed skin, a chill down his spine.

In that moment, it was as though a door had opened. Every day and every night- sometimes within the palace, others in a place of their own far, far from the Afterglow Savana- with them, with his family, a concept that was foreign to him. Just as untouchable as the fairytales trapped within the Royal Library.

There weren't many times that Leona could say he was jealous of Ruggie, but hearing the kindness of his grandmother and the close bond of his neighborhood would often cause Leona's ears to twitch in agitation, envy creeping up his spine.

Now he felt as though he had it.

"It's getting late," Leona mutters, standing. "Come on, I want you to meet someone else."

They nod and stand, bidding the others goodbye as they follow him down the hallway, into a darker corner of the palace. Tapestries line the walls as they approach a room, a dark wooden door decorated in gold embellishments. Leona slowly knocks, the sound of the bed creaking followed by a hoarse voice sounding from within.

"Baba," Leona mutters.

"Leona? Mwanangu?" The King sits up, long gray hair frames his aged face, lines with wrinkles and scars from days past. The dulled spark within his deep brown eyes- the same as Farena's and Cheka's- fills the beastman in front of him with a deep sadness.

"Yes, Baba," Leona grabs his lover's hand and leads them inside, only letting go to pull up two chairs by the man's bedside. "It's me. I bought my partner, too." His voice had taken on the soft tone he often used with his dying father (Leona didn't want to consider him dying, but seeing the weariness in his eyes and the tremors of his wrinkled hands made him believe otherwise). The man's eyes wearily travel over to the human before them. Leona thought it would have been poetic should they have been in a novel of sorts, or perhaps one of the cheesy movies he claims to hate so much.

A fallen king, a lost human, and a second-born prince.

For a moment the man is silent, the human's worried gaze turning more and more tearful by the minute. They only have to wait a second before Leona winds his tail around their wrist, pulling it to lay in his lap so he could play with their hands, just the way he knows they like it.

"What a lovely little human," The old king finally speaks, lines on his face deepening with the toothy grin that breaks loose- a shadow of his strength, Farena told him once. "You have kind eyes, child."

"T-thank you..." They mumble, ducking their head slightly.

"Tell me," The man chuckles, raspy voice a whisper against the commotion of the savannah outside. "Has my son been treating you well?"

"Baba-"

His human smiles, before breaking into laughter. "Better than I could have ever imagined."

"I'm glad."

As the two talk, Leona feels a comfort seep into the cracks of his heart, filling the void that was once there. It spreads through his chest. His father- the strongest man he knew- and his human- the loveliest person he'd ever been given the privilege to meet, let alone hold- talking so casually, about him no less.

The time passes too quickly for Leona's liking. The beastman would have rathered the second creep by like they do during his lectures, or in the way they do when he's alone at night without the warmth of his lover beside him. However, the king is tired. Leona knows better than to hold his father any longer than physically possible.

Once out in the hallway, the human sighs and practically collapses against the wall, holding up their trembling hands. Leona chuckles, stepping closer to them and casting them in his shadow- an act that, at first, appeared intimidating now served as a means of protection as he hid them from the world and sacrificed himself to be their shield.

He feels as though he's lost control as he steps closer, prompting them to gaze up at him with those tender eyes that he adores so much. Any unlucky spectator would think he was annoyed when they wrapped their arms around his broad shoulders, but the two of them knew better, The annoyed quirk of his brow spoke a silent 'don't stop', the swish of his tail was merely to stop it from wrapping around their waist and pulling them impossibly closer.

He can't stop his arms when he places his calloused hands on their hips, pressing them flush against him.

"Leona-" They mutter, burying their face in the crook of his neck. "The servants-"

"We're all alone here," He chuckles under his breath, lowering his head so his breath brushes against their ear with every syllable. If he wanted to, he could scrape his fangs against their earlobe to fluster them further.

He was in no teasing mood for that, his main goal to find an outlet for this swell of affection that seemed to make his heart burst.

Leaning closer, he presses a warm kiss to their temple. He moves down more, giving extra attention to the tip of their nose and the gentle curve of their cheek. He finally presses a deep kiss to their lips, finally able to spill out what had been building over the course of the day; All the 'I love you's that went unsaid; every single moment they made him feel so damn soft.

"Ninakupenda," He gasps softly when they part for air, engraving their flushed expression in his mind. He feels their hands trail through his hair, taking a lock and twirling it in their fingers as they beam up at him.

"Ninakupenda, my king."

#twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland leona #leona kingscholar #twisted wonderland #leona #leona x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #twst leona x reader #twst fanfic #twst oneshots

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mrsjellymunson · 8 months

Text

Happy Halloween, Love ❤️

Pairing: Joseph Quinn x fem!reader

Summary: Joe raids the costume department at work and conspires to make this Halloween your most memorable yet.

WC: ~4.4k

CW: 🔞MDNI!🔞, NSFW, RPF, PWP, smut, porn with a little bit of plot, established relationship, role play, dressing up, slightly dom!JQ, choking (referenced), oral (everyone’s a winner), fingering, unprotected p-in-v sex (always wrap it irl), tiny bit of mutual masturbation, squirting, maybe a touch of overstimulation, Eddie and demons are referenced, pet names (numerous, including references to reader as a pet, minion and servant), no y/n or descriptions of reader’s appearance, demon fucking (sort of). Please lemme know if I’ve missed anything, and don’t read this if you’re uncomfortable with real-person fics or any of this content.

A/N: Inspired by the anonymous comment, “It’s as close as we can get to having Joseph Quinn dress up in the Eddie wig and have demon horns”, a scenario which got stuck in my head and wouldn’t leave. This might well be the only RPF I’ll write (they still weird me out a little). I hope this doesn’t put anyone off checking out my Eddie and Steddie stuff 😬 I wrote this fairly quick and it’s not beta-d. It’s also my first time sharing smut, so (constructive) feedback is most welcome!

You knock on the bedroom door gently, having slipped into your new outfit in the bathroom. Halloween season was always fun with your boyfriend Joe, both of you loving to dress up and create spooky scenarios that would inevitably lead to sexy shenanigans. You’d thought you were the only one dressing up tonight, but you were wrong.

Unbeknownst to you, Joe had raided the prop store at the studio he was currently working at, claiming he needed something for a Halloween party, and he had plans...

“Come in, darling.”

You open the bedroom door, stepping in slowly, wanting to tease Joe with a slow reveal of the short, ivory satin robe you had on, something so innocent-looking belying what was underneath.

A deep, velvet-smooth voice greets you, slowly murmuring, “Happy Halloween, my love.”

It’s Joe. Your Joe. Your kind, generous, loving and silly Joe, but there’s something else about him tonight, something you can’t quite place just yet.

He’s surprised you - the bedroom is dark, lit only by a pair of spice-scented red candles and a small, warm lamp. It’s intimate, but also somewhat lair-like, and the ambiance goes really well with the red and black skull-patterned bed linens you’d bought especially for this time of year. You love it.

Your eyes rake over your man, drinking him in. Clothes-wise he’s wearing nothing but a pair of snug black jeans and a studded belt.

Fuck, he looks so hot.

He’s looking down at the floor, hands clasped loosely behind his back, putting his delectable torso on display for you.

In addition, he’s wearing The Wig. That wig.

You’ve role played with this before; he knows how much you love Eddie’s luscious, chestnut locks, and how when he puts on the voice it all combines to rile you up. One time you even got some fake blackwork tattoos and put them on his arms and chest. That was a very fun evening.

But this time there’s more…

Amongst the curls he’s also wearing a pair of long, spiralling, ridged, red and black horns. They’re beautifully detailed. They nestle amongst the soft kinks, and the curls hide the ends of the horns and however they’re attached, making the effect all the more realistic.

God, he looks amazing.

You can’t determine why he’s been looking at the floor since you came in. Is he being bashful? You’re confused, that doesn’t seem to fit the narrative…

Your question is answered when he slowly looks up at you, with a menacing, Kubrick-like stare.

He’s wearing contacts. Not just any contacts, but full-sclera, black contacts, completely obscuring his natural eyes.

You swallow, hard. Your fingers toy with the sides of the slinky robe you’re wearing, and you involuntarily squeeze your thighs together, trying to provide just a little friction to the area between them. Joe notices.

“Fuck Joe, I mean Eddie. You look-“

He cuts you off.

“There is no Joe here. No Eddie either. Only… your Master.”

You gasp at his voice, how it’s even deeper than usual and slightly menacing. You’ve always been impressed by the way he can control his voice, the timbre, volume, pitch, cadence. You’re momentarily distracted by how you’re not surprised he’s always been in acting work.

“Tell me you’re mine, my loyal minion.”

You’re broken abruptly from your reverie by Joe’s commanding tone, and you willingly play along, knees weakening and a pool of wetness forming surprisingly quickly in your underwear.

“Yes, Master. I’m all yours-”

You gasp as his strong hand reaches forward towards your throat, wrapping loosely around it. Not squeezing (not tonight, anyway), just demonstrating who’s in charge of this scenario.

Joe your Master smiles in that familiar way you know and love, but he keeps the sinister stare, giving everything a much darker edge.

“Well done, my precious. Now, would you like to have some fun with your Master?”

You bring one hand up from your side and gently drag the the tips of your fingernails along the inside of his forearm, a place you know is sensitive.

He breathes in quickly through his nose, trying to stifle a gasp, though you hear it. His grip on your neck tightens ever so slightly, and he tilts his chin up, narrowing his eyes and looking down his nose at you.

You surprise yourself as you reply, “Yes Master, I’m yours to command.”

Ever the consummate professional, none of Joe’s excited internal monologue shows, and he simply looks at you and murmurs, stretching out the syllables,

“Good girl...”

That’s it, you’re gone. He could do almost literally anything to you right now and you wouldn’t stop him. You let out a small whimper.

Even with the dim light and the darkness of his denim, you can see the bulge in your Master’s jeans.

Releasing your throat, he moves his hand to the back of your neck, gripping firmly but not harshly, bending towards you and pulling your face to his. He crashes his lips against yours, pushing his tongue into your mouth in a passionate, messy kiss, which you eagerly return.

Breaking the kiss, he grins at you again, before removing his hand from your neck, taking a step back and flicking the edge of your robe near your collarbone.

“Take this off.”

You obey, slowly undoing the robe and slipping it off your shoulders. As the fabric slips to the floor and pools at your feet you’re left in nothing but the new set that you bought especially for tonight.

Joe’s eyes caress your form, taking in the sheer, red, rose-patterned lace decorated with tiny bows.

But what’s really catching his eye is the fact that your bra is peek-a-boo style, and the ribbon ties are already undone, your nipples on display.

He hisses an inhale, and runs a thumb pad gently over one of your hardening buds.

“This all for me?”

“Yes, Master, only for you.”

He takes a step towards you again as he glances to your panties.

“Are these…?”

“Crotchless? Yes, Master.”

He lets out an involuntary growl and brings his other hand to your core, pushing one finger between your thighs and swiping its tip through your already-damp folds.

Feeling your wetness he can’t help but drop his head back and moan.

It gives you a perfect view of his gorgeous neck, and you want to lick it, like you have so many times before.

Seeing Joe dressed up like this and regarding you with such obvious hunger leaves your whole body tingling, and the anticipation of more of his touch makes you feel like tinder about to combust.

You need him to have fewer clothes on too.

Biting your lip, you slowly bring a hand up between you and trace your fingertips over his solid torso, tracing shapes on his skin, touching the fine, soft hair and moving down towards his happy trail, finishing at his belt line. As your fingers reach his belt buckle, you ask,

“Please, Master, may I..?”

Your Master drops his hands to his sides and, with a lascivious grin, tongue peeping out at one corner running over his teeth, he gives you a tiny nod.

You undo his belt and jeans, running your hands inside the fabric and around his abdomen until you get to his hips. He’s not wearing anything underneath, just how he knows you like it.

You push the fabric downwards, dropping to your knees as you go, just how you know he likes it.

His cock springs free and slaps against his abdomen, fully hard already, and you drool at the sight.

Stepping out of his clothing, he positions himself in front of you, abs tensed and legs slightly apart, looking down at you with those completely black eyes, a curtain of dark curls framing his face.

“What are you gonna do for me, my servant?”

“Whatever you want me to, Master.”

You stick out your tongue as far as you can and languorously lick a broad stripe from his balls up the base and shaft of his cock, past his frenulum and all the way to the tip, where you pause at his slit, swirling your tongue and collecting a bead of precum that’s collected there.

Glancing up again, you notice he’s pursed his lips and his breathing has become uneven, all signs you’ve learnt are indicative of him enjoying what you’re doing.

Lifting both hands you gently grasp his base with one, pulling his tip slightly towards you, and caress his balls with the other, as you open your mouth and slide slowly down his length. Pausing after a couple of inches you return the other way, repeating and going further each time until your lips are touching the fingers you have wrapped around him.

He’s fully panting now, lips parted and brows gently furrowed.

“Fuck, precious, you’re gonna fucking kill me one day.”

Taking this as an indication to continue, you hollow your cheeks and suck, earning you a deep moan from his chest.

You move up and down at a slightly faster pace, sucking and licking, enjoying having your face stuffed full of him, until he’s suddenly grasping your chin and pulling you up towards him. His cock leaves your mouth with a soft pop, and you’re soon standing in front of him, eyes locked. Gruffly, he mutters,

“That’s too good, sweetheart, and I’ve got plans for you. Get on the bed.”

You obey, sitting your bottom on the edge of the bed and shuffling backwards until you’re in the centre, leaning back on your elbows.

He climbs on behind you, and using his hands and his knees he roughly pushes your thighs apart, slotting himself between them.

He bends low towards your centre, inhaling deeply and pausing for a moment, humming and enjoying the scent of your arousal.

At any other time you might be embarrassed, but his behaviour fits so well with the whole demon vibe that you find yourself heating up even more at the action.

He exhales a long, hot breath, which fans over your core, tantalising you further.

Dropping his upper body between your legs, he lets out a series of low growls as he sucks wet, biting kisses up your inner thighs, pausing occasionally to suck hard on the soft flesh. You moan at the sensation, wondering if he’ll leave bruises, excited by the idea that he might.

You use the opportunity to touch the horns for the first time, feeling the details and ridges, enjoying the contrast with the soft, flowing curls.

He eventually reaches your centre, and marvels at the lingerie framing your delicate, glistening folds.

With a gruff, animalistic hum he licks a stripe from your shining hole all the way up to your begging clit. You cry out, the most sensitive part of you finally receiving the attention it’s been craving.

Wasting no more time, he sticks his tongue out as far as it will go and pushes it inside you, moving and licking and devouring you like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted.

You watch him with hooded eyes, trying to sear the image of this demon-god between your legs into your mind, before your arms give out and you flop backwards onto the bed, just about managing to vocalise,

“More, Master. I want more of you.”

He takes the hint, bringing one hand up and pushing two fingers easily inside you, and moving his mouth to lick and suckle at your clit. You moan loudly, pushing your hips down onto the bed and grinding into his hand and face. He moans at this, and the vibrations start to drive you towards your peak.

He chooses this moment to curl his fingers towards your front wall, hitting that spot inside you perfectly, and you begin to see stars. He keeps up his ministrations, your moans eventually turning to wails as he gradually increases the pressure on your clit, and you can hold off no longer. Your vision turns black, your limbs lock, and for a moment you stop breathing, a bubble of euphoria bursting within you as you come undone with a scream.

He reduces the pressure on your clit but doesn’t stop, forcing you to ride out aftershock after aftershock on his face. Eventually he removes his fingers from your swollen cunt, replacing them momentarily with another swipe of his tongue, before pulling off entirely. Looking down at you he lets out a feral growl. Licking his lips, he wipes his chin with the back of his hand and licks it clean, before muttering,

“Fuck, so fucking beautiful…”

As soon as he thinks you can manage, he’s pulling at one hip, assisting more than forcing, as he says, “Turn over, baby, stick that beautiful ass in the air for me.”

You do your best to manoeuvre onto your front, keeping your face and chest on the mattress and putting your knees on the bed, lifting your butt. He kneels behind you, parting your knees a little further, running his hands over the globes of your ass, fully exposed and framed prettily by the red lace.

He lets out another, “SO fucking beautiful”, before slapping a palm hard cross one cheek, making you whimper, immediately moving in to kiss the stinging flesh, laving it with his lips and tongue.

Rising, he notches his tip at your hole, and, remaining in character, murmurs, “I’ve gotta fucking have you, my beautiful little -uh- pet!”

On the last word he sheathes himself fully inside you, no consideration given for the usually slow and gradual way he’d enter you, animal passion taking over and both of you more than ready.

You groan loudly as he bottoms out, adoring the feeling of him filling you up and how he rearranges your insides every time he does.

He moans as he remains seated within you for a few moments, groaning gutturally and gripping your hips harshly.

You don’t have much respite, as after only a moment of acclimation he’s setting a brutal pace, pumping in and out of you with feral force and abandon, wet and breathy sounds filling the room, his cock jolting your insides with every thrust.

He starts to mutter almost unintelligible phrases in his demonic voice, but you make out,

“So fucking perfect, so fucking good for me, taking me like the cockvessel you are, my good little minion, my pet, my beautiful, beautiful pet.”

It’s all so exquisitely overwhelming, and you start wailing into the pillows.

He chooses this moment to slip one hand around to your front, immediately finding your sensitive, sopping wet bud and pressing small, form circles into it.

This brings you almost immediately to another precipice, and you cry out, “Ohgodohgodohgod!”

You can feel yourself clench down on his length, and he growls out,

“Jeezus fucking christ, squeezing me so tight, fuck!”

Euphoria washes over you again, a tingling heat beginning in your pelvis and spreading through your entire body. You go limp, but your Master holds you to him with one strong forearm, fingers continuing to circle your clit until you move and twitch, your body trying to deal with the dissonance of wanting to get away from the overstimulation but chasing the aftershocks.

As he continues to help you ride out your second orgasm he’s desperately trying to stave off his own, and eventually pulls out abruptly, your sweat mingling as he rests his forehead on your ass, breathing deeply.

You whine at the sudden emptiness and loss of contact, but are grateful for the opportunity to slump onto your side, enjoying the potential for a short rest.

He comes to lie behind you (if you’re honest, one of your favourite positions in which to get railed), but you realise something.

“No Master, not like this. There’s no point in you looking like that if I don’t get to enjoy it.”

Growling again (and seeing your logic) he deftly flips you over onto your back, slotting himself between your plush thighs, tip nudging your entrance as he stares into your face.

He moves both of your arms above your head, running his hands up the soft skin of the undersides and holding them there, hands clasping your wrists and pushing them into the mattress.

He seems to consider something for a moment.

“Hmm, I haven’t given these lovely tits nearly enough attention, my love. Especially considering you decorated them so prettily for me.”

That lascivious smirk is back, and with his free hand he opens the slit in the lace on one side and hums as he licks the flat of his wet tongue over one nipple. As he moves away he lets out a sigh through his nose, cooling the flesh delightfully and causing your already hard nipple to peak even more.

He massages each breast with his free hand, but decides that’s not enough, so commands you to, “Keep those there for me, my pet”, letting go of your wrists and starting to use both of his hands on your soft mounds. He’s enjoying pushing his fingers under the holes in the lace, pushing it to the side to expose your soft flesh, squeezing and squashing, playing with the ribbons, pinching your nipples and licking and sucking on your sensitive nubs. You arch your back and moan with delight at the sensations.

Eventually satisfied that he’s given your tits enough attention, he licks a wet stripe all the way from your sternum, up the side of your neck all the way to your jaw, making you shiver in delight and anticipation.

He hovers over you, tips of his curls tickling your forehead. He plunges his tongue inside your mouth again in another passionate kiss, and you can taste your musk and the salt from your own skin combined with the unique taste of him.

He returns his focus to getting himself seated inside of you again. He leans forward, holding your wrists with one hand, with the other lining his member up with your hole as he moves his hips forwards.

He slowly slides into you, filling you up yet again. He fucks you slow but ever so deep, the change of pace allowing you to feel every vein and ridge of him against your sensitive walls. You’re both trembling, all of your nerves alive with sensitivity.

“Like me fucking you like this, my pet? Want your Master to -mmm- make you cum again?”

Though you know without doubt that would be an absolutely delectable option, and a certainty if he was to continue, you decide you want to do something for him now.

“Yes. But I want to be good for you, Master. I want to sit on you, wanna ride you so bad.”

His eyes widen and that signature grin spreads across his face.

“Well, what my pet wants, my pet gets, doesn’t she?”

He slowly pulls out of you and releases your wrists, and in an attempt to conceal his excitement, languidly moves up the bed to lounge on a pile of collected red and black, silk and fur pillows. Abs tensed, knees spread wide and slightly bent, cock in hand and giving every appearance of being cocky and arrogant, he’s the perfect vision of a commanding demon. He’s sitting like he’s on a throne, like he deserves this. It drives you wild.

He lazily tugs at himself as he watches you crawl up the bed towards him, though he furrows his brow slightly as you pause halfway to sit on your heels, knees wide apart, displaying yourself for him.

“What’re you doing, my pet?”

You start touching yourself, parting your folds and sinking a finger easily into your dripping cunt, your free hand coming to massage one nipple.

His eyes widen and his mouth opens slightly, and you see his grip on his dick get tighter. You know he loves to watch.

You mumble, as innocently as you can,

“I couldn’t wait, Master.”

He watches for a few moments, entranced, but then remembers what’s on offer and taps his thigh, raising his voice a little, aggressively muttering,

“Get up here, minion. Obey your Master!”

His domineering tone sends tingles up your spine and to your core, and you instantly comply, clambering the rest of the way up the bed and straddling his hips.

He holds his cock steady underneath you, running it over your slit, the wet noises exciting you even more.

You place your hands onto his shoulders, stabilising yourself. You take another moment to admire his outfit and presence, holding his gaze before starting to sink down onto him.

As you seat yourself into him fully, that delicious stretch and feeling of fullness returns. You take a moment to enjoy it, before starting to move, lifting up, slowly at first and not too far, before lowering yourself back down. He’s at a fantastic angle, and feeling him so far inside you is intense. You whine out,

“Fuck, Master, you’re so deep…”

He bends his legs behind you and plants both feet on the bed, encouraging you to prop yourself against them whenever you need to. He knows you love to lean back, giving him not only a delicious new angle but also an exquisite view of your tits jiggling as you move, and it also gives him purchase to buck his hips and slam into you from below.

He’s full-on panting again, and, huffing, he breathes out,

“That’s my good little pet, fucking me so well. You gonna make us both cum, my sweet little toy?”

Wanting to do a good job, you use your thighs to bounce up and down on him, his cock hitting that spot inside you and rocketing you towards yet another high. He’s grabbing at your tits, your belly, your hips, anywhere he can reach, grumbling and growling and clearly desperate to feel every inch of you.

You need more, and you grab one of his hands and bring it to your front. He immediately begins rubbing his thumb against your clit, and you start to whimper, already close. Before you lose the power of speech he asks,

“Do you trust your Master, sweetheart? Gonna let me try something?”

You trust him implicitly and, although you have no idea what he has in mind, you nod. He moves one hand to your sacrum, stabilising you. The other thumb continues circling your clit, but he pushes the flat of that hand against your belly, like he sometimes does when he wants to feel himself inside of you, except this time there’s more pressure.

You’re rolling your hips against him now, all the different sensations combining to bring you closer to your release. You can hear him panting too, feel him tensing, and you know he’s not far off either. But there seems to be a different kind of pressure building in your abdomen.

You try to say something, but full sentences won’t come out. All you can manage is parts of words, like, “Wait-, no-, someth-, it’s diff-, oh fu-“

Unable to control anything anymore, your release washes over you in a searing wave, but there’s something else too - you feel a hot, wet gush coming from you and soaking his hand, wrist and abdomen.

Unable to process what’s just happened, you simply look at him, open-mouthed but still euphoric.

That’s it for him, he can’t hold off anymore and his release hits him, hard. He pulls your hips down onto him at the same time he slams up into you, face slack and breathing ragged, and you feel his hot, sweet release paint your insides, simultaneously letting out a long, low, broken groan.

Unable to process anything else, his eyes close and his head drops back against the headboard. You get another glimpse of that delicious neck, and run your hands over it and his collarbones as he comes down. He always looks so beautiful like this.

You both need a moment to let your heart rate and breathing come back to some semblance of normal. Evaporating sweat leaves you both with delicate goosebumps on some of your exposed skin, but the change in temperature is welcome.

You’re the first to speak as you look down at his wet belly and ask,

“Uh, Joe. What the fuck was that?”

His face turns slightly pink as, voice back to its normal pitch, he bashfully admits,

“I, um, just wanted to see if I could make you squirt, that’s all.”

He looks a little sheepish as he continues, slightly concerned,

“Was it ok? I mean, did you hate it?”

“God no, it felt… amazing! Just, y’know, maybe warn me next time?”

“Of course my sweet. Anything for my baby.”

He plants some wet kisses across your cheeks.

As if wanting to illustrate how much he enjoyed it, he brings his wet hand up to his mouth, sucks his fingers and thumb, and slowly shakes his head in delight as he adds,

“Mmm-mm, it was really fucking hot though!”

You slap his chest playfully, rolling off him to settle in the crook of his arm, your head against his chest, running a hand up and down it.

Ever the considerate lover, after a few moments he inquires,

“How was it overall, baby? Did you enjoy it?”

Full of endorphins and the love of your man, you gush,

“Fuck yes, Joe, it was incredible.” As you toy with some of the ends of the wig, you add, “Thank you so much for doing this for me. For us.”

He replies, “Oh love, it was, and I mean this quite literally, my absolute pleasure. I’m such a fucking lucky bastard.”

You both giggle a little at this. Joe delicately removes the horns and wig with his free hand, laying them reverently on your bedside table so as not to tangle or damage them, another testament to his devotion to his craft, and you snuggle into each other, continuing to murmur sweet nothings and enjoying the afterglow.

After a few minutes Joe admits, “Sorry, I’ve got to take these bloody things out babe, they’re really sodding uncomfortable.”

You both laugh again, as he rises from your shared bed and makes his way to your en suite to remove the contacts, cleaning himself off and returning with a warm washcloth for you, which you take gratefully. As you clean up he picks up the horns, examining them and twisting his fingers around what you now see is a sturdy headband.

He takes the washcloth from you, returning it to the bathroom. As he comes to sit by you on the bed once more, you spy a small smirk on his lips. You know that look, devious yet playful. He’s got some kind of plan.

“What is it, my treasure?”, you goad, using your fingertips to gently tickle his happy trail and tease at his exposed belly.

He replies,

“I was just thinking, maybe next time, you could wear the horns…?”

Thanks so much for reading!

Comments and reblogs make my world spin, please let me know what you think!

#probs my only RPF #joseph quinn #Joseph Quinn smut #RPF #Joseph Quinn fic #stranger things #Joseph Quinn x reader #joseph quinn x you #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #role play smut #slight dom!joseph quinn #dressing up smut #halloween smut #halloween fic #demon fucking #demonfucking #mrsjellymunson gets the horn

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soupbabe · 9 months

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Unfit (OPLA! Klahadore/Kuro x Fat! Reader)

While Kaya offered up her expansive collection of clothes, Reader can't find something that fits them.

Self indulgent fic time babey!! It's been rough lately, I've really been wanting to write something like this.

Warnings: Insecure reader, lil bit of angst and out of character comfort from Klahadore<3

Standing alone in front of a mirror, you frowned. You're sure Kaya had good intentions in providing you and your crew nicer clothes. Her wardrobe is so big that you can't blame her when she insisted that you'd find something. Yet, her kind words didn't stop the growing pile of pants you couldn't button all the way next to you. Taking a deep, but shakey breath, you took off the piece of clothing and added it to the neatly folded stack that hid behind a privacy screen. The evening was supposed to be fun, easy. All you had to do was be on your best behavior until Luffy and Usopp secured the ship. Even Nami and Zoro were able to let loose with some drinks and a fashion show. Instead, you're curling in on yourself, in your underwear, and trying not to lose it over a pair of pants.

Though, left on your lonesome, negative thoughts spiral quickly. Mumbling reassurance evolved into scolding. "You're supposed to be a pirate. Pirates don't care about shit like this. They don't care about pants..." You felt your face burn in embarrassment. Seeing everyone grab all the clothes they wanted and it'd fit like a glove made you feel delusional, stupid.

A gentle knock on the wall made the neck on your hair stand straight. "Hello? Y/n?" A smooth voice called out. You froze in place, eyes wide at the realization: It's Klahadore. Swiftly wiping away at your eyes, you took a deep breath and responded from behind a privacy screen. "I'm here." "Dinner starts in 5 minutes, everyone is expecting you to join us. You're not plotting something, are you?" Jolting, you reach out and try to put on the shorts you walked into the mansion with. Though in your panic, you tripped over a pant leg and knocked over both the tower of clothes you laid out before and the privacy screen that hid you from the butler's view.

A small gasp emitted from Klahadore as he peered down at you on the floor, your pants barely hanging onto your hips. "My word.. are you alright?" You laid there frozen in terror, hesitant to take the hand he reached out. Your gaze was glued to the ground, the embarrassment was just too much. You wanted to sink into the walls of dresses and jackets and suffocate beneath the satin. A gloved hand traced the outline of your face until it held a firm grip on your chin. Tilting your face upwards until your eyes met his, Klahadore spoke up. "I asked if you're alright. If I'm not mistaken, I told you to dress nice too and you're in the same clothes you came in here with. What's taking you so long?" His questions felt like demands, as if you're being interrogated. His voice sent shivers down your spine, everything he says is tactful. Like he wants you to shake under his gaze. Swallowing the lump in your throat and your pride, you speak up. "I couldn't find anything to wear... nothing fit." Your voice grew dim towards the latter half of your admission, but that's what all it took for Klahadore to smile, to be pleased with you answering back.

As he withdrew your hand, your face burned bright. With any luck, you'd faint and no longer have to talk to him. "I was worried of that happening. Unfortunately, Miss Kaya shot down the idea of giving you extra clothing from the servant quarters." He tilted his head to get a better look at your puffy eyes and flushed face. "Is there anything else I should know about?" "Nothing.." "I don't like liars, Y/n. Tell me what's on your mind." His tone, while commanding, felt softer. It's like he's butler first, human later. He's only being kind after getting what he wanted after you.

"I'm just tired of not fitting into things...no matter what I try, I'll always be too big for stuff." You scowled. "I just..I just want to look nice. I want to look and feel good like Zoro or Nami. I don't want servant clothes, Kaya promised we'd look our best and I want to actually feel like it." You felt your nose sting and your eyes water. Klahadore watched you intently, hearing your voice increase in anger and intensity. Taking out a handkerchief, the ex pirate captain wiped away the tears that highlighted your chubby cheeks.

"While I don't have the means to provide you with what you want specifically, I want you to stay here. I'll be back in a minute." He sat you down on the ottoman that sat in the middle of the room and vanished into the dark hallway. However, Klahadore was a man of his word. Within seconds he returned with a folded outfit in hand: black dress pants and a white button up shirt. On top of the outfit though, were a couple of jewelry boxes. Inside revealed a golden necklace with the silhouette of a cat and a matching ring with a similar insignia. "Consider it a gift. It's something I've held onto before Miss Kaya's parents took me in, I think it's time for me to let it go." His smile was small, genuine.

Klahadore waiting outside patiently as you tried on the clothes he's given you. From outside the screens, he could hear a rollercoaster of emotions: fear, disbelief, enjoyment. "Did I choose right for you?" He asked, to which you strutted out to answer his question. Your shirt was tucked in, though largely unbuttoned to show off your chest and most importantly, the necklace. "How does it fit?" You spun around and Klahadore drank in the view. You never hid your curvy figure, only accentuated it. While he holds himself to a high standard, he can't admit that it didn't drive him mad.

He walked up and smoothed down the wrinkles on your shirt, his touch lingering on your shoulders and soft waist. "Fits like a glove." He stood tall wants more and linked his arm with yours. "Now, it's almost time for dinner. It'd be a shame to keep Miss Kaya waiting."

#klahadore #Klahadore x reader #one piece klahadore #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece live action #captain kuro #Captain kuro x reader #x fat reader #plus size reader #x chubby reader

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averagetmntfan · 5 months

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MASTERPOST!

(yeah I copy pasted it from the other acc, don’t sue me)

wassup! Finally, a master post! Am I right?

(TC*ST AND PROSH*PPERS DNI!!)

hi there! I’m Jayah! You can call me jj tho. I’m js here to post a bunch of fun art and maybe some animation stuff? And occasionally, fan fiction >:). I am GenderFluid, and I go by all pronouns. And my sexuality is lesbian! (But I am also aroace)

and my lil gay ass miiiiiiight be possibly maybe simping for someone rn..?? (*cough* a literally drawing)

I also have 12 roleplay blogs! @leontheluxuriousone , @wrecking-it-raphie @gayass-blueberry-mugman, @bendy-the-dancing-doofus, @koi-the-cosplay-boy, @improv-master-mikey , @ask-miss-maple-leaf ,@blue-masked-simp , @mikey-the-magnificent , @no-ditches-no-bitches , @candy-for-the-win and @ask-olive-huchers

my current hyper fixations are: rottmnt, tadc, TBT(trolls: band together/trolls 3), The great north, bobs burgers, the cuphead show, moon girl and devil dinosaur, amphibia, the owl house, tmnt 12, cuphead and mugman in General, KREW, poppy playtime, and a SHIT TON MORE-

btw I swear quite a lot on this, so if that isn’t ur thing, u should click off.

and here’s my sona ref!

DISCLAIMER: please don’t send me werid asks, or gross inappropriate content. I’m a minor.

100 DTIYS!!

• FANART!!: •

Leo goober(@ghosty-0w0)

PRINCESS KOI FR (@mikey-rottmnt)

MY BABIES- (@allyheart707)

MY SONS<333 (@mikey-rottmnt)

YOU MADE ME LOOK SO PRETTY RAAHHH (@mikey-rottmnt)

• ROTTMNT FICS!!!: •

The sand.

The 4 servants Au:

Chapter 1 (ongoing)

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5 Pt.6 Pt.7 pt.8 pt.9 pt.10 pt.11 pt.12

The 4 turtles work peacefully at a competing hotel with the battle nexus, with their beloved father. But one day, everything spirals out of control! And their worlds get flipped upside down! Follow Leo, Donnie, Raph & Mikey on the journey of a life time! And who knows, they might meet some friends along the way, or maybe more…

• DOODLES: •

Pissed off peeps >:[

brace face!!

• FICS: •

(…also none?? But also lost, too-)

• RANDOM STUFF: •

Leo being a dumb-dumb

• ANSWERED ASKS: •

what do the bros do outside of the hotel??

Mikey needs a hug

does raph break stuff often?

Do the bros like Lou Jitsu movies?

How do they feel about working there?

Time beats a dead man

(Collab au w/ @mikey-rottmnt!!)

Pt.1

A silly cuphead and mugman au Abt uh..a lot of stuff. (Heavily inspired by babtqftim)

• FICS: •

picky eater

get served! ..or, maybe later..

portals gone wrong!! 1 2 3

Secret admirer<3

…?

the struggles of school

• HC’S that are canon in this silly au: •

Mugs

Cups and mugs (cups are not Canon)

How to hug the gang!!

• DRAWINGS: •

Human mugs doodles

chip and Dale!!

Koi and mugs being gay

KOI CANON IN TCHS?!

Rock paper scissors

• some lore: •

mugs lore

Hs! Mugs and euro…

Mug and cup lore

Main crews fav ice cream!!

cup lore (belongs to Ari)

Pipsqueak!

(Coming soon..?)

“Small turtle, and even bigger problems.”

#<3 #tmnt 2018 #rottmnt mikey #save rottmnt #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt #rottmnt leo #rottmnt raph #rottmnt au #the 4 servants au #T4S #pipsqueak AU!#tbadm au

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momotonescreaming · 11 months

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I went digging through my fics, and found this. Absolutely no idea when I wrote this, or if I shared it already, but I can't stop thinking about it. Enjoy.

It’s the 1800’s, and Steve is the first born and only son of Richard Harrington, heir to the Harrington fortune. Expectations have been placed upon him since he was born, and it only got worse as he got older. He was too kind, liked flowers, and playing in the mud, and learning about horses and carriages and trains, and sitting with his mother while she put on make up and had her ladies maid do her hair. Then came the lessons from the private tutor (since the Harrington’s were too good for the local school) and Steve wasn’t as book smart as his father wanted him to be.

His father was mean and his mother was scared and so Steve spent a lot of time out in the fields as a young boy, wandering the land his father owned, picking up sticks and pretending to be a sheriff or an adventurer riding a fast horse into the sunset.

So he played until it got dark and Steve still didn’t go back home. Dad would yell and Mom would give him That Look and he didn’t want to change into his fancy dinner clothes. So Steve stays out late and wanders.

There are things living in the woods.

Things with teeth that hunt and kill and make people disappear. But no one tells poor little Steve this. He gets attacked by a wolf that isn’t quite a wolf, and screams so so loud.

Nobody hears him.

One of his father’s farmhands find him in the woods in the early morning. His clothes are ripped and he’s dirty and covered in blood but he doesn’t have any wounds, save for one single wolf bite. The man rushes him back to the Harrington Manor House, and someone calls the doctor. Steve is bathed, and fed, and checked over and the doctor tells his parents that he’s lucky it wasn’t worse. He gets better and goes back to his lessons.

Next month he gets a fever. Steve is sweaty and delirious, and hungry and itchy and restless and nothing quite helps. He blacks out one night and when he wakes up he’s curled up on the hardwood floor and all his furniture has been ripped apart. The servants whisper the word “werewolf” in the halls.

His parents fire half the servants, pay them off to keep their mouth shut, and hire someone who can help. A friendly woman named Mrs Henderson, whose dead ex-husband was a werewolf like Steve. She teaches him what she can while Richard Harrington hires men to build a stone basement underneath a small cottage at the very back of the Harrington Land. Where no one can see.

So Steve grows up, he falls in love, he finds out his sweetheart Nancy doesn’t love him, he befriends Dustin Henderson, and then Robin Buckley - a dorky local girl who plays the trumpet and works at a store in town. And once a month, he takes himself down to the basement of the cottage, and turns into a werewolf. Mrs Henderson could only help so much, not being a Werewolf herself. His control is better than it was, but he still doesn’t trust himself. So chained in the basement it is.

Then there’s Eddie Munson, the poor son of an outlaw living with his uncle in a tiny house in the town of Hawkins. Grew up learning how to break the law with his father, how to live off the land, how to shoot and hunt and survive. He hated it, little Eddie wanted to learn to play the guitar and read and tell stories. But Pa didn’t give him much of a choice. Until Ma died and Pa spiralled and ended up getting caught and shipped off to prison. So he went to live with his uncle Wayne. And he made friends, and told stories, and started writing.

And then he watched a girl die and got blamed for her murder. So he’s on the run, and he knows how to survive but not when he doesn’t have any supplies. And not in a town where everyone knows his name and his face. So he runs. And he hides. First in his friend Rick's, who’s away in jail or on a job or something. Eddie's not sure and he really doesn't care right now. But he gets close to getting caught again. So he runs again until he finds a barn, semi abandoned in the middle of nowhere.

He’s close to the Harrington’s land, this he knows. But everyone knows they travel for business all the time, so it’s fine.

Except it’s not.

He’s tired and hungry and scared and it’s dark. There’s a light in the distance - lantern. He ducks down, waiting. Except it’s not the Sheriff, or Jason Carver (who took it upon himself to become a bounty hunter, to avenge the death of his sweetheart). It’s Steve Harrington. The semi-estranged, semi-reclusive Harrington heir, who looks grim and angry as he storms across the field. And he doesn’t see Eddie, doesn’t look at the barn, doesn’t even have a horse.

Steve goes into the cottage and Eddie doesn’t know whether to stay put until he leaves in the morning or make a run for it. Eddie is still paralysed with fear and indecision when he notices the full moon in the sky.

He hears a guttural scream, the snap of bone, a howling; and Eddie remembers the stories his Uncle Wayne would tell him of the things that live in the woods.

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #pre steddie #werewolf au #western au #momo.txt #honestly this fucks #past me knew whats up #no idea on how this goes though lmao #past me did not make notes #my writing

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georgies-ftts · 1 year

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just another Merlin headcanon/fic idea that i may or may not write… (AU: Post canon/nobody dies, Arthur knows about Merlin’s magic but not quite what Merlin does for Camelot in his spare time)

Merlin and Arthur have been teetering around each other since the Battle. Arthur showing a more protective and outwardly caring side to the younger man. Merlin leaving lingering touches and soft glances whenever he’s able, defending Arthur more openly and strongly to those he never would’ve dared to before.

The Knights have bets on their relationship. Leon is winning. Gwaine is in debt. Percival wants to rip his hair out, Lancelot and Eylan are secretly betting on Gwaine going bankrupt before Merlin and Arthur even admit their feelings out loud.

After a particularly close encounter with his servant, soon to be court sorcerer, Arthur finally works up the courage to ask Merlin if he feels the same as he does, to tell Merlin that marrying for an heir is what the court want, he wants to marry for love, and he loves Merlin.

He asks Merlin, by a letter that he thinks gives a clear light to his intentions, to meet him outside the castle, in a spot they sometimes sit at together when the days have been long and stressful. The spot where the moonlight shines brightly over the flowers and the grass is somehow soft year round and in the summer a small refreshing cross breeze is created by the way the trees are sprayed out scarcely before them.

But Merlin never shows and Arthur feels embarrassed, hurt, somehow more betrayed than when Merlin revealed the gold dragon within the flames of the fire but he understands that Merlin must’ve read Arthur’s intentions loud and clear and saved him the mortifying rejection of his manservant. So instead he turns to avoiding Merlin, that seeing him after the clear rejection would only send him into a spiral so he tries his best to stay away.

However he notices that, despite his effort to avoid him, he hasn’t seen the sorcerer anywhere at all, his chores untouched, a dreadful feeling that hasn’t been there until that morning fills the air. It’s obvious the others within the castle feel it too.

Arthur turns to the knights, questioning if they have seen Merlin, if he is okay and well, but they have not seen him and that only causes Arthur to panic more.

He sends the guards to search the castle, the stables, Gwens house, even the small opening by the lake where Merlin traipses off to when he’s feeling rough, when he’s hiding. But he’s never gone this long.

He orders them to tear Camelot apart if they have too.

But he’s found in none of those places.

Instead Merlin and Gwaine find him, bloody, broken and shivering beneath the castle where he hasn’t been able to move himself for the past two days even calling for help had been pointless so far below the occupied layers of the castle.

Merlin is rushed to Gauis as he his eyes flutter and Arthur can do nothing but sit and panic as Merlin’s wounds are tended too.

Once he is awake and competent Arthur sits beside his cot and, though it feels wrong too, he questions him deeply, his voice tremors and his fingers shake but he does it anyway.

And Merlin tells him everything, how he received the letter and his heart almost gave up on itself at the thought of alone time with the King, how he’d been sneaking around near the stores, trying to find a bottle of wine or two just before their meeting so they could truly relax after a stressful council meeting and had caught the assassin that had been snooping low in the castle. A poisoned dagger strapped to his belt.

He had been strong and relentless and had nearly left Merlin with less than his life but Merlin had fought for Arthur and he had won, even if he ended the scrap with blood coating his body and an ache in his ribs that made him hiss and cough with each movement.

That even before Arthur knew about his magic this had been a large part of his daily life, to keep Arthur safe and to never let him know just how much it hurt him, how much it broke him. He jokes that he doesn’t even know where the tavern is.

But Arthur echos that now he doesn’t need to hide, he can ask for help, and he will receive it.

Then Arthur realises that Merlin truly had no idea what he was going to ask him and he knows that if he doesn’t do it now he won’t ever be able too again.

So he asks.

And Merlin replies.

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poemsfromthealley · 10 months

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[fic] Servant of the Spiral (2/10)

Read Chapter II on ao3.

Shadowhunters. Alec x Magnus. M. Chapter 2/10. 4,400 words.

Summary:

This is the story: in the holy heart of the world, a heretic kneels down, and entreats the exalted dead for power. Magnus knows he's good for one thing: he's the most gifted summoner seen in a generation. He can save the world, which is besieged by an ancient terror. In the first steps of his quest, he runs into the one man who might see him safe through it: Alec, a warrior sworn to the faith but put before an impossible choice by his family. The journey will bind them together in ways neither of them could have imagined.

Final Fantasy X / Shadowhunters fusion

summoner!Magnus & guardian!Alec

road trip to save the world (& show them all)

bodyguard romance / battle couple / reluctant allies to lovers

In this part: Ideological clashes! Salvage ships (with bonus Catarina)! Peril at sea! Or start from Chapter I.

#shadowhunters #final fantasy x #malec #malec fanfic #alec lightwood #magnus bane #alec x magnus #fic: servant of the spiral #fic by j

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thanotaphobia · 7 months

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diplomatic affairs

It's Missa's first time at a Federation-hosted Summit. His goals are pretty simple, all things considered: 1. Don't spill any state secrets. 2. Be of service to his kingdom. 3. Don't die.

And apparently, a secret fourth thing: Don't fall in love. It's not as simple as it looks.

introducing my first multichapter qsmp fic letsfuckinggooooo

crossposted to ao3

⋆

Despite all appearances, Missa doesn’t actually like crowds. He finds them hard to get by in, whirling languages and words spiraling around his head and not so much confusing him as they do overwhelm.

Add alcohol into the mix, and some people would consider him a downright introvert. He doesn’t drink often, but at a party like this, with people in shimmering dress and glittering jewels, he thinks that not having a champagne flute in your hand is something like social suicide. Across the room, Missa watches a woman in a soft, blue velvet gown effortlessly hand off an empty glass to a servant and take another off their tray, sliding herself back into conversation with a graceful smile and a tactful touch of her gloved hand to a chunky necklace weighing down her neck. He wishes he could be like that, like the men in uniform talking at the front of the room, the tittering groups of confident people around him.

But he’s not, so he sips the same glass of champagne he’s had for the past hour carefully and finds an open set of balcony doors. The golden light of the ballroom casts long strips of honey onto the stone floors and out across the railings, disappearing into the cool night air of the gardens below. Missa escapes into the space, where the noise is dampened some and the warm stuffy air is replaced by a cool breeze.

He leans against the rail, staring out. Above him, stars glitter. Below, the whisper of palace gardens and beyond that, the shimmering lights of a city spread out on the hillside. Another reason he feels so awkward: this is not his home. His home is a two week carriage ride away, and he feels the distance acutely.

In his grasp, his flute swirls left and then right, almost lazily. He watches the liquid inside it slosh around, and lets out a soft huff of air. It’s not even bubbly anymore– long gone flat. Missa lifts it to his lips.

“Excuse me,” someone says behind him. Missa jumps– the rim of his glass bumps against his teeth and he just barely manages to bite back a cry of pain. Instead, he just makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat and raises one hand to cover his mouth. When he turns, a blond man is standing, haloed by golden light coming from the ballroom. He’s looking at Missa with two blue eyes, wide with alarm. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s okay,” Missa says. He means it– the pain is already receding, and he tongues over his teeth to make sure he doesn’t taste blood. When he doesn’t, he lowers his hand from his mouth carefully. “Ah– it’s okay! I’m okay.”

“You sure, mate?” the man asks, stepping forward. “Can I get you something?”

“I’m fine,” Missa says, dipping his head quickly. “You just– startled me.”

“Not the intention, I promise,” the man says, holding two hands up and laughing a little. “I was just going to ask if you wouldn’t mind some company.”

“No,” Missa says. He’s better at one on one interactions, but an itch of anxiety creeps up inside him anyway. “No, that’s okay. I don’t mind.”

“Cool,” the man says. He steps up to the railing beside Missa, and he gets a closer look at the man’s face– slightly lined, blond hair tied back into a small ponytail at the base of his skull. He looks worn, but not defeated. A red flower is pinned to the lapel of his suit jacket. Missa glances down at his own, and the blue flower on his own. “So how have you been enjoying it?” the man asks abruptly, once again startling Missa out of his own mind.

“Enjoying…?” Missa trails off, a little confused.

The man looks over at him, raises a brow. “The talks?”

Right. Right. The whole reason Missa’s here. He wants to press his palm to his forehead and cool the rushing blood that comes to his face, but he tries to compose himself and succeeds by looking out over the city below them again.

“The talks,” he manages to squeak out. “They’ve been good, I think.”

“I saw you in a few of the sessions this morning,” the man says. Missa looks over at him, more serious now; he studies the man’s face again, and realizes quietly that he also has seen him around. “Missa, right?”

“Yeah,” Missa says. His name has no title– it was a clause of neutrality that all titles should be dropped when in the house of discussion. He searches his memory for the man’s name and struggles to put a name to him. “And you��re…”

“Phil,” he says, holding out one hand. “We haven’t formally met.”

Oh, now he knows this man.

Missa shakes the hand of the Angel of Death and is very, very brave about it. A decorated soldier, although the shiny buttons that would insinuate his status have been left at the door. He’s heard lots about this man, Philza Minecraft– Phil, apparently– and most of it has been incredibly bloody. But the man himself stands a slight inch shorter than Missa himself and while he holds himself with confidence and decorum, he… isn’t very scary. Might be the contrast of his red flower to his blue eyes, Missa thinks. The red doesn’t suit his face.

“It’s good to meet you,” he says.

“First time at a Summit?” Phil asks. Missa balks, but only for a moment.

“How’d you know?”

“You look nervous. Everyone looks nervous, their first time. It’s alright, it’s just the first introductions this morning, the opening gala now, and then everyone buckles down tomorrow afternoon for the real shit.”

“How many have you been to?”

“Oh, a few.” At that, Phil grins at him, half his face caught in the light. “So what do you think of it all so far?”

Missa mulls over the meetings he’s attended in his head. He glances back at the ballroom, eyes the waiters gliding around on silent feet with faces covered by white gauze, then says, “I think there are a lot of strong people on all sides.”

“Huh. I can see why you’re here.”

“It’s true,” Missa argues. “Each of us seem to have our problem starters and our problem solvers. I like to think we can come to a good conclusion, but at the same time, I don’t know.”

“Too early to tell?”

“I am hopeful for peace.”

“Same,” Phil says. “But like I said, I’ve been to a few of these and nothing’s happened yet in the past fifteen years, so.”

Missa has to concede his point. It might be his first time attending one of the Summits held by the Federation of Unity, but they’ve been happening for years now. And despite the constant talks of peace and love and no more war– it’s continued on anyway. By now, the Summits are basically just glorified parties for the elite, where they can shed their royal cloaks and crowns for a fortnight and pretend like they all like each other. Missa has heard some wild tales of what happens at these things, but so far it’s been pretty tame. He feels almost paranoid to step out of place, especially under the watchful, faceless gazes of the waiters.

“Don’t sound so excited,” Missa says dryly, despite it. Phil laughs, bending over slightly as he leans against the rail, and smiles out into the dark.

“It’s fine,” he says, dragging the word out. “We’ll have some fun, spread some rumors. Charlie Slimecicle and Mariana will fuck, probably.”

Missa chokes, nearly drops his glass. “What?”

Phil laughs again, turning around and squinting. Then, after a second, he raises one hand and gestures towards the ballroom. Missa turns around and looks where he’s pointing, rising up onto his tiptoes to see through the crowd.

“Charlie’s with me,” Phil says, and Missa spots Mariana after a second, then another man next to him with brown hair and glasses, a red flower on his jacket. “He and Mariana have consistently uhhh, well. They’ve been… together, yeah let’s go with that. They’ve been together for the last like three Summits and had screaming fights every time.”

This is news to Missa. “I know Mariana,” he says, watching enraptured as Slimecicle leans in and whispers in Mariana’s ear. “He never said–”

“Nobody really talks about it when we’re not here,” Phil says. “What happens at a Summit stays at a Summit.”

“Seems dumb,” Missa says, shaking his head. “Aren’t we supposed to– to cooperate?”

“One would think,” Phil says. He looks over at Missa, eyes flicking down. “Hey, are you going to finish that?”

Missa looks down at his half-empty, flat champagne. “Oh. No. Do you–”

“Sure.” Phil takes it from him and downs it with ease. Missa watches, the light striking against his Adam’s apple as it bobs, then Phil lowers the glass from his mouth and lets out a breath through his teeth. “Alright. Let’s get you another one.”

“I don’t drink,” Missa says quickly.

“It’s a party, mate,” Phil says, “Of course you drink,” and Missa doesn’t argue further as he’s herded inside like a cat. He thinks going against Phil wouldn’t be the smartest move– and he would be lying to himself if he wasn’t a little curious. Phil finds a Federation waiter and takes two glasses from them, handing one to Missa. He takes a little sip and the bubbles burst like candy on his tongue, the sharp tang of alcohol making the inside of his mouth and the back of his throat warm. Phil is watching him, and Missa watches him back in turn.

“So what’s your role?” Phil asks. Missa blinks.

What is his role? It’s not something he’s thought too much about, although perhaps he should’ve. His role is support, he thinks. A shoulder for his teammates to lean on, brought by direct order of the king. He’s pretty sure he was a last minute addition, the first new person– he has to stop, remind himself not to even think about his country’s name– the first new person the blues have brought in a few years. Of course he’d caught the attention of someone like Phil. Maybe that’s his role. A distraction.

“Diplomacy,” he says, but he’s pretty sure the long pause before his answer gave away the thought he put into it. Internally, he curses himself.

“Pretty sure we’re all here for that,” Phil points out, a brow raised.

“Exactly,” Missa says, hoping he comes across smoother than he feels. He’s not lying, at least. “So why do you… why do you look surprised?”

“I don’t,” Phil says, despite looking skeptical throughout this whole conversation. Missa’s about to open his mouth again and say something, probably something stupid, when something catches his attention. A blue flower pinned to a jacket, approaching at a quick pace, the face above the lapel a familiar one. Missa stands up a little straighter and Phil clearly notices, glancing over his shoulder as a short young man with two-toned brown and blonde hair.

“Hello, gentlemen,” he says, sidling up to their conversational space.

“Your–” Missa remembers a split second too late they’re on Federation territory, and quickly recovers with, “You’re here!”

“Sure am, bossman,” Tubbo says, looking at him with a quizzical expression. “We did arrive in the same carriage after all.” Phil coughs into his hand, covering a laugh, and Missa feels his cheeks go red. Thankfully, Tubbo turns his attention to Phil and Missa can relax somewhat. “Mister Za.”

“Tubbo,” Phil says genially, raising his glass at him. “Long time no see. How’s the weapon of mass destruction going?”

“Hey now,” Tubbo says, grinning and elbowing Phil in the side. “Hey now, Philza, I’m sure I didn’t hear you right, did I? Did I? Talking politics at the opening gala?”

“I would never,” Phil says, resting his hand lightly above his heart. Missa lifts his own glass to his mouth and swallows a large mouthful. For some reason, with Tubbo’s arrival, he feels like he might need it.

“I see you’ve kidnapped our newest attendee,” Tubbo says, and Missa sends him a mental message over their brainwaves and with the slightest widening of his eyes– help me. “Mind if I steal him back?”

“All yours,” Phil says, but Missa doesn’t miss the way the man looks a little disappointed.

“You can pick his brain for info at a later date,” Tubbo says, grabbing Missa’s arm. He’s shorter than Missa by a hot minute, and he almost has to bend down for it to actually make sense. “Until tomorrow, old man.”

“Bye, Tubbo,” Phil says. He smiles at Missa, the crow’s eyes crinkling at the edges of his temples. “Nice to meet you, Missa.”

Missa barely has time to squeak out, “You too,” before Tubbo is dragging him away. Once they’re out of sight, Tubbo heaves a giant sigh.

“Man, that guy is an asshole,” he says, and Missa splutters.

“He seemed nice.”

“He’s a manipulative prick. And a deadly one at that. I’m just glad you don’t know enough to accidentally spill any important beans. The beans must be contained, Missa. Keep it straight. Or, at least– keep it honest.” Tubbo gives his arm a little shake as Missa digests all that. He barely has a moment before there’s another weight on his other side, and he looks down to find Tina clutching his other arm.

“Missa!” she says cheerfully. Her cheeks are rosy and her hair is done up intricately on top of her head, crowned with a few flowers. Her dress, a brilliant gauzy pink, flows around her legs like water. “Who were you talking to! Tubbo, who was he talking to?”

“Philza,” Tubbo says before Missa can answer her. She gasps.

“The angel?” she asks. “No way! He’s so scary.”

“He wasn’t that bad,” Missa says quickly.

“That’s what he wants you to think,” Tubbo points out. “It’s all part of the game here. Make you think he’s not so scary, make you trust him–”

“And then he stabs you in the back!” Tina says a little too loudly. She even makes a stabbing motion to go with it, her wrist twisting out into the open air in front of them. Missa pats her arm. He has no idea what to think anymore– even if Tubbo and Tina are right, Phil had still been cordial, and isn’t the whole point of a Summit to come to agreement?

“Tubbo,” he says, turning slightly to look at the other. “Tubbo, are we even here to…”

“To…?”

“Work together?”

Tubbo’s eyes furrow and his brows draw tightly together. “Missa,” he says. “You know it’s… well, it’s complicated. But sure, we’re here to work together.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Missa asks, and Tubbo, who has pointedly not been looking at him for the past thirty seconds, pats his arm and breaks away.

“We can talk about it later, my guy. Now, everyone says the opening gala isn’t meant to be political, myself included, but let’s be real. Everyone’s digging for info. It’s my turn. You guys have fun, don’t get too wasted.”

“Okay, says you,” Tina says, rolling her eyes. Tubbo grins cheekily at her, turning away. Missa is left bereft, still bursting to the brim with questions but his mouth is sticky and tacky, not wanting to move. The cotton in his throat is hard to swallow past, so he just takes a long sip of the dry champagne. It does nothing to loosen his tongue, so he takes a bigger swig and is surprised to find the flute empty.

Tina’s been talking at him for the last thirty seconds, he realizes.

“–says that when last time he was the one to get so drunk he couldn’t come to the meeting the next morning. So they moved it this year, so all the discussion takes place in the afternoon tomorrow to give us time to recover! It’s Tubbo’s fault! It usually is– I think the Federation really doesn’t like him, but who am I to tell?” She giggles, hand over her mouth. “Don’t tell them I said that though. Or Tubbo. He’s a fan of the Feds, or at least, one Fed. If you know what I mean.”

Missa has a feeling he does not know what she means. The champagne flute has apparently magically left his hand. The world is dancing around him, ghostly lights flickering in front of his eyes. Tina seems to notice his distance and reaches up on her toes to pat his cheek– the force of it drags him back down to earth.

“Man, you good?” she asks. “Did that angel say something to you or what?”

“Phil?” Missa asks.

Tina raises a brow. “Is that his name? I thought he was a Minecraft.”

“You don’t know?”

“I dunno, I’ve never been brave enough to ask.”

“He approached me,” Missa says. “On a balcony.”

“He sniffs out his victims that way. Ooo, do you want to hear a rumor I heard about the reds? Something about toxic gas–”

“You know we aren’t supposed to gossip.” A new voice cuts through them, and Missa jumps about twelve feet into the air, yelping a little. Behind him, Bad laughs, coming around Missa’s right. “Oh, sorry Missa!”

"Oh, not this guy again," Tina complains, scoffing and rolling her eyes. “I can gossip all I want, mister party pooper.”

"Hey!" Bad frowns. "I thought you were better than that, Tina."

“Nope,” Tina says. Missa smiles at his two friends– people he knows are safe. They’re an island in a raging ocean of confusion right now, with languages and people surrounding him like hungry sharks. Missa is a fish out of water. But Tina and Bad bickering? That’s the most normal thing in the world.

“How are you, Missa?” Bad asks, looking at him. His hair has been pulled back into a slick ponytail, glasses perched delicately on his nose. As Missa watches, he pushes them up with one finger. “Anyone bothering you?”

“No,” Missa says, deciding not to tell Bad about Philza. He thinks that would be unwise. Tina also keeps her mouth shut, thankfully, and Missa’s heart swells with fondness. “Just enjoying the night.”

“It is beautiful out here,” Bad says, turning to look at the crowd of dancers. Then he glances around again, a frown sneaking onto his face. “I’m not the biggest fan of the Federation workers, though. I always forget how creepy they are.”

“You’re being mean, Bad,” Tina says. “They’re just workin’!”

“I don’t like not being able to see their faces,” Bad explains, and Missa can understand that. Occasionally he’ll catch a glimpse of a Federation waiter out of the corner of his eye, and something about the stark-white uniforms and fluttering gauzy mask makes his whole body startle.

“Just stay out of their way,” Bad says, patting Missa on the shoulder. “And you’ll be fine.”

“I’m not nervous,” Missa challenges, even though he’d expressed the exact opposite to Bad on the way here.

“I know a good way to calm down,” Tina says, smirking. She grabs Missa’s hand and jumps up and down a few times on the balls of her heels, face flushing red like roses. “Come dance with me! Come dance with me!”

“I can dance with you, Tina,” Bad says.

“Nope, no thanks,” Tina says. “I want to dance with Missa. Come on, come dance!”

“Oh, I don’t–”

“You can’t say no. I’m literally vetoing it,” Tina says firmly. “We can’t let those lessons Tubbo got you go to waste.”

“Fine,” Missa says, laughing a little as Tina laughs with glee. If it makes her happy, he doesn’t mind. Plus, the alcohol he’s consumed makes him a little looser, a little more eager to say yes. He’s in a foreign country with his friends and free reign to let loose for one night– no politics, no duties, no stress. Missa feels something lift from his shoulders, even as Tina’s hands settle into place and lead him out onto the dance floor.

“Have fun!” Bad calls out behind them. Tina sticks her tongue out where only Missa can see, and he laughs with her as they fall into step together, dancing like second nature.

“He’s so dumb,” Tina complains, and Missa lets her talk until she gets tired of talking. He likes Tina a lot– she’s comforting, and smart, and cool. She seems so confident all the time, and he knows from experience how sweet she can be. Eventually they’re both just dancing in silence except for the occasional humming from Tina, spinning in circles with a dozen other pairs.

“Tina,” Missa finally says, a question bubbling to the surface. “Earlier, Philza mentioned– Charlie and Mariana?”

“Oh yeah,” Tina says, blowing air into her cheeks. They puff up like a chipmunk, deflating as she lets out a stream of air. “Old news.”

“What about you?”

“What what about me?”

“Do you have anyone here?”

Tina goes quiet again. Missa almost thinks she’s crossed a line before she tugs him down a little. He puts his hands on her waist, lifts her a half-turn, her dress whirling like a cloud at sunset.

“Her name’s Bagi,” Tina says, right at the point where Missa is about to faint with anxiety.

“Oh,” he says, then sighs. Thank goodness. He glances around, once, twice. “Point her out?”

Tina purses her lips and he lifts her again, her hair dusting along his eyes this time. She giggles when he sets her down, and they dance another room length before she nods. “Over there,” she says, her eyes locked onto someone across the way. “She’s green.”

Missa looks, and finds a woman and a man in the direction Tina gestured; they’re talking– arguing, more like it, based on the way he’s gesturing and she’s standing there with a sour look. The matching streaks of white through their hair is interesting, as is the fact she’s green and he’s red.

“Her?” Missa asks.

Tina nods, a dreamy look in her eye. “She’s so pretty, isn’t she?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“The guy’s Cellbit. He’s a jerk. Don’t talk to him.”

“Are they–”

“Siblings. It’s a long story. Ask Bagi sometime. I’ll introduce you two.”

“Okay.” Missa smiles, and she smiles back. He’s starting to get tired of dancing, and Tina apparently is too, but the music switches from something upbeat to a slower song and it’s easier then.

During this is when Missa looks over, and finds Phil watching him. He’s standing beside two other men, one of which has a shock of white hair and a fluffy white cravat, the other bald and intense. They’re both wearing green flowers and talking amongst themselves, but in the moment he finds himself watching them, Phil is staring right at Missa through the crowds.

He catches his gaze and feels himself flush. His heart literally skips a beat, feeling as though someone’s reached their hand inside his ribcage and squeezed. His breath catches– he quickly looks away. Some people come between them and, when he glances over next, Phil isn’t looking anymore. He’s talking to the two green men, animated and smiling.

“You okay?” Tina asks. When he looks down at her (heart racing, pounding, cheeks burning) she’s smiling at him, kind and sweet and familiar. He takes a minute to calm his nerves and straighten his spine.

“Yeah,” he says. Tina laughs and spins him around, her gloved hands like ice on his shoulders.

The next time Missa looks over to where Phil had been standing, the man is gone.

#qsmp #q!missa #q!philza #team soulfire #pissa #phissa #qsmp purgatory #back to my fantasy worldbuilding roots #get ready for some sweet sweet angst #this is a pissa fic but im going to be introducing literally everyone i can soooooooooooooooooooooo #my writing

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