#BRING ME THE SILVER CRYSTAL! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vultbae · 16 days

Text

negroni ✩

art donaldson x female reader

↳ summary: After winning against Patrick, Art takes the night off to grab a few drinks at the Ritz Carlton lobby bar. There, he meets a profound admirer.

Things go wrong with the girl who bought him a Negroni.

↳ warnings: fingering (minors dni), age gap (reader is 22), manipulation, infidelity, angst towards end.

↳ extra warnings: english is not my first language pookies + my first fic + yall I'm messyy so I added drama out of nowhere. if u read this I love u thank u for giving me a chance

word count: 4.9k

✩

"Excuse me, no smoking."

The blonde man lifts his chin to encounter a young waitress warning him about the cigarette dangling off his mouth. His middle and index fingers immediately approach the cigarette and gradually pull the filtered end from between his lips. "Sorry." Art frankly apologizes.

The waitress's purposeful avoidance of directly looking at him makes Art borderline giggle. He can't help but discreetly give her a comprehensive look; the girl is attractive, with velvety skin that impersonates caramel and peaceful facial features. He shushes all the pushy thoughts resembling the waitress to his wife staying upstairs. He is not that desperate, plus, everyone knows he is married to the Tashi Duncan.

Art audibly clears his throat and articulates before the young woman strolls away, "Can you get me a Negroni, please?" He requests, showcasing a courteous smile. The woman nods.

He didn't even realize when he positioned the cigarette between his lips. He had been anxiously waiting for an instance when he could be alone -at least since the match against Patrick. Tashi cheerfully agreed to let him descend to the lobby bar to grab a few drinks.

✩

Art had been attentively scanning his frame on the wide mirror and adjusting strands and strands of hair as he paid more attention to his hairstyle; his somber eyes descended from his impeccable hair to the unfastened buttons of his seersucker shirt, revealing a fraction of silk-like, gloomy skin from chest to lower stomach, his well-grooved muscles casting shadows under the bathroom's dim yellow lighting.

"I'm going out!" Art shouted from the bathroom as he fastened the remaining buttons of his shirt.

From the corner of his eye, he sensed Tashi approaching the bathroom doorframe and standing by it. Art tilted his head up to encounter Tashi, his wife, silently grinning, dressed in a beautiful pearl-white silk robe, "I won't be gone for more than an hour-

"It's fine," Tashi interrupted. "I'll watch a movie with Lily. We can talk about it later."

Art nodded. His eyes stared at her with minor fascination. Tashi couldn't figure out why, but the feral spark on Art's orbs evaporated. She walked away.

Art slightly opened his mouth to say something but suddenly cut himself off, lips slamming together. He didn't say anything. He allowed the slim figure of his wife to vanish from his eyesight. He authorized himself to go out alone for the first time in years and think about his relationship with Tashi and tennis -if, at this point, they were not equal. And his relationship with Patrick, of course.

After today, he felt things he hadn't felt in a while.

✩

An insistent tap on his shoulder provokes Art to flinch and abruptly land on earth again.

"Excuse me, Negroni..?" Another waiter says in a quivering voice—a statement rather than a question—hardly maintaining eye contact. He is holding a tiny round silver tray with a bloody-looking Negroni sitting on it.

Before the amateur waiter can shakily grasp the crystal glass to place it on Art's table, Art raises his arm and moves the Negroni himself. As soon as he places the glass on the marmol table's surface, his long fingers seize the thin wedge of orange embellishing the glass, bringing it to his lips and sucking on it instantly.

He doesn't realize that the one time he and the waiter are maintaining eye contact is while he sucks on a slice of orange -slowly.

"Thank you." Art says, dragging the wedge out of his mouth, detecting the scarcity of color on the waiter's facial canvas. "Why is he so pale?" Art thinks. The meddling stare from the waiter endures for maybe five seconds before Art frowns his eyebrows slightly in confusion; the poor guy nearly jogs away from Art's table.

Does he carry that much power over people? It has been long since Art calculatedly flirted with or attempted to gain someone's attention. To be accurate, since Tashi entered his life. He has officially lost the "open-to-the-public" charming spark and neglected his intrinsically flirty side.

But today, for some reason, he feels different than usual. Not that he is trying to test it...

The Ritz lobby bar is moderately quiet. Art peeks at a few travelers relaxing with their baggage as they sip cocktails in miniature glasses and couples drinking -"probably pre-gaming before a night out," Art assumes. His gaze disembarks over two guys in their premature 20s, brunette, and blonde, chuckling and vividly chitchatting about topics he can't overhear properly. Art is hooked to the scenario in front of him as he stares enthusiastically: it bitterly reminds him of his friendship with Patrick, whom he hasn't heard of since the match.

As he finds himself —once again— daydreaming about what once was, Art takes decent-sized sips of his Negroni, with his right hand hugging the crystal glass just right. He is sitting on one of the many hickory brown leather armchairs dispersed across the bar, manspreading as his left hand lays over his lap.

Suddenly, a personal reflection pops into his mind like a light bulb unexpectedly turning on; what is he doing? Sitting submerged in loneliness in a 5-star hotel lobby bar will not change anything. It simply won't. He would rather go back to the suite and have some pleasing fucking sleep. He is feeling tired, and confused, and depressed, and—

Well, If anything, people who recognize him could come and disturb his night.

Art locks eyesight with the first waiter wandering across his vision field; he pitches a writing motion with his hand and requests the bill. As the waiter walks in his direction, he chugs down the leftover sips of cocktail in the glass.

"Bill?" Another waiter wearing a burgundy uniform asks Art. The tennis player shakes his head up and down, murmuring a yes please, "Don't worry, on the house."

"I can afford it." Art stresses, with a robust sarcastic undertone tinting his voice tone while attempting to maintain the most benevolent smile on his catalog.

The waiter chuckles in exaggerated glee. "I know, Mr. Donaldson. Your bill has been cleared by another customer," he clarifies, standing in front of Art with the straightest stance and hands intertwined in the manifestation of hospitality. The waiter clears his throat, "Actually, by the young woman over there," and discreetly points his finger at the stools by the bar gantry.

Art's gaze dashes over to a woman standing by the bar gantry. He can only see her back, not her complete complexion. Although he has internally accepted this demeanor as improper, he allows his eyes to scan over the woman's silhouette freely, lingering a little longer on her legs. In the background, he can faintly attend to the waiter talking about hotel-specific branch issues and how stays such as his and Tashi's benefit the hotel's branding -isn't this the Ritz Carlton?

"Yes, I agree." Art blurts out as soon as he realizes the waiter has concluded his monologue, his gaze glued to the enigmatic female standing five meters away from him.

"Thank you, Mr. Donaldson. Have a great night." Just as Art opened his mouth to greet him in return, the waiter had already shifted on his feet to approach another table.

Art reevaluates what he is about to do. Should he greet her, thank her, or gently communicate how unmannered it can be to buy a married man a drink?

But also, what if it's an obsessed groupie attempting to instigate drama?

It doesn't matter. Buying Art Donaldson a drink is disrespectful. Literally everyone —quite literally everyone— who knows Donaldson knows he is married to Tashi Duncan!

Come on, a woman, unattended in a bar, buying me a drink? Art thinks.Of course, she has hidden intentions, he reassures himself. Art shifts on the armchair, resting his elbows on his knees, still pondering whether he should approach her.

Why isn't he simply disregarding this and walking away?

He hadn't felt so much excitement about something so childish in a while. It felt like being nineteen again. After hugging Patrick today, he sensed a heartwarming relief regarding Tashi cheating on him. But, on the other hand, he's a fucking human.

Fuck it. He just wants to chat with the girl and perhaps communicate that she shouldn't do that again. Right, that's it.

Art picks up his belongings and strides towards her.

"Hey, sorry..." Art speaks, dragging the stool beside the woman and grinning warily at her. His soothing, recognizable tone of voice instantly captures her attention.

Art expected many things, but not a drop-dead gorgeous woman. A girl. She looks...young— not underage kind of young, but unquestionably not over twenty-five. On the other hand, as a well-known tennis player, he's had plenty of exquisite-looking women begging for attention; Tashi herself is stunning. Somehow, this woman left his lungs tightening for a sizzling second, which is concerning.

Plus, her aroma. Jesus, the scent, Art thinks. He would continuously go weak on the knees when Tashi wore that damn tangy, dark cherry fragrance she had. He immediately identified the distinct smell.

"Mr. Donaldson, oh my god..." The girl's voice pitches high, and she extends her right hand in his stomach direction as if she had been rehearsing for this moment. "I didn't believe you would accept the drink," she adds enthusiastically.

Her voice is too harmonious for his ears.

Art stretches his hand and shakes hers. "Well, I didn't." Art retorts, unconsciously smirking at the girl's harmless bliss, "I was pretty much obligated to accept the free Negroni."

"Well, either way, I am honored," she says with a slight shrug and giggles, "Names Y/n; by the way, very nice to meet you, Mr. Donaldson. Big fan of yours"

"Nice to meet you too, Y/n," Art unpretentiously expresses. His facial expression goes abruptly blank as he realizes he might be snitching on himself. "Uh, Y/n, I don't wanna sound rude, but what you did... with the drink," he struggles to word it nicely, worrying about coming out as unpolite. He laboriously swallows as Y/n raises her eyebrows, expectant. "You shouldn't buy drinks to married men," he concludes.

Y/n lets out a gigantic gasp, "Oh my- this is so embarrassing," her hands fly over to her mouth, covering it in mortification, "I am so sorry, Mr. Donaldson-

"Please, call me Art," Art interrupts, a smirk rising on his face.

"Well, Art," Y/n corrects herself, now speaking with a mischievous undertone, still with an infectious grin plastered on her face. "I go to Stanford. I couldn't stop hearing about you —your skills. Well, I grew up in a household of tennis enthusiasts, and I, myself, am a tennis player. I just wanted to show my appreciation for what you've done for the tennis culture."

Art's cheeks feel hot. Heck, they are burning.

"Oh.." he mumbles, mainly to himself out of amazement.

"I would never, don't worry, Mr. Donaldson- I mean, Art." Y/n reassures, emphasizing the never. But as she justified herself, a sad half smile crooked on her plump lips, "I mean... No one can deny you are very handsome, but I am a respectful woman-"

He unmistakably heard the last sentence but will bypass it for his mental stability. "It's fine, Y/n." Again, he runs over her words, interrupting, "I should be apologizing; I don't want to come across as an entitled asshole."

For some reason, Art can't stop feeding the conversation. You are a fucking horndog, Art internally insults himself.

"Let me buy you a drink as an apology," Art says bluntly, requesting clearance but simultaneously demanding. Y/n, on the other hand, has her eyes set on the blonde man in front of her, both gazes perforating each other. "I mean, if you are of age.."

She giggles.

"Twenty-two. Took a gap year," the girl admits, "and I wouldn't mind a Negroni," she adds, now faking a nonchalant accent.

Y/n can hardly believe the circumstances she has put herself in. She observes the man standing before her, deftly moving from how he calls the server to how he licks his lips after ordering the Negroni. He's so fucking hot, she thinks. She had only seen him through flat screens and once attended one of the numerous lectures he gave back on campus.

But no, Y/n wasn't an obsessive stalker. Earlier that day, she had been at the New Rochelle Tennis Club with her father and the new newbie guy he was coaching —she can't even recall his name. Long story short, the guy had asked her on a date, and as a grandiose concurrency, Y/n had suggested the Ritz —they serve finger-licking cosmopolitans at their bar. It wasn't until she reached twenty minutes earlier by mistake that she contemplated bailing on her plans. Why? Because she laid eyes on the mouthwatering blonde man sitting by himself, ingesting a depressing ass-looking Negroni.

She knew it was a hit or miss. But she would rather miss if it came to the possibility of messing around with the man of her most soaked dreams.

Y/n's nostrils pleasingly burn as she inhales a warmish, spicy fragrance emanating from Art's clothes and skin. She can't dodge the impulse to frequently peek at the opening of his shirt, revealing milky skin. Her breathing becomes erratic just by fantasizing about him without the fucking seersucker shirt. She knows he's fucking ripped.

Y/n chews on the bottom of her lip anxiously, contemplating her words. "By the way, what you did today was insane."

Art arches a brow. "You mean playing tennis?"

"That wasn't even tennis; that was an entirely different game," Y/n responds as if Art had offended her. "It felt as if the court was entirely yours," she overpraises him, feeling rewarded by the minuscule giggles escaping from Art's lips.

Art feels his heart warm up at the familiar sentence choice. "It is not a big deal, just a good tennis match," he elucidates.

She rolls her eyes. "Sure... or maybe you are just too skilled for other players." Y/n softly laughs.

Art bits back the tiniest groan of frustration. He feels his dick hardening underneath the light-washed denim jeans he's wearing. He tries to comprehend if it is because of the sudden sensual undertone in her delicate voice, her unmistakable submissive look penetrated deep into her big eyes, or the fact that Tashi had not touched him below the hipline in months and turned him into a precocious motherfucker. Or it could be the alcohol making him horny. He hadn't noticed before how tight her clothing was —it took one swift glimpse at her body for Art to see her thighs spilling out of the hem of the strapless mini-dress. It took another one to realize she was now gently caressing his arm.

Art was convinced there was nothing left to wipe the carefully crafted agitated expression from his face. "Could be, yeah," he says, subsequently coughing to avoid strangling on his own spit. "I don't want to be seen as some kind of God."

"Well, you move like one," Y/n affirms, chuckling at her own filthy sentence, her fingers playfully stirring the brand-new Negroni sitting on the bar table with the cocktail straw. She licks her lips, "You know what I mean."

Bullshit. There is no way this girl doesn't want to fuck.

She dodges eye contact, but there is a peculiar shift in the air, and a smirk exponentially extends her lips.

"I know what you mean." Art snaps back, incapable of looking away from the cocktail straw now entrapped in between her glossy lips.

His muscles and head feel more lightweight, but his ocean eyes remain entirely tied to her outline.

Their bodies have shuffled negligibly closer—inappropriately closer. Art senses warmness filling his face from the subtle friction of their knees: the coarse texture of his denim and Y/n's smooth, bare skin.

From her peripheral vision, Y/n glimpses a security guard patrolling the hotel lobby. She makes eye contact with the robust man for a split second, whose facial expression reshapes in dull stunner as he peeks at who's sitting next to her.

Y/n sets her crystal glass on the bar counter. "Thank you so much for the drink."

"Wait. Are you leaving?" Art questions, with feigned etiquette that reeks of desperation.

Y/n's eyes dart to the man standing near their stools. Art tracks her gaze and sighs. "You already gifted me minutes of your time and a Negroni. That's enough coming from Art Donaldson."

Art hesitates. "They are not in my business." He practically whines, progressively revealing his despair to the young woman sitting before him.

"I still need to Uber home," Y/n excuses, pouting at her words. "A woman can't be alone that late-

"I can drive you."

✩

The drive is around twenty-five minutes.

Y/n quietly sits in the copilot seat of Art's Bentley Bentayga. By her left side, Art grips the steering wheel confidently, his fingers switching effortlessly over the controls as they drive through the streets of the suburban county of Westchester. She peers through the shadowy window glass on her side —there's a winter storm outside.

"How many days are you staying in Westchester?" Y/n asks while her gaze stays fixed on the passing scenery framed by the window.

Art clicks his tongue. "Not much. Most likely leaving tomorrow morning."

"Did you do anything fun around the county?"

"Well, a rich-people county isn't the most amusing place to visit." Art jokes, speaking with a devilish tease.

Y/n doesn't reply. Instead, her eyes quickly flicker to his silhouette under the fuzzy skyglow leaking through the car's transparencies. Art's blonde hair captures the faint illumination beautifully, each strand seeming to shimmer under the dim light. His muscles tighten at—

Red light.

When the car stops, Art twists his head to the right, his and her gazes collapsing. He runs his tongue over his upper lip before talking, "You mentioned something earlier..." he begins to say.

In the stillness of the moment, the only sound is the soft hum of the engine idling.

"I mentioned many things," Y/n corrects.

A faint crease of discomfort crosses Art's brow, and he shifts slightly on the red leather seat. Y/n examines each of his subtle hip and torso motions as he gets rid of the discomfort. Finally, again sitting still, he resumes. "Let me be specific. You mentioned I am handsome."

A sudden warmth spreads across her cheeks, an unmistakable flush of embarrassment.

"I don't think this is appropriate."

"I don't think neither of us cares about what's appropriate anymore."

It feels as if the world has stopped for Y/n. It feels as if a spell had caught both of them, leaving them besotted, and fucking horny, and awaiting the other to give the—

Green light.

"I think there's a parking lot next to a store that shut down recently 3 minutes away."

That's all Y/n says. Art presses down the gas pedal and tightens his grip on the wheel to suppress some exotic sensations that rocket down his spine.

Raindrops splatter against the windshield and the car's roof, and the blonde guy continues to drive through a road of infinite rain-soaked side trees swaying in the wind's rhythm and closed shops.

It takes four minutes and fifty seconds to reach a gigantic parking lot beside what once was a Dollar Tree. Although Y/n can scarcely appreciate the space due to the weather conditions and the tinted glass, she can see some faded, bright yellow parking lines now covered in dirt and droplets of rain. The place is totally empty.

Y/n's heart sprints ten times faster when the engine settles into a contented hum. Goosebumps flourish on her skin as serenity inundates the car interior—complete silence. The SUV has parked on a random corner.

And she doesn't want to look in Art's direction because she knows he's already looking.

She plays it credulously. "I think this is a great place to talk in peace," Y/n murmurs, finally turning her head towards him.

The fleeting moment her eyes cross with his evokes a sense of vulnerability for the girl. Art's orbs shamelessly spark with a glimmer of mischief, like a predator stalking its prey. The unbridled desire is nowhere near disguised now, and Y/n knows the guy won't keep playing the innocent role anymore. Is buying him a drink disrespectful? Bullshit. But she's grateful the poor, troubled man will have some fun. She knew he'd surrender faster than expected.

Yeah. Art had lifted the white flag as soon as he reached out a hand to grasp the door handle of his sexy ass Bentayga to open it for Y/n, and his eyes had flown by instinct to the girl's ass when she was hopping on his car.

Now, he can't tear his eyes off her lips.

"I've had a fucked up day." Art suddenly breathes out. There's a steady rise and fall of his chest, but Y/n can tell he's struggling to maintain it. His eyes ascend to lock in with hers. "I want to forget who the fuck I am."

Y/n is drowning in the noise of her own accelerated heartbeat. "I can help you." Y/n's words shoot out in submission, haltingly batting her eyelashes at him.

It's humorous mainly because she has no idea what is happening in his life. She doesn't know the mess between Tashi and Patrick; the fact that Tashi allegedly fucked Pa—well, whatever. Y/n doesn't know. She understands the man is disturbed, though, because the instant she stepped inside the luxurious lobby of the Ritz Carlton, she could tell the man had no emotion on his face. She recalled watching his matches when she was younger, and one thing about Art Donaldson was the radiant vitality his presence brought to any room he was in.

It's evident that the radiance was gone. For whatever reason.

Their bodies draw closer, the only barrier being the gear stick and seat partition between them. Y/n can feel Art's warm breath clashing against her lips, a slightly intoxicating and crisp scent of gin climbing to her nostrils. She moistens her lips with the tip of her tongue before grabbing Art by the collar of his shirt and pulling him into her mouth. He briefly widens his eyes but reciprocates instantly.

He is the sort of kisser who goes slowly but deepens as much as possible, inserting his tongue everywhere attainable. Y/n tastes good and, heck, excellent —sweet and spicy, as if she chewed cinnamon gum before assaulting his mouth. The flavor and the satiny texture of her lips push him to near insanity; Art pumps his tongue in and out, desperately, sweeping against hers because of the faint, delicate moans leaking from her side every time he does it —it makes him vertiginous.

It isn't until Y/n sucks on his lower lip that he splits off to breathe. "No marks." Art forewarns with his face dropped in soberness, heavily panting.

He discerns something shifting inside of him when Y/n's beautiful features soften for a beat, casting a veil of a peculiar sentiment he's too emotionally dumb to interpret —bitterness? sadness? He can't tell. The fuzzy thoughts fade when her lips attack again, parting his with ease, allowing her tongue to slip inside. "Shut up." Y/n spits lowly between kisses.

A couple of sizzling minutes of pure, obscene french kissing pass before Art realizes the pressure underneath the light-washed denim over his crotch is tormenting him. His left-hand glides over Y/n's thigh and gently squeezes, letting her know he needs to move forward. At this point, he has readjusted the position of his body over the red leather seat, facing Y/n straight; the hand resting over her thigh gradually shoves the hem of the mini-dress upwards, revealing more skin and dangerously approaching her pussy.

The tempo of Y/n's kisses becomes unsteady with the sensation of his physical touch near such an intimate area. It felt weirdly mortifying for her to be this wet this early —her pussy felt slippery and willing to take whatever Art proposed. She breaks off the kiss out of involuntary reflex, with her gaze immediately descending on Art's left hand, too big for her, and skillfully positioning the lace of the light-pink panties aside.

If Art was a magician and opening her legs was a challenging magic trick, goddamn, he'd be a good magician. Y/n had no idea how, in such an undersized space, her legs had managed to spread that wide. The specific moment when Art's middle finger comes in contact with her wetness is a blur, but the filthy, low-pitched groan that his mouth emits as the first finger rubs her pussy lips will never be forgotten. Y/n unconsciously rocks her hips in search of more friction-

"Stay still." Art demands, chest rapidly going up and down. Although he attempts to sound demanding, his voice is weak in want and ridiculously desperate. Y/n's cheeks flame up when he begins toying with her clit, rubbing slow circles, with an equally attractive and irritating cocky grin resting over his face.

But she wants that one finger to go in. Y/n sighs in eagerness, muttering a series of pleasepleasepleases.

"Art..." Y/n mutters between choked moans, bucking her hips forward into his hand. Art gazes at her, intoxicated by her facial expressions and the mild tone of her voice, delivering such nasty noises. His eyes don't leave Y/n's face as he thrusts his middle finger past her slick folds. He feels his dick twitch at her exaggerated facial response.

What was one finger quickly became two, picking up their speed and twirling inside, hitting the sweetest spot. "Not a virgin, right? " Art abruptly asks, terrified but astonished at the tightness her pussy held, clenching down on his digits and squeezing.

"No... oh my god—" Y/n yelps, hardly managing to articulate words as his fingers keep steadily penetrating her pussy.

Y/n tilts her head back and instantly feels a trail of sloppy, wet kisses on her jaw; Art is nearly over her body, working his way downstairs and upstairs, too. The accelerated rhythm of his fingering ceases for a hot second as his available hand reaches her chest to unashamedly pull down the neckline of Y/n's mini-dress, freeing her tits and letting them bounce out of the expensive cloth.

As a sheer coincidence and dissolving in pleasure, Y/n's eyesight dismounts in one of the tall buildings in front of the parking lot. What she sees is practically ironic. An immense billboard with Art's face crammed inside, by his side Tashi Duncan's iconic facial features, and an oversized Aston Martin logo. "Game Changer," the thing reads. Funny, she thinks. He is a game changer, though —not sure if he is the same kind Aston Martin broadcasts.

But seeing his face and Tashi's painfully reminds her the man is not hers.

In fact, the man has a whole wife.

"Fuck me." Y/n requests, still a complete mess, moaning, arching her back, breathless.

And nothing happened where she thought the fire test lay. Art obliged. In fact, he seemed enthusiastic. He wants to make her his. Y/n modestly smiled at the thought.

"Yes... fuck, yeah." With a deft hand, he reaches down and unfastens the button of his pants; he eases the zipper down, and the faint sound of it sliding makes Y/n nauseated of anticipation.

Art reaches into the back pocket of his jeans, pulling out a beautiful, black leather wallet. He flips it open, his brows furrowing in concentration as he sifts through its contents. With a muttered curse under his breath, he begins to dig deeper; Y/n doesn't understand what's happening —is he searching for a condom?

After eternal seconds, the blonde guy lets out a frustrated sigh and shakes his head, resigned.

Y/n sits beside him awkwardly, unhurriedly pulling up the neckline of her dress, covering her now shivering body.

"...So?" she questions.

He remains silent.

"I don't have condoms."

"I'm on the pill." Y/n offers.

The look Art shoots at Y/n isn't gracious. In fact, it triggers a big spark of frustration on his face, eyebrows knitting together in a light scowl as he looks at her incredulously.

Then it turns worse when, by mistake, his gaze falls on the same billboard Y/n had seen earlier.

"I can't. Sorry."

Y/n slowly closes her legs and adjusts her neckline. "Why?"

Art's eyes fall to his lap. "Well, starting from the fact I have a family-

Y/n interrupts. "Well, you didn't seem to care when you offered to drive a total stranger."

It was most likely the sassiness and the blaming in her voice that unexpectedly threw him off. Really threw him off.

"That's none of your business. I just took the opportunity of a warm hole."

In one swift, rampant movement, her hand connects with his cheek with a resounding crack, the sound echoing through the air like a crash. His head jerks to the side. A slap.

She had fucking slapped him.

With a trembling breath, Y/n doesn't think twice before she pushes open with unmeasured force the door of Art's fucking ugly car —or that's how she thinks of it now. The storm still persists, rain pouring down in sheets. Tears accumulate over her eyes as she steps out into the downpour, grabbing her purse tightly.

"Hey, hold on..."

She completely ignores Art's words, which get easily lost in the roar of the rain.

But she turns to face him one last time, sitting on the pilot seat, visibly ashamed of himself —and still with unbuttoned pants.

"Fuck you. I hope you lose every single fucking tennis match." And with a forceful push, she slams the car door shut.

As Y/n steps away from the vehicle, leaving a splash in the puddles on the floor, she wishes the man she met two hours ago had run after her and begged forgiveness. But of course, he didn't. Instead, she watched as the vehicle got started again and drove past her, quickly rejoining the road and disappearing in the darkness.

✩

#art donaldson smut #challengers fic #challengers smut #challengers fanfic #art donaldson imagine #challengers x reader #art donaldson x reader #smut #fanfic #imagine #mike faist #challengers

1K notes · View notes

lunargrapejuice · 3 months

Note

hello lovely luna !! i hope life has been treating you well, i’ve been missing u ♥️

for the prompt game, can i request “you’re not in bed. i came looking for you” with my beloved diluc? i’ve been struggling with insomnia n i just want diluc to put me to sleep ໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১

oh my whole heart was poured into this one i'm aching. i did not mean for it to this long but what can i do he has my heart and soul🩷 i hope you like it awea! i love n miss you too🥺💕

🌙 prompt event

“you’re not in bed. i came looking for you” | diluc x reader with no pronouns used

the winery at night is blanketed in the ethereal silver glow of the moon this time of night. it feels like something out of a fairy tale with the thick grape vines lining the path you walk, sparkling crystal flies silent in the flutter of their wings, and if you look hard enough even in the moonlight you can see the plump purple grapes.

it’s cool in a way that feels wonderful against your heated skin but not enough to make you cold and with each breath you take, you try to let the fresh air ease your mind that just won’t stop moving and thinking no matter how much you will it to. you honestly aren’t sure if being out here is working but it feels nice, peaceful and you’re glad to not be tossing and turning in bed while your beloved tries to sleep next to you.

you didn’t want to wake diluc, not when you knew how desperately he needed the sleep despite the fact you’re sure he would tell you he’s doing just fine on the little he does get. it wouldn’t stop you from doing your best to try to get tired all on your own before slipping back into bed, looking after him in this way.

but it was as if he felt the distance between you growing even in his dreams. his tired arm reaches for you on your side of the bed, needing to pull you closer to him before he could settle once again and when he’s met with cooling sheets barely clinging with your warmth, he’s instantly awake, ruby eyes blinking away tiredness and seeing he’s alone in bed.

quick to take in the space around him, diluc notes how the bathroom light isn’t on and there’s a full glass of water on your night stand. you’re nowhere to be found and he feels a tug on his heart that brings him to his feet, his strides long as he heads for the closed bedroom door and down the grand staircase in only long sleep pants.

he’s not sure what brings him to look outside before anywhere else, he dreads the thought of you being out there where something could hurt you with him not there to protect you. even if you could hold your own.. he just.. he never wanted to see anything happen to you and he could never get back to sleep without you next to him.

feeling his chest grow tight, he doesn’t let it slow his steps as he grabs his coat off of the back of the chair he had been working from earlier and pulls it over his bare arms and back, throwing open the heavy mahogany doors with ease.

you spot the brightness of his hair even in the dark night barely lit with the few lanterns that still burn around the property and feel your heart squeeze at the sight of him. his ruby eyes are filled with worry and a softness that makes you think he looks a bit younger, makes you want to reach out and touch his cheek, ease his anxieties, stand on your toes to kiss his brow.

“what’re you doing out here?” you ask and you’re forced to look up as he closes the distance between you, shedding his coat and pulling it over your shoulders as soon as he could reach you.

you’re enveloped in his warmth and the smell of wine from every angle, melting against his chest as he pulls you in close, like he needed to feel you against him.

“you’re not in bed,” he pulls you even closer, cradling the back of your skull with one hand, the other splayed across your lower back and his words are spoken softly against the shell of your ear. “i came looking for you.”

“i’m sorry,” your reply is barely audible against the immediate comfort he provides you, the kind that melts down your worries and woes and leaves you feeling safe and like you might actually be able to fall asleep. “i didn’t mean to worry you. i just..” you pause, feeling guilty for having worried him by being out here. “i couldn’t sleep.”

“why didn’t you wake me?”

he’s not angry or upset but you cling to him like a child in trouble. “you need your sleep too, you know.”

“i need you. i need you in my arms and close to me” he says, his words making you forget anything other than just being with him. it’s comfortably quiet between you for a few moments before he speaks again. “we can stay out here longer if you’d like.”

shaking your head against his chest, feeling the scars on his back under your fingertips and the soft skin around them, you let out a quiet ‘no, let’s go back to bed’ and feel your feet be swept out from under you the next second.

easily diluc carries you with one arm under your legs and the other at your back. in the night air his skin is still so incredibly warm and in his steady steps, you feel the tiredness begin to settle in your bones and let yourself skin further in his arms, succumbing to sleep before he makes it to the second floor of the manor.

♡♡♡♡♡

genshin impact masterlist | main masterlist

#diluc ragnvindr #diluc ragnvindr x reader #diluc ragnvindr fluff #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #diluc #diluc fluff #diluc x reader

583 notes · View notes

wh1msic4alwasab1 · 3 months

Text

𝐁𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ 𓇼

synopsis: you yearn to step onto the sand, relinquish your tail for just a moment and experience the world above. You find a man capable of granting you your wish, but there’s something wrong.

tags: mermaid reader, fingering, penetration, beach sex, vulgar, explicit.

wrd cnt: 1.6k

a/n NOT PROOFREAD: i had to get a little creative bc i was researching mermaid intercourse bruh i was deep in the google trenches…hope this is still good !

The moon shines down beneath the crystal clear waters, casting a mesmerizing glow on the vibrant coral reefs and schools of colorful fish. You were no stranger to this enchanting underwater world. But today, as you swam through the familiar marine life, your thoughts were consumed with a longing for something more. You had heard stories of a new world above the surface, a world where creatures with two legs roamed and breathed air instead of water. It was a world that both intrigued and terrified you.

As you gazed up at the shimmering surface, you couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to have shed your tail and explore this foreign land. But as a mermaid, it was only a dream, a distant desire that seemed impossible to fulfill. But little did you know, fate had other plans in store for you.

As you continued to swim along the coast to catch a glimpse of the stars, you find a man with long silver hair walking above the earths hide.

You try to conceal yourself in the night, but he takes quite a quick notice of you.

You get startled from his gaze, but his eyes shine a shade of blue so vibrant they hold you inbetween currents like a fish on a hook.

“Hello there, do not worry, I won’t hurt you”. The man says to you from above, his hands infront of him to show you his good intentions.

You swim up the sand, letting the water glide you up onto a rock, letting your tail lay on the sand; draped over.

He kneels down, “Are you okay?”. You’re avast ways from your home, but you couldn’t miss a chance to actually talk to a human.

”Yes, yes I’m alright.” You began to study his features like a predator ready to strike; his winged-lashes flickering.

You’ve never met a human before, you’d heard stories of the good and bad nature of them, but he seemed different. “You’re a mermaid.” His question sounding more like an awestruck statement. You nod slowly, unsure of his reaction.

“Amazing, I’ve been told your kind had ceased ever since tales of the property emerged. I never thought I’d get to see one again.” He says with a sense of wonder and disbelief.

You can feel your face conform at his words, “Again? Whats is your name?” you ask, suddenly breaking out of his trance.

“Neuvillette. I may look it, but I am not human. I’ve lived many years, and befriended many of your kind. I am just glad to be given the reassurance of your resilience”. He says with honesty.

“Thank you- I am y/n”. You finally tell him.

“Beautiful. What brings you to the coast?” He wonders out loud.

“I’m- just curious. I wished to take a look upon the world above me.”

“Curiosity can lead us to great adventures,” Neuvillette said, his eyes full of admiration as he gazed at you. “But it can also bring us trouble. You are brave to venture to the surface alone.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his words, feeling a sense of pride swell within you. “I couldn’t resist the urge to explore. And now, I have found something much more intriguing than just the surface world,” you said, your eyes flickering to Neuvillette’s lips.

He seemed to sense your desire and stepped closer to you, his hand reaching out to caress your cheek. “And what might that be?” he whispered, his voice low and sensual.

“I wish for legs…” You confess, teasing the handsome stranger just a bit.

“And you think I can grant them to you?”

“You are the hydro dragon, aren’t you? I couldn’t quite out my finger on it. But we have a many great tales about you…and your abilities.”

“You are correct. But I must warn you, it could be an unpleasant first feeling.”

“But you can do it?!” You flap your tail in excitement a few times, the hair that covers your wet and exposed chest flaling around as you wait for his confirmation.

“I can…but I must be here to supervise you. A lot can go wrong, and the people of this land may not all be so accepting”. He warns.

You take time to consider the need for your yearning, but still you hold onto the dream you desire so deeply.

“I’m sure of this.”

He releases a deep sigh, “Alright, please allow me.”

With his large palms, he picks you up off the rock; his hand under your slippery tail and holding you bridal style to sit you onto his lap.

You apologize about ruining his clothes with the salty sea water, but he pays no mind.

“Don’t look down. Simply look up here.” He commands, holding your gaze with his own as he soothes the length of your tail, speaking whispers you can’t transcribe, slowly feeling your body half lighten exponentially.

You suddenly feel a weight lifted off you, and look down with his permission.

Your face lights up, and you feel as if you’re dreaming. As if any moment now you’ll wake up under the sea foam and find yourself with a tail.

But this was real, and you thanked the man with everything in you.

“You’re welcome, but remember that there are still-“

“Arghh- Something’s wrong…”

His eyebrows furrow, not seeing anything physically wrong with you which only makes him more worried.”

“What’s wrong my dear?” He says, trying to be respectful and looking away from your naked body.

“Something’s feeling- so hot.” You squirm, looking to him for help.

“Guide me to where you need.”

Taking his hand in yours, you trail him over your stomach before placing it on your growing heat, making his hand cup your crotch.

“Right here” you plead.

His face was covered in deep red, unable to speak.

“That- is quite unusual…I’ve never seen that happen. Does it hurt?” He says with true concern, trying to conceal his arousal.

You shake your head, unable to describe what it felt.

“What is this? Have you ever felt this?”

Neuvillettes voice hitches as he’s even more embarrassed and trying to find the right words to explain what you feel.

“Well, not this exactly no. But, I think I understand the issue”.

He casts a shadow over you, his large body coming close to whisper something in your ear.

“You’re feeling arousal, and there’s only one way to get rid of it.”

You feel a lump in your throat, eyes locked into his as you feel even more helpless.

“Please…” You plead, grinding your hips towards his hand, “Help me get rid of it…”

He smiles down at you, spreading your wet lips apart, “It would be my pleasure, sweet mermaid.”

With a gentle tug, he pushes your back onto the rock you were sat on earlier.

He parts your legs and keeps the bottoms of your thighs on top of his, giving him a good view of his fingers delving into your tight hole.

“Mmfph- that feels…so good”. You confess.

His hand moves your hair behind your neck, your chest fully on display as his free hand squeezes your mounds and roll your nipples under his fingertips, giving you two sources of pleasure unknown to you before.

“Neuvillette- I need more.” You beg, putting your hand on top of his, making him squeeze your breast harder.

“Anything for you, y/n.” He flashes a small smile before putting your hand on growing bulge.

“This is what is going to help you find your release, sweetheart.”

He helps you unzip his pants, and out springs his cock; falling right into your grasp.

Your eyes widen, it felt so big in your hands you didn’t possibly know what to do with it.

He helped you pleasure him, making your hand stroke him up and down as he thrusted into your palm.

“You’re so gentle…such a sweet thing.”

You feel your cunt drool even more, something so unknown to you made you feel so feral.

He positions himself at your entrance, kneeling perfectly before you with your legs wrapped around him.

“This…goes right in here.” He grunts out, pushing his thick, veiny cock fully into your perfect cunt and hearing your pleasure heighten quickly in the form of moans and gasps.

He started with slow, deep thrusts; getting you used to his size and the feeling of your own hole stretching.

You felt like you could pass out if he didn’t keep going, the ambiance of waves crashing against the rock behind you and the sounds of your wet skin slapping together drove you wild. The sea water brushed against your ass but his tongue slid against yours in such a manner that made your entire body feel like it was under the sun.

“Do you like how this feels?” He asks, grunting in your ear and whimpering at how your cunt squeezes him.

You nod profusely, thanking him about a million times as he keeps fucking you on the sand, holding your waist and trialing sloppy kisses down your neck and chest.

Your breathing was heavy and your mind was swirling with pleasure as he continued to thrust into you. You were completely lost in the moment, just the two of you on the beach, your bodies entwined in ecstasy. He picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming faster and more urgent. He could feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge, and he wanted to take you there with him

“Y/n- keep squeezing around me like that, fuck…such a perfect hole.”

Your moans turned into screams as you both reached your climax together, waves of pleasure crashing over you like the ocean behind you. You collapsed onto the sand, panting and trying to catch your breath. He rolled onto his back next to you, a content smile on his face as he ran his fingers through your hair. 

“That was amazing,” you said, pulling him close to him. “I’ve never felt anything like that before”.

“Well you have a few more hours of it if you so please.”

whimsic4alwasab1 ™ - do not copy, translate, modify, or claim any of my work as your own.

#jo’s posts #neuvillette #neuvilette genshin #neuvillete x reader #neuvillette smut #nuevillette #neuvillette genshin #genshin neuvillette #genshin smut

510 notes · View notes

yandere-writer-momo · 5 months

Text

Yandere Stories:

The Tooth Fairy (prequel)

Yandere Serial Killer x GN Reader

A bracelet made of pearly, white incisors was placed under your pillow. Silver wire intricately held each tooth in place to form a grotesque version of jewelry. A mockery of the silver bracelet that had recently gone missing under your nose.

A bit of dried blood on the crown of the two teeth which brought a shiver down your spine. Who on earth would bring you such macabre tokens of affection?

You sighed and analyzed the bracelet. This was the fifth piece of handmade jewelry, if you could call it that, in the last few months.

You placed it with the other trinkets on your dresser. A pair of earrings made of human canines and a necklace made with various premolars and molars. And now you had a matching bracelet for your grotesque jewelry from your secret admirer.

You glanced at your window that had the lock obviously tampered with. Whoever they were, they always managed to break in without your knowledge. Were you still waking up and that was why you were so nonchalant about it? Or was it your fascination with serial killers that made you less inclined to notify the police of your… growing collection.

You rubbed your temple as you felt an impending headache grasp you in its hold. No… you couldn’t reject them. Gods only knew what they’d do if you reject them. Kill you? Pull your teeth out one by one? Torture you? You didn’t want to find out, so you became an unwilling accomplice to this matters individuals scheme. Whatever that may be.

You began to get ready for work at the dentist office but not before you checked your reflection.

Your fingers poked at the corners of your mouth to turn your lips into a smile. Your teeth now on display in this fake display of happiness, the perfect costumer service face.

“Smile…” Because you never know who was watching you.

You sat at your desk with your signature customer service smile and sugar sweet voice. A smile that never quite reached your eyes, but it got the point across to the various customers that came in for their dental appointments.

Another day in your other wise boring life save for the obtuse way you handled your stalker. Perhaps you should buy a gun? You’ve never fired a firearm before so you’d need training…

“Good morning!” You nearly jumped out of your skin when the dentist, Dorian Zimmerman, placed his hands on your shoulders.

“Jesus, Dorian! You scared me.” You clutched your chest as your heart nearly escaped from your chest. An amused smile on his face as he eyed you up and down.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be so lost in thought.” Dorian shrugged while he scanned the list for every patient. “Will there ever be a day I see you on this list?”

You shook your head. “No, I still go to my family dentist.”

Dorian sighed, “a shame. I’d love to look at your pretty teeth.”

Dorian sauntered off, but not before he cast you one last look. “Can you stay over a bit today? I have something for you.”

“Okay.” You agreed, there was nothing weird about the dentist asking you to stay over, right?

Dorian expression lit up like the sun. “Great. I’ll see you then.”

He then ducked around the bend to get back to his customers. You then diligently went back to your front desk duties.

“He has such pretty teeth.” You whispered to yourself before you noticed a man in all black in front of your desk. “Oh hello, do you have an appointment?”

The tanned man clicked his tongue, his gray eyes glanced you up and down. “Yes. My name is Zahn. Zahn Pain.”

Oh, it seemed you had an edge lord on your hands. But perhaps you were making assumptions based on his gothic appearance and prominent eye bags. His choice of jewelry was rather interesting as well… various animal teeth and crystals were parts of his necklaces, rings, and even earrings.

“Ah yes, your appointment is in about fifteen minutes-“ you were shocked when he placed his face closer to the glass, his eyes locked you in place like a predator staring down his prey.

“Do you like the dentist’s teeth?” Zahn muttered, his hands shook a bit while his face remained unreadable and stoic.

“Oh? Doctor Zimmerman has to have nice teeth to show his clients.” You nervously laugh which made Zahn back down. Why was he so strange?

Zahn hummed and shoved his hands in his leather jacket’s pockets. “I think your teeth are prettier since they’re not veneers. Have more personality.”

You thought for a moment. You hadn’t realized Dorian had veneers… which would explain their uncanny valley perfection. Zahn was surprising observant.

The gothic boy took a seat far away from the other patients in the very back of the lobby that had the perfect view of your desk. His gray eyes bore holes in your head while you continued to work.

You just couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that pooled in your stomach…

933 notes · View notes

slippinninque · 5 months

Text

Fontaine, Seduced

(alternatively : Fontaine Tries To Be A Gentleman But You Aint Ask Him For All'Dat)

Warnings: 18+, SMUT, Minors DNI, long fic, cursing, use of the n-word, thirsty Fontaine, ramblings, slight corruption kink, praises n' begging, P-in-V, light bondage, Slips' First Smut

A/N: So sorry for the wait! Sooo, this is in answer to the anon who asked how Fontaine would be if he was trying to hide his nasty. i really hope i did you proud! I've

He...may have a problem.

There you were, the light of his life, seated on the floor and in a nest of your own making. Blankets and pillows spread with you nestled in it's center. A skein of yarn to your left as whatever it was you were creating grew in your lap with snacks to your right.

Absolutely adorable while you watched an old western with him. Fontaine knew you were warm and soft as a cake from your shower and shea butter, he could smell your hot chocolate with every sip you took.

Your furry socked feet rubbed together in your contentedness and every so often, you'd lean back on Fontaine's legs to look up at him until he leaned down to kiss you.

He wanted to see you cry.

It was terrible, he was terrible. You've been nothing but good to him and here he was wanting to see those pretty eyes rolling. It was a problem, he knew it.

Still...

He wanted to bend and twist you, he wanted to hear how close he could get you to screaming. Fontaine wanted to bite from your neck to your ankles, he wanted to ruin your sheets. He wanted to ruin the back seats in his ride, take you on a walk and lay you down beneath the moon and hear you call for him.

Fontaine knew how pretty you'd be taking his dick down your throat and he wanted to see it first hand.

But....it was you.

He could imagine wrapping a hand around those pretty locs and tugging them down to swallow his dick, but he wasn't sure if he could bring himself to do it.

Because it was you.

What if he hurt you? What if he did something you didn't like and you didn't tell him?

What if he scared you?

The idea alone distressed him.

He wouldn't risk it. Fontaine wouldn't risk anything when it came to you.

"Tea time? I think its tea time."

Your words drew him from his thoughts, movie long forgotten as he watched you stretch. You rolled partly onto your side, humming and unaware of the chaos you were causing as your cami rode high and your nipples pebbled beneath the fabric.

"You want some tea?"

You were laid out into your back now, lost in a other stretch and Fontaine took a breath and nodded.

He was fine.

It was fine.

:::

It was not fine.

"I know it's a lot, but I made a promise." You sighed, looking over your shoulder and into the full length mirror in the back of the bedroom door. Fontaine sat only a few feet away, the polishing his sneaker in the same damn spot.

The promise was modeling a line of beautifully crafted crystal-bikini sets. Your locs were piled up carelessly as you struggled to clasp the top piece.

Fontaine has never seen anything like it, but you often ran with an artsy crowd. You often brought home strange and beautiful things to either model, store, or complete.

He really he hoped that you get to keep this one.

"You good, baby, you good. Tell what's it made of." Fontaine cleared his throat and stood, coming up behind you to take over.

"Fluorite and clear-quartz, you can see the lil' silver bells, right?" she said. "It reminds me of those flapper girls! But without the, uh, middle part, y'know? Look!"

You took a step back and twisted your hips with a soft, "Swish, swish!"

Fontaine whistled lowly. All he saw pretty titties and tasty thighs. When you turned and bent over a bit, wagging your bottom at him, he moved before thinking.

He cracked you right across the ass.

You squealed, putting your hands on your cheeks and looking at him with wide eyes.

"Ooh, shit, my bad baby!"

Fontaine's heart fell into the floorboards, regardless of giggle fit you were in. He pulled you close with one arm, pressing apologetic kisses to the top of your head while his free hand rubbed your cheeks.

What the fuck was he thinking? Okay, he's gave you a little pop every now and again but that--that was out of line.

'You fuckin' up, nigga.'

"It's okay, it's okay. Really, it was really the sound that surprised me--okay?"

Fontaine looked you in the eye, saw your glimmering eyes and the giddy smile. He kissed your cheeks, wanting to feel your blushing face.

Then he nodded.

You kissed him on the lips, then had the nerve to bat your eyes at him.

"Y'know...I do get to keep this."

:::

"--od, Big Dawg?"

Fontaine's head snapped up and saw that Big Moss was trying to pass him a blunt. He shook his head at himself, taking the blunt and then taking a pull.

Big Moss shook his head as well, "C'mon, tell me what's up."

"I'm good, 'Moss. Jus' got a lot on my mind."

"Is it about your lil' shawty or somthin'?"

He grunted. Feeling his stare, Fontaine turned to face Big Moss who's expression was expectant.

"Well? Tell ya mans what's goin' on!" On went the fan and Fontaine knew it wasn't going to be let go.

He took another hit and passed the blunt back, "She's a good girl. Ain't like the others I had, I ain't gotta tell you that. Can't treat her like normal."

"Can't treat her... normal?"

"Can't treat her normal, y'know wha' I'm sayin'?"

A beat of silence. Then Big Moss' eyes widened in understanding,

"Oh! can't trea--yeah, a'ight, I see, I see."

Fontaine sighed and told Big Moss about losing himself when you were trying on the bikini-set, how bad he felt.

"Did she feel bad?"

"What?"

"I know you heard me, nigga. Like, did she cry or cuss yo' ass out? Get up and leave? anythin'?"

Fontaine didn't have to think hard to recall your smile, the breathy way you laughed, "...No. She wasn't mad. I was the one most fucked up by it."

Smacking his lips, the Big Moss put a hand on Fontaine's shoulder,

"Lemme tell you somethin', this yo' first Good Girl--ain't it? I'll tell you somethin' about 'em. The sweetest little faces be hiding the nastiest shit, cuz."

Fontaine scoffed, unbelieving. He recalled your inexperience at the beginning of your relationship. You were nervous but you did make up for it in unlimited enthusiasm...

"Hmn."

Big Moss continued, "I'm telling you, man! She's probably shy 'bout some shit and just need a lil encouragement from her man. Trust me on this, Big Dawg. I've seen how ya'll are--"

His free hand went up innocently at the look Fontaine gave him,

"All I'm sayin' is that ya'll rock with each other. Work with her, man. It'll all be cool in the end, ya dig me? Whatch it be something small, I'm tellin' you!"

Fontaine thought about it.

Then he nodded. Big Moss nodded back, handing over the blunt and not bothering to hide his grin.

:::

Fontaine had a plan.

He was thinking about it every since he left Big Moss, their talk still echoing through his head.

'Take it slow if you that worried, Big Dawg.'

'Moss was right. Fontaine took it slow made sure to be careful when dealing with you, and it's gotten him nothing but sweetness and warmth back.

He went to your place without even thinking and you welcomed him in with an excited smile. That smile grew nearly manic when you saw the take out in hands.

He took in your plushy romper and slippers as he followed you into the den. That winter weight that you've been commenting about was nothing but God and Fontaine knew to be grateful.

"Damn girl, whatchu been up too?" He rose a brow at the whirlwind of yarn and notebooks.

"Ah, just trying to keep hands busy!" you said with an embarrassed little laugh. You hurried to make space for him on the couch, moving your next to the floor after tossing down a few blankets.

You went onto your hands and knees, spreading out all the corners and pulling a few seating cushions closer. Fontaine followed the lines of you, right to the lil' bit of booty that was peeking out.

"You gonna be sittin' away from me?" Fontaine mumbled, eyes stuck to your ass.

"I'll come closer." You promised with a coy smile, then told him to get comfortable. You asked if he needed anything as you both settled down.

Fontaine nearly purred at your care of him, reminded of how good he had it with you.

He just had to go slow. Get used to checking himself, making sure he wasn't doing too much. Fontaine would contain himself.

A soft touch brought him outside of his head.

"Whatchu doin' down there, pretty?"

Your hands slid up his jean clad thighs and aimed those bright eyes at him. You still laid your cheek on his knee, still rubbing as you blink slowly at him without saying a word.

Fontaine's tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He wasn't prepared for this. All he could do was nod and you gave him a candied smile as you pulled down his zipper. He groaned inwardly, bracing himself as the lust for nearly boiled over.

He was trying to be a good.

Your soft hands found his dick already half hard. Fontaine shifted to make more room for you, utterly enthralled by the way you licked your lips and wriggled closer.

A few pumps were all he needed and without preamble, you slipped his dick right to the back of your throat.

His ears rang and he finally released the remote he's been clutching, arms going out to span the back of the couch. What the fuck was this?

Your head went in small bobs, never letting the head of Fontaine's dick from the back of your throat. Your tongue was wet and wonderful. Nearly serpentine as you jerked the base of him, pulling back and giving his tip saccharine kisses.

He breathed heavily, hips jerking only once before he remembered himself. You hummed disappointedly and pulled back, looking at him with a small frown

" 'Taine, you need to relax." You still stroked his length, "Are you not into oral, we don't have too--

"Naw, that ain't it," Fontaine interjected quickly,

You rewarded him with another wet kiss to his tip, "Then why aren't you putting this where it belongs?"

He blinked as your words rang through his ears, the sweetest faces...

"You always go stiff as a board when I'm down here, never let me stay as long as I want." you sniffed and rubbed your lips against his dick.

His voice was faint, "I ain't want you to think you had to."

"I'd love to, Fontaine, that's the thing. More than often, preferably." You sighed, "I love that you're careful with me, but have you ever...wanted to...not be?"

Fontaine's hands balled where they were still up on the back of the couch.

You made the face when you were going to be really patient with him about something. Your gave his dick another kiss, soft as silk.

"Would you still be into me if I wasn't acting sweet all the time?"

He never understood whiplash until this very moment, but Fontaine focused when he saw the furrow in your brow.

"I don't care how you act, you're gonna still be mine at the end of the day." Fontaine was certain there was nothing that you could go through that he wouldn't be there to stand with you.

"Exactly. You ain't gotta be on your best behavior. You have me and all I want is you. How ever you are. I'm yours."

You laid it out so easy for him, the right words strung together to settle perfectly in his mind. Your words, your words...

Fontaine sat up, his focus zeroing in on you. Your back straightened as you continued.

"So what if I want to act...like-um..."

He sat up, "What? You wanna act up, pretty girl?"

The way you rubbed your thighs together in anticipation ignited him. You were a delicious little morsel on your knees trying to ask if you could swallow his dick again.

The sweetest fuckin' faces...

Fontaine reached out and cupped your cheek, his thumb running across your lips. Your brown eyes were nearly black with a craving similar to Fontaine's.

He gently wagged your face, "Tell me what you want, baby."

"Everything."

He chuckled lowly at your whining and leaned in close enough to brush your noses together.

"You know what you askin' me?"

"You said you'd give me anything I need, didn't you? I need you, Fontaine."

Your voice carried off into a gasp, Fontaine had reached behind you and gathered your locs up into a gentle hold before tugging. With your head drawn back, Fontaine had the pleasure of seeing your pink tongue sweeping across your lips.

"You look hungry, pretty girl."

Your answer was a breathy little moan. Fontaine groaned as he leaned in to claim your lips, his reason slipping into the back seat of his mind.

:::

Arms tied behind your back, you could only rock and whine in Fontaine's lap as he pinched and plucked your tender nipples. One hand pulling the satin scarf that he used to bind your hands. It kept you taut and nearly immobile, enough for him to move you as he pleased.

And move you he did. Sometimes releasing your hands to grip at your waist, leaning up to kiss you or lying back and watching you.

The most nasty things flowed from his delectable lips and he definitely wasn't shy about giving your ass a few swats now.

Fontaine has been wringing orgasms out of you like honey from it's comb. The longer it went on, the more it felt like you were being devoured.

On your knees, away from the couch and up against the wall, folded up in recliner, now back on the couch.

Fontaine has never treated you this way. It was sublime. Gone was his careful touches and tender passion. Fontaine fucked you with a single minded determination, content to relish your ecstasy.

"This is what you wanted, pretty thing? Am I givin' you what you need now?"

You nodded, exhaling sharply as he ground into your sweet spot. Tears sprang to the corner of your eyes at the sweet-hurt of being overwhelmed. You needed more to fall over the line, but you didn't want it to end.

You made desperate noises as he backed off enough to leave you on the edge, "Ye-Yes! Yes, 'Taine-- please, please--!"

He kneaded your ass, rough as he moved you on his dick. The pressure had you releasing a sound you didn't know you could make.

Fontaine's echoing moan shadowed a grin, "That's it, tell me who I am. Tell me who's this pussy's for."

"Yo-You, Fontaine, you..." You babbled, "It's yours, it's yours!"

"And it feels good?"

"Mmn, yesss..."

"Is it too much?"

You shook your head. Fontaine's brow lifted and pace sharpened, ripping a keening gasp from you.

He purred as your eyes rolled back and sat up to meet you chest to chest, using one of his hands to squish your cheeks together.

"Use your words, beautiful. Is. It. Too much?" He husked against your lips, pace frustratingly slowing once again.

Your answer was to bite his bottom lip with the best growl you could muster.

Fontaine muttered something you couldn't hear and then he was leaning back, putting his hands on your thighs and driving up into you in earnest.

It felt like running through fire, seeing ever color at once, knowing the name of every star. All through it, Fontaine continued muttering to himself, no longer concerned with holding you steady.

"Mnh, look at that face. Finally gettin' what you wanted. Acting like like I ain't gonna give you what you ask for--that you can't tell me?"

"It wasn't like that." You whimpered at his hands on you again, reaching down to spread you around him. You gasped and lost balance swaying forward to press your forehead into his shoulder. When Fontaine slowed his pace again, you distantly hoped you'd be awake if he ever decided to cum.

"Don't worry," Fontaine's voice was gravel, "Imma teach you good. We'll find out how much you can take, hm? Together."

You were trembling and your brain was probably slush by now, but you've seen the appeal of being greedy.

Fontaine could still give you more, you still wanted more. Together, you could tear down the fences that kept you from each other's pleasure.

You leaned back enough to mash your lips to his, drinking down his pleased moan.

You didn't care how long it took, you wanted this man to tear you apart and piece you back together.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

PHEW

thank you for reading! this took literally too long and it still feels rushed, but I really wanted to challenge myself! Please let me know what you think, any tips would be greatly appreciated as well!

taglist: @megamindsecretlair @thadelightfulone @mag1calenchantr3ss @cocoeffects @wide-nose-and-wonderful @8ttached @thadelightfulone @hobiesmain @thickeeparker @longpause-awkwardsmile @ms-angiealsina @educatorsareslutstoo @mysterychick93

(let me know if you want to be tagged!! 💕💜🌟)

#fontaine x black reader #fontaine x reader #they cloned tyrone #fontaine fic #please let me know what you think #fontaine x black!fem!reader #fontaine x black!reader #fontaine #Fontaine x you #fontaine smut #they cloned tyrone fanfic #john boyega fanfiction #they cloned tyrone fanfiction #fontaine x blackfemreader #Fontaine x black!fem! reader

404 notes · View notes

rileyslibrary · 1 year

Note

I love your sense of humour and have cracked up at your stories multible times. Maby you can find some inspiration in this:

Price ordering the team to an etiquette training so they know how to behave in case they have to go under cover in a more "fancy" environment (or the upcoming mission may require something like this). I'm thinking about Ghosts "sausage fingers" from the origami bit on a delicate litte cake fork... Or him needing to *converse* with someone.

I think putting these hard soldiers in a situation that's out of their comfort zone is always a fun read!

Thank you for letting us enjoy your fantastic writing! <3

Be gentle, man!

Relationship: TF141 x F!Reader with a potential Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader (platonic?) on the horizon. Also there’s an OC in the story.

Word Count: 1,598 (approx. 7-8 min reading time)

Notes: I began writing this last night as a joke, and couldn’t stop. Thank you SO MUCH for inspiring me to do this, anon. It’s a crackfic btw. (There’s a part 2 now here)

———————————————————————

The training room feels out of place compared to its usual purpose. Bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, the once-busy gym has been transformed into a classroom for an unlikely lesson—manners, of all things. Table manners, to be precise.

“Talk about Fitness Vs. Finesse,” Soap whispers, and you playfully nudge his side. The comment reaches Gaz’s ears, and he lets out a chuckle. Yet, Price’s death stare reclaims your attention and brings you back to focus.

You all sit around a long, polished mahogany table atop the gym’s boxing ring, admiring the delicate china and crystal glassware set before you. It reminds you of Aunt Claire’s preserved collection, which rarely leaves its cabinet. Lady Theodora, your etiquette instructor, assures you that each piece serves a purpose, and you will put them all to use. Every. Single. One of them.

Lady Theodora, the epitome of timeless confidence, moves gracefully around the table. Her silver hair is slicked back, framing a face that exudes years of wisdom and experience. Her Bordeaux-coloured shawl billows behind her as she glides, catching the gentle breeze her steps create. She pauses behind Price’s chair and reveals the reason behind today’s masterclass: an undercover operation.

“In the world of espionage, where appearances can mean the difference between life and death,” she says in a soft voice, “the art of etiquette becomes a weapon, a shield, and,” she concludes, resting her hand on Price’s shoulder, “your ticket to survival.”

“Bollocks.”

All eyes are drawn to the far end of the table, where a shadowy figure prefers to go unnoticed but isn’t afraid to express doubts. The only visible sign of life is a hand fidgeting with the butterknife.

“I beg your pardon, Lieutenant.” Lady Theodora says, and Ghost leans forward, revealing his unmasked—and visibly annoyed—face.

“We’re soldiers, not knights,” he claims. “Teaching us how to use all these,” he says, motioning to the various utensils before him, “is a waste of time, both yours and mine.”

Lady Theodora regards him gently as if looking at a child throwing a tantrum. She smiles and walks behind him, gripping the back of his chair.

“You seem quite certain of your own competence and doubtful of mine, Mr Riley,” she says, amused.

Ghost tilts his head to the side, partially facing her.

“With all due respect, Lady Theodora,” he replies, “I don’t believe you fully comprehend how such missions operate.”

Lady Theodora lets a light chuckle as she moves closer to Ghost’s face.

“My record of 25 confirmed kills, three of which were accomplished with a butterknife like the one in your hand, might suggest otherwise,” she admits. “Now, would you kindly move your seat forward, Lieutenant? I’ll show you how to act like a proper gentleman.”

Ghost’s Adam’s apple bobbles as he swallows hard. He returns the butterknife to its original position and pushes his chair forward with Lady Theodora’s help.

Gaz clears his throat and looks at Soap.

“Imagine her dinner parties,” he whispers so Price doesn’t hear him, “they must be perfectly executed.”

“Bet she makes a killer soufflé,” Soap whispers back.

You look at them and mutter, “You two are beyond help.” Unfortunately, it’s your own comment that catches Price’s attention this time, and he gives you a stern warning to behave.

“Let’s get started,” Lady Theodora says. “Projecting confidence and grace requires proper posture: sit up straight, shoulders back, and imagine a string pulling you upward from the crown of your head.”

You all adjust your posture, attempting to imitate Lady Theodora. Ghost used to a more relaxed posture, finds it difficult to maintain the required formality. His broad shoulders hunch forward, and he struggles to keep his legs straight.

“Excellent,” Lady Theodora remarks, catching Ghost’s struggle but choosing not to comment further. “Next, we shall delve into the art of dining. Each utensil on the table has a specific purpose, and it is essential to use them correctly.”

She points to the array of utensils laid out before you. Multiple forks, knives, and spoons of various sizes and shapes make the sight overwhelming.

“The outermost utensils are for the earlier courses, while the inner ones are for the later ones.” Lady Theodora says, “It’s like unwrapping a gift, one course at a time.”

You all nod and place the napkin on your lap to begin the process.

Ghost’s ingrained military habits take over when food is served, causing him to devour it quickly. He shovels forkfuls of food into his mouth without looking up and barely pausing to chew.

“Mr Riley,” Lady Theodora addresses Ghost, who shoots his head up to look at her. “I understand the military inclination to eat fast, but we must remember that the food isn’t going anywhere. Take your time, savour each bite, and enjoy your meal, please.”

“Sorry ’bout that.” Ghost mumbles with his mouth full.

Lady Theodora raises an eyebrow. “Mr Riley, it is impolite to speak with your mouth full,” she reminds him. “Please, swallow your food before continuing.”

Ghost swallows and clears his throat. “Apologies, Lady Theodora,” he mutters.

Lady Theodora smiles and nods at Ghost’s response. “Very well, Lieutenant Riley,” she says. “Remember, dining is about more than just the food; it’s also about the company and the experience.”

As the training continues, you witness Soap’s attempts to initiate a proper conversation, only to subconsciously bring up military strategies. Gaz, on the other hand, struggles with small talk and, when asked about his hobbies, blurts out his love of explosions.

“Kerosene is one hell of a—”

“No kerosene talk on the table, Sergeant,” Lady Theodora interrupts. “How about we talk about something more appropriate, like, for example, what did you do today?”

“You’re not going to like it.” He replies.

“Did it involve kerosene?” She asks and receives multiple excited nods from Gaz.

Ghost forgets about his napkin while using the finger bowl and instinctively flicks his hands to dry them. Droplets of water scatter across the table, and Lady Theodora steps forward with a calm smile. She retrieves his napkin and hands it to him. “Remember, Lieutenant,” she whispers, “the napkin is your ally.”

Throughout this ordeal, Price seems to be the only one who already has a natural fluidity in his movements. Like he already knows about etiquette.

You compliment his impeccable manners, but Lady Theodora intervenes before Price can respond.

“Oh, that’s because the Captain already received my services a few years ago,” she reveals, winking.

Price, caught off guard, coughs and sputters, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. After regaining his composure, he clears his throat and grins.

“Yes, well, Lady Theodora’s guidance has been, um, invaluable,” he manages to say and lowers his gaze to his plate. Gaz raises an eyebrow, and Soap gives a sly smile.

With the etiquette training completed, Price gracefully positions his utensils on his plate and folds his napkin. Lady Theodora hands him a file stack, which he distributes to you.

“These files contain detailed background information for your assigned roles,” he explains. “Study them carefully; familiarise yourselves with the personas you will embody, and don’t worry; with Lady Theodora’s help, you’ll have plenty of time to learn how to carry yourselves.”

He watches you all as you take hold of your respective files, scanning the pages and absorbing the details that will shape your performances.

“Gaz, within those pages, you’ll uncover the roadmap to shape your tech persona, along with essential contacts and valuable industry insights,” Price declares.

“A startup entrepreneur,” Gaz mutters and nods, “nice.”

“Soap,” Price continues, “your file contains the lineage and history of an alleged oil tycoon family; you’ll assume the identity of their sole son and heir to the business.”

“Why do I get the oil-moneyed spoiled brat?” Soap protests, “Gaz is the one obsessed with fossil fuel!”

Price looks at Lady Theodora, silently begging her to take the lead.

“Focus on embodying the demeanour of an heir, Sergeant MacTavish,” she comforts Soap. “Acquiring in-depth knowledge of the business is not a top priority now.”

Finally, Price shifts his focus to you and Ghost. His voice softens, and a smile appears on his lips.

“As for the two of you,” he says, “your assignment requires a convincing portrayal of a couple.”

You and Ghost exchange a brief look before returning your focus to the files in your hands.

“Laswell will provide you with a forged marriage certificate and photos of your alleged relationship,” Price continues. “The documents will serve as tangible proof if the need to validate your connection arises.”

“Any chance to let us know who or what we’re after?” Gaz asks, and Price shakes his head.

“Baby steps, Sergeant; we’re waiting for Laswell to give us more intel,” he explains, “but as far as we know, we’re dealing with people who can buy their way out of some very sketchy shit.”

“Language, Captain.” Lady Theodora reminds him.

“Please accept my sincere apologies, Theodora,” he says and turns to Gaz. “I meant sketchy things, Sergeant.”

As they continue discussing the mission, your mind wanders on the latest information. Ghost’s partner? How? You look at the file and then back at Ghost. You see Lady Theodora walking behind Ghost’s chair and leaning close to his ear. She looks at you and whispers to him.

“I told you, Lieutenant,” she says, “I’ll mould you into a proper gentleman.”

Ghost turns to face you as well. “I’m afraid that’s impossible, Lady Theodora,” he replies.

But Lady Theodora smiles and touches his shoulder, “Oh, you’ll see, Mr Riley—you’re my gift to unwrap, one course at a time.”

———————————————————————

Part 2 ->

1K notes · View notes

natsaffection · 7 months

Text

Kingdom of Secrets | Prologue | N. Romanoff

Knight!Natasha x younger!princess!Reader

MINOR DNI!! (18+!)

warnings: age gap (Natasha is 16 when she comes to the palace and the reader is 4 years old. At the end of this chapter Natasha is 33 and reader 21) fingering, begging, crying

word count: 4,5k

A/n: welcome to the prologue of Kingdom of Secrets! (Yes the title has a meaning) This is just the opening chapter. So it's not the first real part. It cost me already tears because I wanted it to come across the way people spoke back in the Middle Ages..so please give feedback!🫂

In the heart of the great kingdom of Celestria, where emerald fields stretch as far as the eye can see and spires kiss the sky, there was great anticipation in the royal court. King Alistair and Queen Seraphina Dawn, the beloved rulers of the realm, had long yearned for an heir to carry on the legacy of their noble lineage. The palace echoed with the whispers of courtiers as news spread of a momentous event.

Queen Seraphina was expecting a child.

Months passed, each one accompanied by prayers and whispered hopes echoing through the halls of the palace. The kingdom collectively held its breath, waiting for the joyous news that would bring new life to the royal family. The gardens adorned with blooming flowers bore witness to the ebb and flow of the seasons, reflecting the anticipation within the palace walls.

And then, as the golden colors of autumn tinged the landscape, the long-awaited moment arrived. Like a melody of hope, the announcement resounded through the kingdom and spread from town to town. Queen Seraphina had given birth to a daughter, a shining beacon of joy in the embrace of her parents' love.

The kingdom erupted in jubilation. Banners swayed in the fresh breeze, their colors dancing to the rhythm of the joy that flowed through the streets. The citizens rushed to the gates of the palace in their finest clothes to join in the royal rejoicing. The sweet scent of flowers was in the air and the distant sounds of musicians tuning their instruments heralded the great celebrations to come.

Inside the palace, the little princess lay in her mother's arms, wrapped in a tapestry of delicate silk. Queen Seraphina's eyes, glistening with tears of happiness, met King Alistair's gaze, a silent exchange that spoke volumes about the unspoken journey they had traveled to reach this blessed moment.

As the sun sank below the horizon, the palace gates opened to welcome the many well-wishers. The Great Hall, decorated with golden tapestries and crystal chandeliers, shone in the light of a thousand candles. Laughter and chatter filled the air as nobles, commoners and dignitaries alike joined in the celebration.

In the midst of this splendor, the little princess lay in her crib, surrounded by a symphony of admiration. Her tiny fingers, like rose petals, grasped at the air as if reaching for the love that surrounded her. The flickering candlelight painted her delicate features and cast a warm, ethereal glow on her.

Y/n, as she would later be called, became the beacon of hope that united the kingdom. Her laughter echoed through the palace like silver bells, eliciting smiles from all who basked in her innocent radiance. The court musicians, attuned to the heartbeat of the celebration, played melodies that blended with the collective heartbeat of the kingdom, a harmonious testament to the unity created by the birth of the princess.

Over the years, the princess's birthdays became a cherished tradition. The kingdom celebrated with greater fervor each year, turning the anniversary of her birth into a grand spectacle. The gardens, where once the whispers of anticipation could be heard, now bloomed in vibrant colors that reflected the princess's exuberant spirit.On her birthdays, the people of Celestria gathered to honor their beloved princess. The streets were lined with stalls selling sweet treats and enchanting trinkets. Musicians played lilting melodies and performers brought fairy tales to life through dance and theater. But amidst the splendor, it was Y/n herself who was in the spotlight.

Her laughter, the elixir that had breathed life into the kingdom years ago, echoed through the air. The joy that emanated from her was infectious and transformed the celebration into a mosaic of smiles and shared happiness. Y/n had become the living embodiment of the kingdom's dreams with her sparkling eyes and a heart full of kindness.

As Y/n grew, so did the kingdom around her. The once silent halls of the palace echoed with the footsteps of a vibrant princess whose spirit danced like the sunlight that fell through the leaves. She became a symbol of hope, bridging the realms of royalty and commonality - a beacon of unity for a kingdom that had waited with bated breath for her arrival.

And so, under the golden skies of Celestria, the royal court and citizens celebrated the birth of their princess, whose laughter echoed throughout the kingdom, mingling with the melodies of joy that had marked her grand entrance into the world.

But a shadowy group lurked in the hidden corridors beneath the splendor of the kingdom. Unseen and unheard, this gang shrouded in mystery plotted insidiously to infiltrate the royal house.

In the dimly lit chamber adorned with ancient symbols, the agents of the group - Shadows of Darkness - received a chilling instruction. The leaders, shrouded in the cloak of shadows, readjusted their strategy. Princess Y/n, an unforeseen variable, demanded an adjustment to their malevolent plans.

As Y/n's laughter rang through the palace, the group's secret game unfolded on an invisible chessboard. The birth of the princess upset their carefully laid plans and brought an element of unpredictability into play. Beneath the surface of the festivities, a calculated dance played out, where joyful echoes collided with the malice lurking in the shadows. Citizens and royalty revelled in blissful ignorance, unaware of the ominous threat lurking in the hidden corners of the palace. A dangerous dance began. One in which the laughter of a princess served as an eerie soundtrack to a covert operation that would reshape Celestria's destiny.

As daylight bathed the kingdom in golden hues, the shadowy group moved in secrecy. Their ominous influence extended to unsuspecting future queens. The dark puppet, manipulated by unseen hands, infiltrated the royal court and left a menacing presence.

The king, who had followers in every country, became aware of the terrifying power. Fearing for his family and the future of his country, he had his troops strengthened and also looked for a guardian for his daughter. So he spread the word throughout the country that a tournament was to be held in the late evening and that the bravest and strongest fighters were to take part.The anticipation of the great tournament was in the air that day. The king, seeking the perfect protector for his most precious treasure, gathered warriors from faraway lands. Men vying for the honor of protecting the jewel of the realm presented themselves in the arena.

The tournament, a spectacle of skill and courage, began with the clash of swords and the thundering hooves of warhorses. Knights from all corners of the realm showcased their skills, a dance of blades played out under the watchful eyes of the royal court.

As the dust settled and countless fighters succumbed to the skill of their opponents, there was a quiet tension among the spectators. The king, seated on his magnificent throne, surveyed the remaining warriors, his keen eyes searching for the one who would serve as a shield against the impending danger to the princess. Then, amidst the remaining fighters, a lone, young figure emerged, clad in armor that seemed to absorb the essence of the shadows. The air fell silent as this knight stepped forward, exuding an aura of fear and admiration. A murmur went through the audience, a collective acknowledgement that a formidable force had entered the arena.

The king, mesmerized and wary, leaned forward in his throne, a silent question etched on his regal countenance. "Tell me, what is a child doing on the field?" he asked his 1st in command. He bowed to his king, "Forgive me, my majesty, but you emphasized that the gates were open to anyone carrying a sword." The king forced the moment back into his mind and now looked further down, at the person.

At that very moment, the mysterious knight removed the helmet, revealing a cascade of fiery red hair framing a face marked by the scars of countless battles. Her piercing gaze, a mixture of steel and determination, met the king's eyes with an unwavering intensity. A murmur went through the hall as the realization set in. "Lady, Natalia Alianovna Romanoff," someone breathed, the name inspiring both awe and fear. As the first young woman to be knighted, Natasha was widely known, and her accomplishments on the battlefield were whispered about in saintly tones. The king, who also learned of her presence, widened his eyes.

As she approached the king, Natasha dropped to one knee, a sign of respect and submission. Her armor bore the marks of countless victories, and the sword at her side was a testament to her skill as a warrior.

"Your Majesty," Natasha's voice, a symphony of authority and humility, echoed through the arena. "I am Natalia Alianovna Romanoff, sworn to protect those deemed worthy of the Empire's protection. I offer my skills and loyalty to defend your princess, the jewel of Celestria." The king, observing the steely determination in Natasha's eyes, pondered her words. Isn't she too young to be a knight? Presently good..She could form a bond with Y/n. He thought.

The court remained in a collective breathless pause, awaiting the monarch's decision. After a moment's thought, the king nodded, a gesture that echoed through the arena like a decree.

"Lady Natasha Romanoff, rise. You have proven that you are an excellent Fighter. May the realm be witness to your service as my daughter's protector."

The crowd erupted in a mixture of cheers and whispers in appreciation of the gravity of the moment. Natasha rose from her knees and hid her features behind her helmet again. With measured steps, she returned to the ranks of the assembled knights, her presence leaving an indelible impression on the tournament and setting the stage for a new chapter in the kingdom's saga. Since then, the unique bond between the young princess and the fearless knight began to grow. Y/n, a little bundle of joyful energy, zoomed through the flowerbeds. "Tasha, look, I can fly!" she cried, spreading her tiny arms. Natasha, with a smile on her lips, leaned down. "Really? Show me, little whirlwind." And chase her through the field.

"Tasha, why are you so strong?" asked Y/n three years later, while they were playing in the halls. Natasha, with a mischievous smile, replied, "Strength comes not only from muscles, but also from courage and determination, my Princess."

The royal parents, from their thrones, watched the scene with warm smiles. "Look how Natasha is teaching our daughter," said the queen. The king nodded proudly. "A bond strengthened not only by duty, but also by the heart..I could not have chosen anyone better."

In the shelter of the pavilion, Y/n and Natasha talked about the years of shared experiences. "Promise me, Natasha, that you will always be by my side," Natasha, serious yet tender, replied, "As long as I breathe, I will watch over you, Princess."

Over the years, not only did Y/n grow up, but so did the love between her and Natasha. Adventures together, laughter and tears formed a bond that blurred the boundaries between princess and protector.

At the age of 20, Y/n found herself in the midst of an inner turmoil. The years had passed since Natasha had taken up residence as her protector, and a subtle change was creeping into the princess's mind.

In the quiet moments when the sun slowly disappeared behind the palace walls, Y/n discovered a growing urge to seek Natasha's closeness. Every look from the knightess, every gentle touch, seemed to break through an invisible barrier within Y/n.

The glances Natasha cast across the ballroom as they shared in royal festivities carried a deeper meaning. Y/n recognized the warmth in Natasha's eyes, which came not only from her proximity to the king, but betrayed something more intimate. Uncertainty gnawed at Y/n as she thought about these growing feelings. Society, royal expectations, all created a veil that kept her growing affection for Natasha hidden.

The Royal Mother observed the subtle changes in Y/n's behavior, but the secret remained hidden between the lines. Y/n felt her heart beat faster when she faced Natasha, and the soft sighs that escaped her were carried on the winds of fate.

One day, Natasha, bathed in sweat from the rigorous training session, gracefully moved through the courtyard, effortlessly wrestling each knight that dared to cross her path to the ground. As Y/n strolled through the palace, she unexpectedly caught sight of Natasha in action, sans her usual formidable armor.

Mesmerized by the raw power and agility on display, Yn found it challenging to look away. Natasha's every move seemed like a choreographed dance of strength and finesse. It was the first time Y/n had seen her like this, vulnerable yet invincible

Natasha, engrossed in her sparring session, sensed Y/n's eyes on her. Mid-wrestle with one of the knights, she subtly shifted her gaze to meet Y/n's, exhaling almost imperceptibly. In that brief connection, Natasha's intense focus softened, and a ghost of a smile played on her lips, as if she had caught Y/n in the act.

Y/n, startled by Natasha's awareness, quickly averted her gaze, pretending to be absorbed in the palace architecture. The blush on her cheeks, however, betrayed her attempt to conceal the intrigue Natasha's athleticism had sparked.

She continued her training, each movement deliberate and powerful. Y/n, despite her efforts to remain discreet, stole occasional glances, hoping Natasha wouldn't notice..

When a maid approached, unaware of the silent exchange, Y/n stammered, "I-I was just, you know, walking around," as she tried to divert attention from the fact that Natasha had momentarily captured her focus. Natasha, still engaged in her training, shot Y/n a knowing look, her eyes betraying a hint of amusement, silently acknowledging the unspoken connection while respecting Y/n's attempt to keep her feelings concealed.

Several hours passed, and Y/n immersed herself in the demands of royal duties. As she diligently attended to matters within the palace, she couldn't shake the memory of Natasha's training session. Much to her surprise, as she returned to the main hall, there was Natasha, seamlessly transitioning from warrior to protector, resuming her role by Y/n's side.

Their eyes met once again, and this time Natasha's expression spoke volumes. A playful glint in her eyes suggested a shared secret, referencing the earlier stolen glances. Y/n couldn't help but smile in response, a subtle acknowledgment of the connection they had formed.

Weeks later when the moon towered over Celestria, Y/n dared a tentative look into Natasha's eyes. It was as if the universe melded their souls together, and in that moment, Y/n knew it was more than mere reverence for the brave knight. The realization that her heart was following a path of love was like the blossoming of a delicate flower within her. But the world she lived in demanded secrecy - a love that blossomed in the shadow of royal duties.

Another year passed and Y/n's duties to the throne drew ever closer. Her parents now saw her as an adult woman who would later rule the people. However, this could not be done alone and the time had come to find a suitable mate. So they embarked on various journeys to neighboring countries to consider their princes and princesses. A point Y/n is proud to show. With all the fuss she secretly has about Natasha, her eyes opened to another part.

It was a sunny day when the royal family were visiting another kingdom. The family was welcomed with joy. But the festive atmosphere was pervaded by an underlying tension. As Y/n strode through the hall in royal garb, she was swarmed by the polite remarks and advances of the foreign prince. The looks he gave her were full of obvious interest, and the smile on his lips betrayed intentions that went beyond polite courtesies.

Natasha, standing in her imposing armor alongside the royal family, felt a flame of jealousy flare up inside her. Every passionate look, every touched hand, felt like a stab in her chest. In a quiet moment, when the prince engaged Y/n in a private conversation, Natasha could hardly bear the sight. Her hands clenched into fists as she inwardly fought back the burning sting of jealousy.

Finally, the festive gathering broke up and the royal family returned to their chambers. The opulent chambers of Y/n awoke to the pale glow of candles as the evening shrouded the royal estate in an atmosphere of twilight. The prince, wearing a polite facade, had made his intentions clear. But Natasha sensed the unease in the air. When the prince attempted to cross the boundaries of politeness and seek out Y/n in her chambers, Natasha turned cold as ice. Her eyes, normally as impenetrable as the darkness, bore into the young nobleman. Without a word, her gaze spoke volumes, and the prince retreated as if he had entered an invisible barrier.

When Natasha entered Y/n's chamber, the discomfort was reflected on Y/n's face. "Thank you.. I was so uncomfortable, but I didn't mean to be rude," Y/n murmured, her voice low in the intimate atmosphere. Natasha stepped closer, her touch cooler than the night breeze blowing through the open window. "My princess, you never have to compromise for politeness."

In a calculated move that blurred the line between protector and seductress, Natasha lifted Y/n's hand and stroked her fingertips over the delicate skin. "Don't let anyone enter your world if you don't want them to. You deserve respect and so much more."

The darkness of the room seemed to tighten around the two of them as Natasha continued, intensifying her own touch. "And maybe, there is someone..who is willing to go deeper than politeness allows."

The words echoed between the walls as the coolness of the night turned into a dance of desire. Y/n sensed the play of shadows as Natasha, took on the role of seductress. A passionate revelation that in the twilight of her chambers revealed a connection that transcended the duties of the royal hall.

The room lost its dimensions in darkness as Natasha and Y/n were caught in a mesmerizing dance of tension. Y/n's heartbeat quickened as Natasha's words sounded like a breath in the night, a promise that implied more than it stated. "Natasha, I don't know what you mean..." whispered Y/n, her voice caught between curiosity and an underlying desire that lingered in the air. Natasha stepped closer, her gaze like the dark veil of night that hid everything and yet revealed everything. "I speak of desire that goes deeper than any protocol that exists within the walls of a palace."

The atmosphere thickened as Natasha began to loosen Y/n's royal robes with deft fingers. "You can feel it, can't you? This suppressed energy between us. It's time to explore the shadows that lurk in the corners of our connection."

Y/n's breathing quickened as the warmth of Natasha's hands touched her skin. A mixture of fear and desire flickered in her eyes as she embraced the unknown.

"N-Natasha, I... Is this right?" asked Y/n, but her reticence was swallowed up by the darkness.

Natasha replied with a cool smile that betrayed a deep, hidden passion. "Right or wrong, Y/n, does not exist in this world of shadows. There is only what you desire and what you are willing to experience." The air between them was charged as Natasha gently placed her lips on Y/n's. A passionate kiss that burned down the blurred lines between duty and desire. Still, Natasha paused for a moment and looked her princess in the eye, “I notice your looks, your breath when I sneak up on you..you’re begging when I retreat to my chambers..” Natasha pushed the princess onto the bed. The redhead had Y/n's legs wide open. Open for her to devour.

Natasha licked her lips, staring at Y/n's underwear, a hungry look in her mouth. Y/n still felt the slight urge to protest. What is she doing here? What happens if her parents find out about this? Are they allowed-

But all words of resistance melted into a moan in her mouth as Natasha opened her entrance with her tongue. She lay down in front of Y/n, lifting the princess's legs by her thighs onto her shoulders. Natasha's tongue turned her princess's moans into groans and then shouts of ecstasy. After tasting Y/n for long enough, Natasha lifted her head. Her mouth was covered in Y/n's fluid, giving her face a glow that Y/n found simply intoxicating.

"How are you feeling? Can I continue?" Natasha's eyes widened as she saw the sight of her ruler. Spread wide and with her hands clenched in the pillows, "K-Keep going please..” Natasha smiled and climbed up to Y/n to take off her dress and while she undressed Y/n, Natasha kissed Y/n and she tasted herself on her lips. Without breaking the kiss, Natasha inserted two of her fingers into Y/n. In response, the young princess let out a deep moan into Natasha's mouth as she slowly penetrated her. As Natasha alternated between driving her index and middle fingers in and out of Y/n's cavity, Y/n was disturbed by the amount of armor Natasha still had on and set about removing it.

Natasha smirked again as she realized what Y/n's plans were and sat back up, "You could have asked, my highness..." Y/n's eyes were wide as she watched Natasha remove every single piece of metal from her body. Eventually it just tinkled on the floor and Natasha stood before her in a white shirt. She wasted no more time and pounced on the young girl again.

"What do you want me to do, princess?" Natasha now asked, breathing in unison with her aroused ruler. She had already slipped a hand between Y/n's thighs and was leaning on her shorts. Y/n knew what Natasha wanted to hear. "Please.." she begged, "fuck me." Natasha watched Y/n's flushed face. It was so, so lewd. This time, however, Natasha stroked a finger over the edge of her labia and felt how far the wetness had spread.

"You really want it, don't you?" said Natasha with a hint of smugness in her voice. Y/n knew it wasn't to humiliate her, but rather to increase her sense of exposure.

Yes, I really fucking want it, Y/n wanted to say, but managed to hold back. Natasha, however, didn't miss the look on her face before she leaned in and slowly kissed Y/n again. She began to run her fingers up and down the wetness between Y/n's legs, stroking slowly and rhythmically.

Y/n held back any sound that wanted to come out of her mouth, knowing there was more to come. A touch slipped past a certain spot so briefly and lightly that Y/n's body flinched in response. Natasha had to keep her senses together, just a little longer. The stroking and kissing gradually became faster, without either of them noticing against the backdrop of their growing arousal. Natasha's fingers were touching Y/n's clit more and more frequently now, and Y/n couldn't keep up, the tension between her legs growing and her mouth remaining slightly open.

"A-A-hh..." she gasped, and her body arched back more and more. She was crying out now, twisting and turning, her clit at the center of the movement, her hands wrapped around Y/ns, her face pressed into her shoulders, her upper body arched so that her breasts and erect nipples moved against Natasha's body in the same rhythm as the caresses between her thighs. "Nat-..Natasha...!" She cried out. "I'm... ah, I'm..."

Natasha kissed her neck in response and concentrated fully on bringing Y/n to climax. She wanted to hear her princess scream, to feel her thrusting against her body in a frenzy of pleasure. She wanted Y/n to lose all inhibitions and move against her hand like a horny slut. Y/n couldn't take it anymore. Her hips and buttocks began to move against Natasha, thrusting towards her with desire, begging her not to stop. It felt so dirty to cooperate and beg so earnestly, but Y/n didn't care about any of it. Natasha moaned along with Y/n and couldn't hold back either after listening to Y/n feel this way about her.

“Cum for me.”

When Y/n heard Natasha's soft and loving voice moaning like that, she shook with pleasure. Her mind went blank. The room disappeared, the bed vanished. The world consisted only of her body, which contracted and pulsated to release all its pent-up arousal in one go. Y/n didn't know how much time had passed while she trembled and shook and moaned, even though she didn't want to. All she knew was that Natasha had been holding her the whole time and watched every single facial feature of her beloved princess.

TAGLIST: @taliiiaasteria @natty-taffy @natashaswife4125 @lifebyinez @aemilia19 @natwifesblog @clearcoloredlenses @ragoshmog @eringranola

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha smut #natasha romanov x reader #dom!natasha x reader #nat x reader #natasha romanov smut #natasha romonova #the avengers #natasha

568 notes · View notes

hanafubukki · 28 days

Text

Summary: Malleus wishes Silver a Happy Birthday.

Time has always moved differently for the fae. It was a concept he always struggled with.

And yet, time seemed to have slowed down yet quickened in a way that Malleus was never used to after meeting a silver-haired baby.

Malleus can’t exactly recall when this phenomenon started.

Maybe it was the day Lilia flung the baby at him? When he looked at the crying bundle and hummed his mother’s lullaby?

He knew time moved steadily from that moment on, flowing through his fingertips in a way he had not noticed before.

That baby grew, and his weight increased.

The baby continues to grow along with the amount of saliva and other liquids that soaked Malleus. The seamstresses would faint if they ever knew what transpired on his clothes.

Eventually, Silver spoke words and greeted him with a smile as bright as the sun.

Time passed.

Silver learned magic. The pride in his eyes the first time he manifested it had Malleus feeling the same.

Malleus remembers the time he taught Silver and Lilia to dance. Swirls of magic danced on his fingertips as he played a tune and instructed them. Oh how fun that was.

Time continues to slip by.

Malleus remembers the days he would watch Silver and Sebek train.

The day he chose them as his knights. The looks on their faces made it worth it-another way to keep them close by always.

Malleus recalls, before blot and magic took control and emotions unfolded, how silver hair and determined eyes preached against such dreams and their wrongness, how no one wanted it, least of all him and Lilia.

Malleus sees these same eyes.

So bright and pure.

Colors changing like the facets of jewels.

Malleus remembers these eyes, the eyes of the babe, who dared to cry in his arms. The one who cried to him out on a snowy day, feeling as useless as he.

Malleus smiles, bringing a hand up to those very eyes.

Wiping crystal-like tears away as he used to do to the babe, consoling him as he had done not so long ago.

Breathe.

Just a bit more.

A splash of red on white leaves him aching, he hadn’t meant to tar such purity.

Tears continue to flow despite his efforts, from these very eyes.

Holding him tightly, speaking to him. Desperately.

More expressive than Malleus had seen him be in a while.

Ah.

Malleus wishes he could hear him.

But the clawing darkness prevents it.

So Malleus smiles, proud as ever of the one before him; using what strength he has left to speak words he desperately wants to say.

My Light that guided me through the darkness.

My Loyal Knight.

Thank you for saving me.

“Happy 18th Birthday, Silver.”

Darkness.

Happy Birthday, Silver 💚💕🌷

I love you🥰🌺

#*3am Hana smiles at you*#malleus draconia #diasomnia #twst silver #silver vanrouge #twst malleus draconia #disney twst #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland silver #twst scenarios #twst drabbles #twst #twst angst #twst malleus #twst book 7 #disney twisted wonderland #twst platonic

156 notes · View notes

asa-do-your-thing · 2 months

Text

Faileas

18+ MINORS DNI Cregan Stark x F!Reader 5.6k Warnings: SMUT, blowjob, fingering, p in v sex, unprotected sex, mentions forced marriage, dom / sub dynamics as always no proofreading no nothing

Hi guys! you wished for some Cregan action, here you go, some wintery woodsy and very sexy scenes for you <3

The eerie silence of the snow-covered forest was suddenly shattered by a loud thump, jolting you out of your sleep. The sound echoed through the thick trees, sending shivers down your spine. You knew that snow never fell silently, but this was no gentle snowfall.

Someone or something had disturbed the peacefulness of the night.

Hastily pulling on your fur-lined boots and throwing on your warm cape, you grabbed your trusty ax, ready to defend yourself against any unwelcome visitors. The only light came from the full moon, casting elongated shadows across the ground. Your heart raced as you crept towards the door, unsure of what awaited you outside in the frigid darkness. Whoever was lurking around at this hour was most likely not a friendly soul.

Breathing deeply, you pushed open the door just a sliver to peer outside. The sight that met your eyes was nothing short of awe-inspiring. The snow lay pristine and untouched, beautifully illuminated by the silver glow of the moon. Each tree stood tall and heavy under its snowy blanket, the crystals shimmering with infinite variations of blue and silver under the celestial light.

Suddenly, a flicker of movement caught your attention. It was far off in the distance but distinct against the untouched snowscape. Fear surged through your veins, but courage stemmed from your noble upbringing spurred you on. As you stepped out into the winter night, the crisp air stung your face and the snow crunched under your boots. Your fingers tightened around the handle of your ax, its familiar weight offering some measure of comfort.

As you trudged deeper into the forest, it became clear that you were not alone. Footprints imprinted on the previously untouched surface told a tale of stealth and intention. A creature of some sort had indeed passed this way, disturbing the tranquility of your sanctuary.

You had sought solace in this barren place to offer your prayers. A giant Weirwood tree stood beside your modest dwelling, and you made offerings to it every day, seeking guidance. Your parents, who ruled House Knott, were determined to marry you off to an elderly Lord from the Stormlands. Desperate for someone to intervene, anyone at all, you turned to this sacred spot for help, but as it seemed, you were not entirely safe here.

Through gaps in the trees where moonlight penetrated, you saw it; a figure, cloaked in darkness paused momentarily at a clearing futher down. Its silhouette was hunched over as if peering at something in the snow.

Silently, like a wolf stalking its prey, you advanced cautiously towards it. Your heart pounded in your chest like a war drum as each breath became shallow and measured under stress. As you moved closer, an unexpected gust of wind swept through the trees making them groan under their icy load.

Spooked by the sudden noise, you gripped your axe tighter and lifted it up high, expecting the figure - a man in a cloak with fur over his shoulders - to jump up and attack you as soon as he thought you had let your guard down. He was most likely a poacher, trying to hunt down a skinny rabbit or a winter fowl.

“Poaching will get you hanged. Know that you are on the lands of House Knott and I shall bring you to the Lord if I catch you stealing from us,” you said calmly, your ax hanging over the man’s head. “And if you wish to attack me, I’ll lob your head off clean.”

The man quickly turned to face you, his eyes wide with surprise. He rose slowly, hands lifted in a placating manner. The man was tall, towering over you, and the moonlight revealed a wild shock of black hair and stormy grey eyes that seemed to carry a certain depth of experience and wisdom. There was something captivating about the way he looked at you, an intensity coupled with an unexpected warmth that was unlike any stranger you've encountered before.

“Easy there, m’lady,” he said, his voice resonating in the windless night. He cocked a small grin, his teeth white against his rugged features. His northern accent only added to his charm. “I’m no poacher, nor do I seek to harm you or rob your lands. I’m merely looking for shelter.”

His cloak billowed as he moved away from you towards a loneset tree nearby. In the dim light, you noticed a direwolf sigil stitched onto his cloak - the sigil of House Stark. An unexpected chill ran down your spine as realization hit.

"Lord Cregan Stark?" You questioned aloud, disbelief tinting your voice.

The man - Lord Stark - turned back to face you, giving a small nod as he surrendered jokingly with a chuckle. “Indeed," he confirmed in amusement, "Didn’t mean to startle you.”

A thousand questions danced in your mind as your grip on the axe loosened but did not let go completely. The Warden of the North standing before you in your family’s sanctuary in the Woods was something straight out of legends and ballads sung by minstrels at feasts.

“I… I can give you shelter, my Lord. Though it is only a small hut… It surely won’t live up to your expectations,” You mumbled and courtsied, trying to suppress the blush that formed on your cheeks.

Your mother has told you about Lord Stark, but seeing him there, in the moonlight, made you doubt her words. He was strikingly handsome, not at all boorish and violent like she had told you.

“Though, my Lord, if I may be so bold, I would’ve appreciated it greatly if you would have just knocked. I was prepared to hack you to pieces.”

Lord Cregan eyed you over. “Your hut? Are you Lady Knott? I thought she was an old hag, sitting and scheming around in her Keep. You’re decidedly younger and prettier.”

Approaching you slowly, he laid his large, gloved hand on the hilt of his sword. “If you aren’t Lady Knott, then what are you doing here, in the Knott’s Weirwood grove?”

You narrowed your eyes, straightening your posture as you met his gaze. "I am Lady Knott...the younger one," you clarified, feeling the corners of your mouth quirk up in a small smile.

"You might be confusing me with my mother." You watched as the hint of surprise crossed his features before transforming into an appreciative chuckle.

"Well then, that would explain the confusion," Lord Cregan replied, leaning against the tree he had been approaching earlier. He looked at you with renewed interest. "And as for knocking, I thought no one would be occupying this place at this hour. A slight miscalculation on my part."

Your smile widened as you stepped forward, crossing your arms over your chest. "Next time, my lord, take the time to knock. Or better yet, send a raven ahead of time."

His laughter echoed through the grove, a rich and deep sound that resonated within you. "Noted, Lady Knott."

Looking back at him composedly, you added: "But if you're still suspicious of me, Lord Stark, then by all means go back into the forest and sleep there..."

Lord Cregan raised an eyebrow at you. His eyes danced with a playful gleam under the moon's glow. There was a moment of tense silence before he let out another hearty laugh that vibrated through the grove.

"I doubt anyone would be foolish enough to turn away from such generous hospitality,” he answered warmly.

His words filled you with warmth even against the cold wind. He was not what your mother had made him out to be; he was far from it.

"Speaking of hospitality, my lord, would you care to step inside the hut?" you asked, tilting your head towards the entrance of the small dwelling. "I promise I won't hack you to pieces. At least, not tonight."

Once more, his laughter echoed through the trees, creating a symphony with the rustling leaves and nocturnal sounds.

"Lead the way, Lady Knott," Lord Cregan instructed, his eyes sparkling with curiosity as he followed you into the hut. Inside was an array of family relics; old books, carefully crafted tapestries depicting ancient tales from their lands, and one prominent weirwood table where you had been preparing for your moonlit prayers.

You began to explain yourself, your hands nervously fidgeting as you gestured around the sacred space. "I come here often,” you admitted. "A little strange perhaps, for a young noble lady to find solace in such a... rudimentary place. But I find it peaceful."

Lord Cregan's eyes roamed over your treasured sanctum with evident respect. "And tonight?" he asked, glancing back at you as he leaned against one of your stack of books.

A sigh escaped your lips as you braced yourself to confide in this stranger who felt oddly trustworthy. "Tonight... Tonight I came here to pray against my marriage," your voice wavered toward the end.

His brows furrowed curiously and he inclined his head slightly sideways in question. "Against?"

"My parents have arranged my marriage," you clarified hastily. An uneasy laugh escaped your lips as tried to lighten up your confession. "To a sixty year old widower. A Lord from the Stormlands. Lord Symon Dondarrion, they said.”

Shrugging quickly, you put another piece of wood into the hearth and watched the embers reddening. Why were you rambling so? Lord Stark probably did not care.

His silence was unsettling. After a moment that felt like an eternity, he finally broke it with a soft, "I see." His gaze softened, empathy seeping through his glacial eyes as he watched the dancing flames of the hearth reflect in yours.

“And what does the young Lady wish for?" Lord Cregan asked, taking hesitant steps towards you. His sturdy voice echoed in the tight confines of the hut.

Despite his status as a powerful lord, he appeared genuinely interested. You drew in a shaky breath before managing to voice your deepest desire out loud. "To stay in the North," you answered honestly. "To stay where I have grown up, not having to go to… well, almost Dorne. And not having to marry an old man…."

A thoughtful silence fell between you both. Outside, the wind had picked up and was causing the leaves to rustle and twigs to snap under its force. Stark's gaze drifted towards one of your family small tapestries, where large, rugged old men sat next to sour-faced women, wolves and bears at their feet.

"In Winterfell," he began turning his steady gaze back to you, “we have a saying: ‘The lone wolf dies but the pack survives’. At times, alliances made are for survival not just for one individual, but for their kin and their people."

He paused for a moment and sighed deeply, rubbing the back of his head with his gloved hand, before taking it off. The warmth was catching up to him, it seemed. The seriousness faded from his face and he offered you a small smile. "But it doesn't mean that it has to be so bleak.”

The warm fires of the hearth flickered across his rugged features as he stepped closer to you. You could feel your heart drumming louder in your chest as he neared.

"For now, you’re here in the North. Isn’t that… good?”, he said, seemingly trying to cheer you up.

You felt your face flush with embarrassment as you stumbled out of your sodden boots and removed your drenched cloak. It was only then that you realized the inappropriateness of your attire for hosting the esteemed Warden of the North. The topic of your impending marriage also felt uncomfortable to discuss with him.

"Um, yes...I suppose so," you stammered, at a loss for words.

"But...that's not really important right now." Your awkwardness only seemed to grow in his intimidating presence. “If I may be so bold, what were you doing here, north of the Wolfswood, without any guards?”

The corners of Lord Cregan's mouth twitched ever so slightly, as if he was amused by your audacious question. He stood from the stack of books and began pacing the hut, each step measured and silent. "You have a keen sense for observation, Lady Knott," he began, the moonlight streaming through the window to highlight his stern profile.

He paused, leaning against the old ironwood table, his fingers gently brushing over a worn out book that lay there. "In all honesty," he admitted, not looking directly at you, but at the memorabilia scattered across the space. "I'm here on kind of...a pilgrimage."

"A pilgrimage?" you echoed, brows furrowing in confusion. You weren't sure what you expected, but that was certainly not it.

"Yes," he answered simply, before turning to face you properly. His eyes glowed with a certain intensity that made your heart flutter. "In my early youth, I often wandered these woods; it gave me a sense of calm that nothing else could."

"Even though Winterfell is known for its peace and tranquility?" you couldn’t help but jest lightly.

A deep chuckle echoed through the room as Lord Cregan nodded in amusement. "Even then," he confirmed. "Sometimes even the peaceful walls of Winterfell can feel suffocating."

You couldn't help but relate to his confession; even amongst your own family and kinfolk, there were times when you felt bereft of inner peace. It was one of the reasons why you often sought refuge in this secluded hut.

Lord Cregan sought your gaze again, the playful light replaced with a slightly darker one, although not completely sinister. “I think that the Gods have answed both of our prayers, though.”

Sitting down onto your bed, you offered him your chair and gestured towards a large bottle of wine, wordlessly inviting him to pour himself some, if he wished to. “My Lord?”, you asked, not quite knowing what he meant, cocking your head to the side.

Sitting down with a sly smile, he shrugged. “Well, I’m looking for a wife that is not a simpering flower. You’re looking for a strong, young, northern Lord. Or am I wrong, Lady Knott?”

His words hung in the air, creating an electric tension that you could physically feel. The preposterousness of his proposition was too absurd to believe, and yet his confident demeanor suggested he was entirely serious. You hesitated, eyeing him cautiously as if expecting him to erupt into a fit of laughter, revealing it to be a cruel jest. But the man before you remained grave and composed.

The silence stretched out between you like a yawning chasm. His question echoed in your mind, circling around like an insistent buzz. A desperate urge bubbled within you to provide a witty response, anything to alleviate the suffocating heaviness, but words failed to formulate.

Your mouth went dry as dust and for a moment, you worried that you had lost the ability to speak. All you could manage was a weak whisper of "What?" that surely Lord Cregan didn't even hear.

To your surprise, he didn't repeat himself or elaborate on his shocking proposal. Instead, he simply leaned back into his chair and studied you intently as he took a slow sip of the wine you offered him earlier.

A long moment passed before he finally broke the silence, a faint smile gracing his lips. "It's late," he stated simply, standing up from his chair and setting down his cup. You blinked at him in surprise, suddenly realizing how true his words were. The hourglass on your desk indicated that it was way past the hour of the bat.

Lord Cregan made his way towards you, his every movement graceful and measured. He paused, sliding his cloak off, quickly and gently holding your chin in his large hands, making you look up at him. “Tell me if you oppose this. Say the words and I will leave.”

Your breath hitched in your throat as his gaze bore into yours. The fiery intensity, the sheer command in his eyes was insurmountable. His words, though spoken softly, echoed thunderously in your ears. You had always considered yourself a strong-willed woman, not easily swayed by men and their games. But at this moment, looking up at him, you felt a strange fluttering sensation inside you.

The silence extended between you both like a spectral hand reaching out. His statement hung in the chilled air of the room, as if it were suspended on invisible threads. Your heart pounded in the hollow of your chest like a war drum echoing in an empty battlefield.

"Oppose what?" you found yourself asking, your voice barely above a whisper. You held his gaze, your mind racing to comprehend his proposal. Was he suggesting... matrimony? Surely not. The mere suggestion was preposterous.

Lord Cregan Stark of Winterfell would never consider someone like you for a wife... would he?

He held your gaze steadily, yet there was a deep gentleness in his eyes that seemed to melt away the icy chill of the room. "Our union," he said simply, his voice quiet yet full of gravity. You blinked up at him incredulously.

Although his words were laced with an undeniable seriousness, you couldn't help but chuckle nervously at the absurdity of it all. "You are jesting." Your words came out as more of a statement than a question.

But the Warden of the North merely shook his head slightly, an amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Are you suggesting that I am a fool?”

Rolling your eyes, you shook your head. “Of course not! It’s just… how? How will you tell my parents? What will you tell Lord Dondarrion if he would protest?”

“Your father, Lord Knott, has sworn his allegiance to me. He will do as he is told. And Dondarrion… Do you really think that an old Stormlord will ever wish to come up to the North to fight me?”, he said confidently.

The certainty in Lord Cregan's voice was enough to squelch any remaining doubts swimming in your mind. His magnetic confidence had a way of drawing you in, making you question the foundations of your own thoughts and beliefs.

Still, you couldn't help but let out a dry laugh, leaning back against the bedpost with a hint of incredulity in your eyes.

“Cocksure and audacious. I suppose these are traits that I should expect from the Lord of Winterfell,” you commented wryly, crossing your arms over your chest. A soft light danced in his eyes at your words as he rested his hand on the wooden table, leaning towards you ever so slightly.

"And yet, here we are," he began, his tone mild as he absorbed the weight of your words. "In this secluded little hut, far away from prying eyes and the judgmental gaze of society."

He paused slightly, his gaze softening with an emotion that was too complex to decipher. "Should we not take this opportunity and consider what happiness we could find in one another?"

Your breath hitched at his question, a dull ache spreading through your chest as his words sunk in. The thought of marrying Lord Cregan Stark had never crossed your mind until this moment; it was simply a dream too far-fetched and distant for someone like you to entertain.

And yet, here he was - proposing just that.

A mischievous smile then took over his face, as if he had realized something amusing. “Though I must admit,” he said, moving closer to you till his face was just inches away from yours. “If I wouldn’t have known of your predicament, I wouldn’t have minded your company either. You’re a pretty one, Lady Knott.”

His eyes twinkled in the flickering candlelight, his usually stern facial features smoothed and made softer by the intimate atmosphere. The warmth that radiated from him was infectious, causing an involuntary blush to creep up your cheeks.

“Lady Knott, you're blushing,” he observed, a triumphant smirk etched on his face as he leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. His gaze playfully inspected your flustered form before he quickly masked his amused expression with a serious one. “I believe I have chased away all your doubts?”

The faintest hint of uncertainty still lingered within you, yet the way Lord Cregan looked at you made it seem like everything was possible. You nodded at him, mustering a small smile. “I suppose you did.”

He gave you a curt nod in response before pushing himself from his chair, a determined gleam in his wolfish eyes. “Then we waste no more time.”

Tension filled the air as he took your hand, guiding you out of the hut and into the dense underbrush. Despite being bundled in cloaks which you had hastily thrown on, both of you shivered from the cold winds that whipped around you. You led Cregan through the towering forest, feeling his steady and confident stride on the snow-covered terrain. It gave you strength knowing he trusted you blindly, following your lead without question. The howling northern wind only added to the intensity of the moment.

After what felt like an eternity of walking, you stopped abruptly in front of a gigantic Weirwood tree; its bark white as snow and leaves blood-red. There was an air of solemnity around it that commanded respect and awe.

“We are here,” you said simply, turning to look up at him with shaking hands reaching for his. “Are you sure?”

The wind whistled hauntingly through the trees, as if nature herself bore witness to this tremendous decision. Cregan Stark returned your shaky grip and looked deep into your eyes. His gaze was dark and stormy, an echo of the northern lands he led. Yet beneath that cold exterior was a layer of profound certainty, an unwavering resolve that was comforting in its strength.

"More sure than I've ever been," he finally said, his voice carrying the weight of the moment. He turned towards the old Weirwood tree, a symbol of his heritage and upbringing. “May the Old Gods bear witness to our oath.”

With your hands still wrapped in each other's, Cregan led you to the base of the ancient tree. You paused in awe at its size and majesty, feeling both insignificant and profoundly special at the same time. The Weirwood's face seemed to stir with an ancient wisdom as if acknowledging your presence.

Taking a deep breath, Cregan started speaking in earnest. “Before the gods, I declare my intent to wed Lady Knott,” his voice echoed through the silent forest, every word carving itself into existence as it lingered in the air.

He then looked at you, his gaze warm yet intense. "Do you willingly accept this union, Lady Knott? If so, speak your vows before the Weirwood."

For a moment there was silence, you gulped down the lump in your throat before speaking up softly yet firmly, “I do accept this union.” You took a step closer to him, hand slipping out of his to rest on his chest over his heart. “Do you willingly accept this union, Lord Stark?”

A silence fell over the eerie forest, the air seeming to hold its breath as if the trees themselves awaited his answer. Cregan Stark studied your face, a mix of love and solemnity in his gaze. He placed his hand over yours, his heart thudding steadily beneath your touch.

"Yes," he finally replied. His voice was a hushed whisper that nonetheless echoed through the silence, sending flocks of distant birds into flight. "I accept this union willingly." His hand tightened around yours. "With all my heart, Lady Knott."

The Weirwood seemed to shiver in response; its leaves rustling softly against the backdrop of the still night. His vow hung potent in the air, mingling with the soft rustling of leaves and echoing in the distance until it seemed to become one with the heartbeat of the very forest.

Humbled by his words and bearing witness to this union, you felt something in you stir. It was an intoxicating sensation, a heady mix of fear and excitement that made your heart pound in your chest like a war drum.

You both knelt before the Weirwood then, dipping your heads in reverence to the Old Gods. Shivering from more than just the frigid cold as snowflakes kissed your cheeks while they fell delicately from above. “May our lives entwine as tightly as our hands are now,” Cregan said softly, squeezing your fingers gently.

“May we grow old together under their watchful eyes,” you added, holding Cregan’s gaze with a bright smile on your face. The warmth radiating between you two belied the biting cold of winter.

He pulled you up, brushing the powdery snow off your backside. With an impish grin, he hoisted you into his arms and you couldn't help but blush.

"I'm your husband now, my dear. Let's save the 'Lord' title for when you are bouncing on my cock." He planted a playful kiss on your forehead before strutting back to the hut. It was clear he couldn't wait to fulfill his marital duties, making you blush and giggle at his eagerness.

With the Weirwood's milky bark glistening under the moonlight as a silent witness to your secret union, you clung onto Cregan as he carried you back to the hut. Your heart pounded loudly in your chest, every beat echoing the promises of love and devotion you both had made under the ancient tree.

Warm light spilled from the narrow slit of a window, illuminating the path leading to your shared domicile. The wind whipped frosty kisses against your cheeks, but entwined securely in Cregan's arms, you were in a cocoon of warmth that dulled the bite of winter.

He pushed open the door with his foot and set you down gently on the thick fur rug next to the smoldering hearth. His eyes danced devilishly over your body as he shrugged off his cloak, allowing it to fall carelessly onto the floor. He then proceeded to help you out of yours, his fingers lingering on areas he promised himself he would explore later.

While his hands were busy undressing you, his mouth claimed yours in an intense battle of dominance. You responded eagerly, matching his fervor and intensity. His mouth tasted like fire and mulled wine, a heady combination that sent shivers down your spine.

His hands found their way up your body, exploring every inch until they landed on your breasts. He kneaded them gently through your dress, eliciting a small gasp from you. The sound only served to spur him on as he moved swiftly and purposefully, undoing the lacing of your dress before sliding it down around your feet.

You stood naked before him, feeling both vulnerable and powerful as you watched him admiring you. “Having any doubts?”, you asked cheekily, enjoying his rapt attention more than a proper Lady should have.

“Doubts? Ha! Never. I shall thank the Gods every day henceforth for making us meet,” Cregan mumbled huskily as he pulled his clothes off, desperate to be rid of them as soon as he could. “Sit on the bed and open your legs for me. I want to see you… All of you.”

You blushed immensely and did as you were told. When you saw Cregan standing in front of you, just like the Gods had made made him, you couldn’t help but blush. You had never seen a man that made you feel the way he did - everything from his muscular shoulders to his hairy chest down to his big, throbbing member made you go crazy. Was this a dream? It had to be.

“You are stunning,” he whispered reverently as he joined you on the bed. His hands traced over your hips, leaving goosebumps in their wake as he moved upwards to cup your breasts. He teased your nipples lightly before parting your folds with his other hand.

“Cregan,” you moaned as his fingers found their target, sending sparks shooting straight to your core. His digit slid across your wetness before dipping inside, and you couldn’t help but arch your back in response.

“So wet for me already," he rasped, a smirk playing on his lips. “I knew you were a naughty girl from the first moment I saw you.” The teasing continued as he angled his hips, pressing the head of his cock against your cheek, before gently guiding it towards your moistened lips. “Do you want to prove me right, my pretty little wife?”

"Cregan, I… yes,” you mumbled senselessly, gently letting him enter your mouth as he continued stroking your pearl, though as soon as you let your tongue glide around his tips, his movements started becoming more and more erratic.

“Gods, that feels good,” he groaned. Encouraged by his reaction, you continued your ministrations, sucking him deeper into your mouth as he thrust in and out.

It wasn’t long before your moans mingled with his own, creating a symphony of wanton lust and desire that echoed off the walls of the hut. He pulled away abruptly with a groan. “No more," he panted heavily. "I won't last much longer like this."

With one smooth move, he flipped you over onto your stomach, spreading your legs wide apart. You felt him nudge against your entrance, hot breaths fanning over your chest, sending shivers down your spine. “Are you ready for me?”

“I… I think so, Yes…,” you mumbled, shaking in anticipation.

“Wait… Are you still a maiden?” Cregan asked incredulously, gently lowering himself next to you, kissing you and holding you close to him so that you would not get cold. Not being able to do anything else than to nod, you blushed and closed your eyes as you felt his arms wrapping around you and lifting you onto him.

“Oh… I, ah…”, you muttered and blushed as you saw this large, handsome man lying underneath you and grinning up at you.

“Hush, you needn’t say anything. Just do whatever feels good for you. I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered and laid his hands onto your hips.

Your heart was racing as you felt Cregan's strong, calloused hands slip you onto him, giving you the control over the situation. Blushing, as you felt the heat of his skin against your own, you braced yourself for the slight pain that would come, yet breathed it out before sinking onto his cock with a small moan, your cheeks heating up even more.

The bed dipped under your combined weight as he grasped your waist and thrust gently upward, pushing himself further inside. Your body reacted instinctively, latching onto him with every inch until he's buried to the hilt inside you.

“Good girl… Fuck…” Cregan mumbled and gently held you down, gazing up at you with incredulous eyes.

You tried to focus on something other than the sensation, but it was impossible. His muscled, hairy chest rose and fell with each ragged breath beneath you while his hands roamed down your back—smooth skin meeting soft curves—and grasping your ass cheeks firmly. He held you there with one hand while the other slid between your legs, pushing against that sensitive spot between them that made your toes curl just from the touch.

“Oh G-gods…”, was all you managed to stutter out as you felt yourself tightening around him.

You let out a tiny moan as you began to move, rocking your hips gently back and forth as he groaned and shivered underneath you. Each thrust sent wave after wave of pleasure through every nerve ending in your body, making it impossible not to squirm. His cock was long and thick inside you, filling you completely as you took control of the pace. As he raised himself up on his elbows and took one of your breasts, gently pinching your nipple, you squealed and felt your release washing over you, barely able to hold yourself over him.

“Just like that, my girl… You’re perfect…”, Cregan mumbled as he gently guided you under him, kissing you with great fervour as he repositioned himself, gently pressing your thighs down onto your stomach, lifting your feet onto his broad shoulders.

Before you could wonder what he was doing, he pushed himself inside you, making you moan loudly. This angle felt even better than before and you felt giddy at him looming over you, fucking up into you as if you were a dirty harlot and it made you tighten around him even more.

“Cregan, my Lord, I… ah…”

“Shh…” He silenced you with a hungry kiss, grinding his hips against yours in a primal rhythm. The air was filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin and your moans as he continued pounding into you, each thrust harder than the last. “You're so fucking tight, I can't...”

His words spurred you on, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him to go even faster and harder. He obliged, his cock brushing against your insides in all the right places. It didn't take long for the sensations to build up again, but this time it was more intense than before - like a ball of fire deep within your belly that grew bigger and bigger until you couldn't take it anymore.

“Cregan, I… I can’t...”

“That's it, my girl… let it go,” he growled as he thrust one last time, filling you with his hot seed, making your orgasm explode inside of you like a supernova of pure bliss. Your screams echoed through the hut as you shook uncontrollably, both gasping for air as your heartbeats slowed down.

“Well done...”, he panted out. “I knew you'd be... perfect. My Lady Stark.”

#asas fics #cregan stark #cregan stark smut #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd smut #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark x you

345 notes · View notes

catboygretzky · 1 year

Note

i have not read the silm but people always use it to go GLADADRIELS HAIR TO GIMLI can u explain

I wish i could do this without explaining so much of the silmarillion but i refuse to explain the entirety of the silmarillion

the first thing you have to know is that there's an elf called fëanor who was the most important elf of the early first age. he was a big deal. super smart, super talented, and he knew it. absolute cunt of a dude. was he an anti hero? was he simply a villain? idk at the end of the day he was a kinslayer of a cunt that committed atrocious war crimes. but he was smart and talented! (he created the silmarils which - well. as you may be able to guess are also a big deal)

super interesting character though. a 🔥 character, one may say.

so just. keep in mind that fëanor was super great at doing elf things (not so great at being a dad or just. having morals that weren't ambition and arrogance) and he was also galadriel's uncle.

now fëanor was obsessed i mean obsessed with galadriel's hair - literally everyone was.

Even among the Eldar [Galadriel] was accounted beautiful, and her hair was held a marvel unmatched. It was golden like the hair of her father and of her foremother Indis, but richer and more radiant, for its gold was touched by some memory of the starlike silver of her mother; and the Eldar said that the light of the Two Trees, Laurelin and Telperion, had been snared in her tresses. Many thought that this saying first gave to Fëanor the thought of imprisoning and blending the light of the Trees that later took shape in his hands as the Silmarils.

so yeah - pretty impressive hair on a pretty impressive elf. impressive enough to inspire the silmarils creation? maybe.

(everyone was obsessed, but fëanor was obsessed obsessed, there's this whole thing with him and light. see: silmarils, which literally captured the light of the Two Trees of Valinor and quite possibly were inspired by galadriel herself)

NOW fëanor begged for an entire lock of hair, and expected her to agree, three times. galadriel denied fëanor all three times.

to bring gimli back in - if you remember, gimli says his only desire is a single strand of her hair, not expecting to receive it but hey, she asked for what i desire most so!

by this point you may be able to sumise why it's a big deal without me telling you BUT

when galadriel tells him to name his desire and what she should give him, gimli says this

"There is nothing, Lady Galadriel," said Gimli, bowing low and stammering. "Nothing, unless it might be - unless it is permitted to ask, nay, to name a single strand of your hair, which surpasses the gold of the earth as the stars surpass the gems of the mine. I do not ask for such a gift. But you commanded me to name my desire."

"i do not ask for such a gift, but you commanded me to name my desire" whereas fëanor begged - gimli didn't even ask it of her, just answered her question about his desires.

but to everyone else this was a Big Deal

The Elves stirred and murmured with astonishment, and Celeborn gazed at the Dwarf in wonder, but the Lady smiled. "It is said that the skill of the Dwarves is in their hands rather than in their tongues," she said; "yet that is not true of Gimli. For none have ever made to me a request so bold and yet so courteous. And how shall I refuse, since I commanded him to speak? But tell me, what would you do with such a gift?" "Treasure it, Lady," he answered, "in memory of your words to me at our first meeting. And if ever I return to the smithies of my home, it shall be set in imperishable crystal to be an heirloom of my house, and a pledge of good will between the Mountain and the Wood until the end of days."

the elves went UM WHAT THE FUCK but galadriel just smiled because yeah, it was bold of him to ask, but he expected nothing and the only thing he would use it for would be to fix the (shitty) relationship between dwarves and elves.

so this look? when gimli tells legolas she gave him three hairs?

i'm sure inside he's thinking "holy shit holy shit holy shit", but it's definitely a turning point in their friendship. because well, if galadriel deems him worthy...

and when gimli said the only thing he'd use it for was to fix the relationship between elves and dwarves? HE DID.

and then galadriel let legolas bring gimli into elf heaven.

i'm sure others can say this much more eloquently, but tl;dr: galadriel said 'fuck you fëanor, go gimli go'

#this was long i'm so sorry #gimli #galadriel #the lord of the rings #fëanor #the silmarillion #tolkien #legolas #ask #lotr #gigloras #lord of the rings

633 notes · View notes

not-fortune-cookie · 4 months

Text

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Upon the vast Silver Tree that concealed a Corrupted Beast within, a small Cookie dawned in Pearly White robes stood upon the roots. Their gaze softened as a hum of a song uttered solemnly as they put their forehead on the trunk, whispering a woe towards the shame they felt for the Cookies befallen under the Witch's cage.

They had witnessed the fall of the former heroes. The corruption that darkened the heart of the now-Beasts. They never foresaw the torment and destruction to be inflicted towards their fellow cookies.

Their dough soured as the time passed in memory. They never had seen this outcome to protect the peace from the Beasts that was hidden beneath the roots of the Tree. For their once friends had become strangers. Let alone foreseeing the transformations of these fallen heroes from their closest companion to be a... MONSTER.

At the sound of soft cracks near them, the Cookie perked up. "Elder Faerie Cookie..." they muttered, knowing his identity upon his quiet steps. "Fret not of my being... For I am grieving..."

"I would assume so, starlight," the Fairy King softly said, his arms placed behind his back as he approached the sorrowful Cookie. "Since eons of protecting this Silver Tree, you still mourn the imprisonment of these Beasts."

The Cookie winced at the reminder of the true colors of the ones they had longed to reunite. Their crystal eyes melted in shame, gripping their weapon tightly, and thoughts grew with agitation.

The betrayal. The broken promise. The heartbreak they suffered to see their closed Cookies locked away...

"Elder Faerie Cookie... They have been my allies." They said, tone keeping their solemn tune. "My companions. My... friends."

"Friends that turned their backs to all Cookiekind..." The Fairy King said, albeit harsh held the truth. "Come now, starlight. Why haven't you let go of the memories of these Beasts? You are to rule alongside me, to prevent them from harming anyone once more."

"Is it wrong for me to reminisce the past, dear friend?" They said as they break contact from the tree, staring at the roots that White Lily Cookie bound when the Beast almost broke free.

"Even with time, the bonds that I have with them were not easy to sever..." They clenched their hands with their lips quivering.

"But it's time for you to open your eyes, starlight," Elder Faerie Cookie said as he reached over to them and lifted their head to meet his gaze. "They are no longer what you paint them to be. For as long as our dough is crisp, we are to prevent them to cast discord."

He sighed, "We have a duty to uphold, [Y/N] Cookie. I need you to keep strong. To assist me to rule the Faerie Kingdom. Please, I cannot lose you, too."

[Y/N] Cookie's gaze softened, their thoughts lingering with the slumbering White Lily Cookie they and Elder Faerie Cookie protected. In an eternal sleep, hanging into the life energy she still has, the Ancient Hero had helped strengthen the Silver Tree when the Beast almost broke free within.

They had lost their precious friends, and now they're also losing the one close to them once more. Elder Faerie Cookie spoke the truth. The Kingdom needed them, they cannot lose their current people.

"You're right..." They muttered, looking towards the banquet. Most faeries singing praises, "I must focus on events of today."

Even with the hollow feeling in their chest, they couldn't help but ponder. A pit in their stomach gnawed with dread, making them glance towards the Silver Tree.

They dismissed it, looking towards Elder Faerie Cookie as they offered a small smile, they held his hands and squeezed them in reassurance. "I'll be here with you. You will not lose me."

'I cannot bring them down.' They thought as they glanced around with a smile and wave as they watched the festive faeries continue to sing praises.

However, no one noticed the crack into the seal and a peal of giggle escaping from the Silver Tree...

#Beast Yeast #Cookie Run: Kingdom x Reader #crk x reader #cookie run x reader #cookie reader #Elder Faerie Cookie #Elder Faerie Cookie x reader

204 notes · View notes

section-chief-prentiss · 2 months

Text

'tis the damn season

Summary: You bring a fake date to make your ex-girlfriend, Emily, jealous at your high school reunion. But you’re taken by surprise to learn that she did exactly the same thing.

Pairing: Emily Prentiss/Reader, JJ/Will LaMontagne

Word Count: 2669

Ao3

You stood in front of your bed, where half a dozen dresses lay, scrutinizing your options. You weren’t sure how long you stood like that, half-naked, hands on your hips, but a knock at the door pulled you out of your indecision.

You’d tried on each dress countless times, and none of them felt right. But they were the only options you had.

You wanted to look amazing—no, better than amazing, stunning—when you reunited with your ex-girlfriend, Emily, at your class reunion tonight. You started dating not long after Emily transferred to your high school during your junior year, and your relationship lasted almost all the way through college. When neither of you was sure what your future laid for you, it seemed easier to figure it out apart.

And you hadn’t spoken since.

You hadn’t wanted to come to your reunion at all, but your friend, Wren, was in charge of organizing it, and you asked her to let you know if Emily RSVP’d. Shortly after she did, you did the same.

You threw on the black, lacy dress—black was always safe, you figured—before grabbing your heels and rushing to let in your date for the evening.

You opened your door to find Will LaMontagne, his dark hair styled and light eyes sparkling. He was dressed in a bright blue button-down and slacks, a hesitant smile on his face.

“Come on in,” you said, stepping aside. “You look great.”

“So do you,” he drawled in his thick, New Orleans accent. “Your sister said this color blue would… bring out your eyes?”

The earnest confusion in his voice earned a genuine laugh from you. Will’s brother and your sister had gotten married last year, and ever since they got engaged, they kept pushing you and Will together, hoping that you’d fall in love.

While neither of you felt that way about each other, you had found a best friend in Will. A confidante.

So when you needed a fake date for your ten-year high school reunion, he offered freely.

“You really don’t have to do this, you know,” you said, for what was probably the hundredth time. “High school reunions are a drag under the best of circumstances.”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easy,” he joked. “Plus, I do get something out of it. We get to tell our siblings we gave it a real shot. Maybe after this, they’ll leave us alone.”

The other deception of the night, aside from Will pretending to be your boyfriend to make your ex jealous, was telling your siblings this was a date. At the end of the night, you’d tell them you were better off as friends and hope they finally left you both alone.

“I brought a tie,” Will said, taking a patterned blue tie out of his pocket. “Is this a tie event?”

You stuck your tongue out in a disgusted face, which earned a laugh from Will. “I didn’t think so, but I didn’t go to my high school reunion, so I wanted to be sure.”

“Don’t change a thing,” you said, reaching for your purse. You were equal parts itching to get out the door and hoping you didn’t arrive too early.

“Should we go?” Will asked, sensing your nerves.

You smiled gratefully. “Please.”

***

A silver lining to the evening was that the reunion wouldn’t take place at your actual high school. Instead, Wren and the rest of the planning committee rented out the ballroom at The Plaza downtown, a hotel you’d always been curious to see the inside of.

The lobby itself had your jaw on the floor. An ornate crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. Below it, on the floor, was a sparkling fountain. Gold pillars plunged from the floor to the ceiling, and the perfectly placed white and gold couches and chairs felt too pretty to sit on. Against the far wall were the check-in desks, with perfectly maintained attendants standing behind them.

“This place is too fancy for me,” you murmured.

Will chuckled. “Fake it ‘til you make it.”

A sign posted near an adjoining hallway pointed toward a room you couldn’t see, with Roosevelt High School Reunion written across it.

“Must be this way,” Will said.

“Your detective skills tell you that?” You joked.

Ignoring the jab, Will led you down the hall and toward the ballroom, music already floating out to meet you. You smiled, recognizing it as one of Wren’s favorites, and wondered how much of her influence you’d hear in the music tonight.

You were pleasantly surprised to find the ballroom relatively crowded when you entered. Decorations with your school’s colors—royal blue and silver—draped from the ceiling, colored the tablecloths, and reflected in the centerpieces, but it wasn’t over-the-top. You had to admit it—you were impressed.

“You made it!” A familiar voice trilled.

You turned to find Wren, dressed in a vibrant pink dress, scampering toward you, arms out to embrace you. You opened your arms just in time to receive her and held her tight.

“Wren, this place looks incredible,” you gushed.

When she pulled away, she was blushing. “Well, thanks, doll. You guys look great.”

“Oh! Wren Taylor, Will LaMontagne Jr. Will LaMontagne Jr., Wren Taylor.”

“Date?” Wren whispered.

You laughed. “No, just a good friend. Unless you see Emily, then… date.”

Wren rolled her eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“When you told me she RSVP’d with a plus one, I couldn’t exactly show up here alone, could I?”

“Yes, you could, actually,” she said. Her eyes widened, focusing on something behind you. “Speaking of…”

You stiffened—sensing her presence before you saw her. Even after being separated for six years, you still recognized the buzzing in the air you felt when she was around.

You braced yourself as you turned toward the entrance to the ballroom, and her beauty took your breath away.

Emily’s dark hair was curled, and she’d grown her bangs out. She wore a white dress and black heels, and your heart skipped a beat.

She was stunning. And you were feeling very plain in comparison.

But then you spotted her hand in someone else’s and froze. Because next to her was a beautiful woman with blonde hair pulled back in a high, curled ponytail and a light blue skirt and white blouse.

They matched, you realized, the sensation a punch to your gut.

Seeing Emily with her partner reminded you of your mission, and you reached for Will’s hand instinctively, who was waiting to take yours.

“It’s now or never,” you muttered, sounding braver than you felt. Will’s advice from earlier rung in your head—fake it ‘til you make it.

You made your way toward the other couple, meeting them halfway, using each step to force a smile across your face before you reunited.

“Y/N!” Emily said, not letting go of her partner’s hand. “You look great.”

“So do you,” you said, hoping your voice wasn’t shaking. “This is Detective Will LaMontagne Jr., my date.”

He reached his free hand forward to shake both of the other women’s. “Pleasure,” he said.

“This is my date, Supervisory Special Agent Jennifer Jareau,” Emily countered. Were you imagining it, or was she putting emphasis on supervisory?

“JJ,” the woman said, offering her own hand. You shook it, fighting to not squeeze it too hard.

It didn’t escape you how Will’s gaze lingered on JJ a second longer than you expected.

“You know, that color brings out your eyes,” Will drawled, gesturing to her vibrant skirt.

You bit back a smile from spreading across your face and embarrassing him.

“Thanks,” JJ flushed.

“Special Agent?” You asked, calling Emily’s attention away from Will’s attempt at flirting before he blew your cover completely. “So, you chose the FBI after all?”

“Not at first,” Emily hedged. “It’s a long story.”

“Right,” you said. And not one you were entitled to anymore.

Wren, ever your savior, marched over to talk with Emily, and you used that moment to excuse yourself with Will.

He led you onto the dance floor as a slow song came on, and you were grateful for the distraction. You took one of his hands and placed the other on his shoulder, letting him lead you.

“Should we come up with a safe word in case you want to leave early?” Will asked.

You smiled. “That’s okay, but thanks, Will.”

One song bled into another until you lost track of how long you’d been dancing. You kept your focus on Will because you knew if you watched Emily and JJ for too long, your heart would shatter completely, washing away your carefully crafted facade.

“I’m gonna grab a drink,” you said, dryness scratching your throat. “Want anything?”

He shook his head. “I’m okay, thanks.”

You made your way toward the bar—an open bar, which was half of the reason you agreed to come at all—just as the last person in line got their drink and walked away.

“Old fashioned, please,” you said.

The bartender nodded, and you fished a few dollars out of your purse for the tip jar.

“Make that two,” said a familiar voice.

Your back stiffened, and you glanced over to find Emily standing next to you.

“Having a good time?” Emily asked, throwing in a few dollars of her own to the tip jar.

You pursed your lips and nodded. “Yeah, Wren did a great job.” You glanced around, surprised to find her partner nowhere in sight.

“No JJ?”

“She had to take a call,” Emily shrugged. “The job follows us sometimes.”

“Here you go,” the bartender said, holding out both drinks.

You thanked him and wandered away to make room for other patrons. To your surprise, Emily followed.

“Do you like it? The FBI?” You asked, curiosity getting the better of you.

“It’s rewarding,” Emily said. “Difficult, but rewarding.”

You nodded, unsure of what to say to that, and took a sip of your drink.

“How’s your photography business going?” Emily asked, and you startled, nearly choking on your cocktail.

“How’d you know I have a photography business?”

Emily flushed. “I’ve kept up with your career over the years. Is that such a surprise?”

Yes, you thought. You’d considered doing the same countless times over the years, but you knew if you tracked her down in any capacity, you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from reaching out. It was easier, less painful, to wonder instead.

“I guess not,” you whispered.

“So? How’s it going?”

You sighed, setting your drink down on a nearby table. “What are you doing, Em?”

She frowned, eyebrows furrowing. “What do you mean?”

“Are we just acting like nothing happened? Like we didn’t have a fight the day before graduation? Like you didn’t ditch the ceremony the next day and never talk to me again? I just need to know what page we’re on here if we’re going to pretend.”

Emily set her drink down near yours. “Y/N…”

“I thought seeing you again would make me feel better,” you said. “But I’m not sure it was such a good idea anymore.”

Emily started to speak, but you turned on a heel and beelined for the hallway. Tears were brimming in your eyes, and you’d rather run than have her see you fall apart.

The hallway outside the ballroom was still too public, so you didn’t stop until you were safely around the corner. You took a deep breath, collecting yourself, and wiping away the hints of tears in your eyes before they could fall. You wouldn’t lose it. Not here, at least. That could wait until you got home later.

A hand on your shoulder nearly made you jump out of your skin.

“Jesus, Will, announce yourself…” you chastised. But when you turned, it wasn’t Will.

It was Emily.

“Are you everywhere?” you snapped. “Go back to your date; I’m sure she’s wondering where you went.”

“I could say the same about your date.”

You rolled your eyes. “Is that what this is about? Fine, Will’s not my date. He’s my friend; I brought him to make you jealous. Happy?”

“Actually, yes,” she said, stepping toward you.

You frowned. “Wait… what?”

Emily took a deep breath. “I was immature in high school. That doesn’t excuse what I did, but I think it explains a few things.”

“So?”

“So,” Emily continued, “Our futures were pulling us in two different directions. And I didn’t want to go in two different directions. Y/N, I would’ve followed you anywhere, my own ambitions be damned, and I knew if I showed up to graduation, I’d do just that. If I apologized for the fight we’d had, I would’ve wanted to spend the rest of our lives making it up to you. And one of us would’ve made sacrifices for the other, and we would’ve ended up hating each other in the end. So it was easier to just… run.”

You laughed bitterly. “That wasn’t your decision to make, Em. We should’ve talked about that together.”

“Can you tell me I’m wrong? That one of us wouldn’t have given up our dream career for the other?”

You opened your mouth to argue but clamped it closed when you realized you couldn’t. Because she was probably right.

“Exactly. So watching from afar as you accomplished everything you dreamed of… I considered that a consolation prize. If I looked at the pictures long enough, it was like I was there with you.”

You blew out a long breath. “Em, you can’t say stuff like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re with JJ now, and it’s not fair to be with her and say these things to me.”

Emily took another step closer; she was only a breath away now. You took a step back, but you were against the wall now, and Emily closed the gap between you immediately.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not with JJ,” she whispered, leaning down to kiss your neck.

Your knees wobbled, and it took every ounce of willpower not to reach out for the woman who still owned your heart.

“What?” Your head was spinning, and you weren’t sure you could trust your hearing.

“I lied,” she said, planting kisses from your neck up to your face. “To make you jealous. She’s just a friend.”

You grabbed Emily’s shoulders and turned so it was her against the wall. “You’re not in a relationship?”

Emily smiled. “Not since we broke up. You’re the only one I want. If you’ll have me.”

“Shut up and kiss me,” you grinned, crashing your lips against hers. Every nerve in your body felt like a live wire; Emily’s touch was electric.

She buried her hands in your hair, and you shivered. How were you ever apart from this woman? The thought seemed unbearable now.

“You know,” Emily said, pulling away just long enough to speak. “I have a room. Upstairs.”

“Oh, really?” you asked, kissing her again. “Don’t tempt me, Emily Prentiss.”

“We should tell our dates we’re leaving so they don’t worry,” Emily whispered. “And then I’m going to spend every minute of tonight making up for the last six years.”

“Fine, but let’s hurry,” you agreed.

Hand in hand, you practically ran back into the ballroom, praying that Will and JJ wouldn’t be hard to find.

Blissfully, you got your wish—you both staggered to a halt when you found your dates on the dance floor together, arms wrapped around each other, kissing like they were the only two people in the room.

“Huh,” you said. “I have to say, I didn’t see that coming.”

“She said I owed her for dragging her to a high school reunion that wasn’t her own,” Emily mused, lacing her hand through yours. “I think I’ll consider that debt repaid.”

You giggled. “Can we go now?”

“I’ll follow you anywhere you want.”

You brushed a stray hair behind her ear. “Let’s start with tonight. Everything else can wait ‘til tomorrow.”

Emily nodded. “Tomorrow.”

Tag List: @yena-reyna, @propertyofemilyprentiss, @chaekhan, @obsessedwjill, @mrs-prentiss Join my tag list!

#criminal minds #fanfiction #emily prentiss #paget brewster #pagetbrewster #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #emily prentiss x reader #jennifer jareau #jennifer jj jareau #will lamontagne #angst with a happy ending #angst #jealousy #pining #fake dating

114 notes · View notes

stevenssacrab · 6 months

Text

Before The Party

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ✧ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ*

Summary: Just before the party, you question your outfit choice; Steve shows you how beautiful you are.

Rating: 18+ (minors, do not interact)

Warnings: lighting grinding, kissing, horny Steve lol, insecure reader, Steve being the best boyfriend anyone could ask for.

Word Count: 1k

a/n: I love Steve so much, the sweetest of man I swear, also I wrote the sexier parts to After Last Night by Bruno Mars, let me tell ya, perfect song for the occasion hahah

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ✧ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ*

Today was the annual Christmas party at Stark Tower. You usually dreaded going to these, but you have someone to go with this year. This year, you decided to go a little sexier; you're wearing a floor-length burgundy dress, off the shoulders, with an A-line silhouette with a high slit stopping just below the hip bone, accompanied with a silver heel with rhinestone embellished straps. For jewelry, you went with a simple 18K white gold pendant, and of course, the hair, Hollywood waves with a crystal hairpin tucking your hair behind your ear.

"I hope I'm not overdressed," you said to yourself, suddenly insecure in your outfit choice; you shook your head as if shaking the negative thoughts out of your head, "No, I look good, right?" you ask aloud, raking your eyes over the ensemble, questioning every choice you've made up to this point.

"Baby, have you seen my shoes?" Steve called, walking into the room, too concerned with his outfit to notice yours, but only for a moment.

"Hey, do I look okay?" Steve finally lifts his head, laying eyes on you for the first time. He had been with you throughout the whole process of picking out everything, but this was his first time seeing it all together. He was rendered speechless; all the words in the world couldn't describe how elegant and stunning you looked, the dress hugging all your curves perfectly, accentuating every mound and hill that was you, and don't get him started on the slit, highlighting your long legs, making your legs never-ending, Steve, staring like a starved man, eager to kiss up your legs, worshipping and memorizing every beauty mark and scar on your body.

"Steve, do I look okay?" you whimpered, a hint of sadness lingering in your voice; you turned to Steve, with tears welling up in your eyes, having convinced yourself that you looked horrible.

"Okay?" he asked, walking around your shared bed, slowly sweeping his eyes over your entire body.

"I look bad, don't I? Ugh, I knew the dress was a bad idea; maybe I shouldn't go tonight," you admit sadly, moving to sit on the bed; you slip your shoes off; you want to curl up and hide.

"No baby, not at all," Steve says wholeheartedly; he grabs one heel and gently slips your foot back into it; he buckles the strap by your ankle and brings your leg up to his mouth, slowly kissing up your leg.

"You look amazing," one kiss, "beautiful," another kiss, "ethereal," another kiss. You blush deeply and giggle with every kiss Steve lays on your leg.

"Steve," you whine, wiping your eyes away and pull him up for a passionate kiss filled with every ounce of love you felt for this man. Steve climbs on top of you, trapping you under his broad body, sliding his body in between your legs, fitting perfectly like puzzle pieces; you let out a breathy moan, grinding your hips up into Steve, desperate for friction. Steve swallows every moan he earns from you.

"Steve," you whimpered, gripping his arms tightly. "Steve, we're gonna be late," you say, grinding into him despite your protests.

"Let's skip it," he groans, moving his lips to your neck and sucking gently, meeting every buck of your hips perfectly, drawing a whine from you.

"We can't, Tony. Will never let us live it down," you sigh. Steve groans loudly and climbs off you, extending his hand out to help you sit up.

"Whatever you say, Y/N," he laughs, smoothing out the wrinkles in his suit; he kneels in front of you and helps you put on your other heel, kissing up your legs like before.

"How do I look?" Steve asked; he was dressed in a light grey suit that complimented his blue eyes, accentuating his broad shoulders wonderfully; you ran your hands up his arm and past his shoulders, tip-toeing up to kiss him sweetly.

"Ravishing, my love," you utter in between kisses. Steve smiles into the kiss and rests his hand on the small of your back, pulling you into a deeper kiss; you break the kiss slowly, fluttering your eyes open.

"Ready to go?" you asked, scanning him over, laughing at his feet; he still doesn't have his shoes on.

"On the bed," you say confidently, Steve laughs.

"Yes, ma'am," he jokes playfully, watching you as you slowly kneel in front of him. "Now that's what I'm talking about," he says, smiling coyly; you smack his leg light-heartedly, grinning from ear to ear.

"The shoes," you say plainly, holding out your hand. Steve places the shoes in your hand, and you slowly slide his foot into each shoe; you gently pat his feet when you're finished.

"Let's go," you say happily, hooking your arm with Steve. The car ride to the tower was smooth and uneventful; Steve rested his hand on your thigh, drawing random patterns the whole way.

"We're here," Steve says and quickly hops out of the car, lightly jogging over to your side, opening the door for you, and offering his hand to assist you; you smile shyly and the gentlemanly gesture; Steve was always so chivalrous, never missing an opportunity to make you feel like a princess. Steve hands the keys over to the chauffeur and holds his arm out for you to rest your arm; you smile at Steve and stride forward, heels satisfyingly clapping against the tile. You smile up at Steve for the umpteenth time tonight while waiting for your elevator. The elevator arrives with a ding, and you step in, checking yourself one last time in the reflection; the doors open, and you meet with an array of fellow Avengers dressed to the nines, everyone smiling and drinking carelessly, soft Christmas music played by the live band filled your ears, you gently squeeze Steve's arm nervously, Steve returns a reassuring squeeze of your hand.

"We got this," Steve says with a nod; when you step through the threshold, your eyes meet with Wanda and Natasha; smiling brightly at them, they look at you with their mouths hanging open. "You look hot," Wanda mouths from across the room; you laugh, throwing your head back. Steve laughs and lets go of your arm to let you go to the girls; you give Steve one last look before excitedly walking over to them, and you're met with excited squeals and hugs.

178 notes · View notes