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pennylanewrites · 2 months

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save a horse, ride a cowboy [reiner braun]

now playing: what was i thinkin’ - dierks bentley

tags: f!reader, chubby!reader, unprotected sex, public sex, hate(?)sex, reiner calls reader a bitch and a cunt, fingering, cowgirl, forced breeding, impact play, dacryphilia, blowjob, tummy bulge, hair-pulling, dubcon

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reiner was raking a stack of hay inside the barn when something obscured the sun rays hitting him. he looked down at polished leather boots with a golden trim and his mood instantly shifted.

“reiner, my horse.” you snapped your fingers impatiently. his jaw locked as he swallowed an insult, and he removed his brown suede hat to talk to you.

you twirled a strand of your hair between french fingertips, bubblegum popping between your front teeth and sticking to your lipgloss as you stared reiner down. you made an annoyed face when he shamelessly checked you out. your plump thighs hid under the beige fabric of your equestrian pants and the buttons of your white collared shirt were due to pop any minute now.

“ain’t in charge of the horses, am i?”

“excuse me?” you raised an eyebrow. “you’re working for me, are you not?”

“i’m working for your father, miss y/n.”

reiner braun loved to get on your nerves. he despised you and your daddy’s money that you flaunted in everyone’s face. he despised your tight little equestrian outfit that costed more than his weekly salary, but most of all he despised your personality.

the way you acted like you owned the world, that every one of his father’s workers had to be at your beck and call, that you looked down at them as if they were dirt.

“my horse?” you pretended you weren’t staring at the beads of sweat that ran down his temple, or his strained muscles and the tan skin of his arms.

“right this way.” he threw his rake away and motioned for you to follow him behind a tall stack of hay.

“is this supposed to be funny? there are no horses-ah!” you yelped when your back hit the wall, but before you could protest, reiner’s filthy, dirty hand slapped against your mouth.

“you act all high and mighty just because your daddy has money.” he growled next to your ear. “but i see how you stare at me.”

“get off me!” you managed to take his hand off your face, wiping your mouth frantically. “you’ll be fired before you know it.”

“bet this is one of your rich girl fantasies.” he pinned your arms over your head with just one hand, the other squeezing your cheeks together. “a filthy worker, fucking the bitchy attitude out of ya.”

“fuck you!” you spat at him, only for him to smirk, slowly wiping the spit that landed on his nose. a heavy hand came in contact with your cheek, making your head turn to the side. you looked up at him through glossy eyes, bottom lip quivering.

“you gon’ cry?” you shook your head from side to side. reiner’s calloused hand ran down your body, settling on your hip, where your shirt had risen up. he squeezed the plush skin before snaking further up your torso. his fat fingers fiddled with the hem of your bra, before bringing both his hands over your shirt, breaking the buttons apart with force.

“hey!” you covered yourself with your arms, only for reiner to bring them down.

“don’t worry doll. your daddy’s gonna get ya a new one.” he caged you between his arms, his lips hovering over yours. you felt his breath on your upper lip, his hands on your tits, shamelessly caressing the soft skin that pushed out of the top of your bra.

and before you had time to realise the situation you were in, chapped lips slammed against glossy ones, fervorous and hungry. reiner’s tongue slipped between your lips, and you let him, feeling the bitter aftertaste of whiskey on it. he pushed your bra down, your tits splaying out against his chest, and he pulled away to look at your curves.

“shame you’re such a cunt.”

your snarky response got lost in a sloppy kiss, reiner’s lips travelling down your jaw, your exposed neck, biting harshly. hesitantly, you brought your arms around his shoulders, fingers settling on his nape and playing with the soft ends of his hair.

a whine escaped your mouth when his hand traveled south, cupping your pussy over your underwear. he leaned down, pulling your pants to your ankles and left a loud smooch on your clit before lifting himself up.

his fingers pulled your underwear to the side, finally coming in contact with your heat. he wasn’t surprised to find you sticky and wet.

“how does it feel, miss y/n?”

“w-what?” your eyes shot open to see him licking his fingers, eyes gleaming as he stared at you.

“knowing a filthy worker ‘s gon’ be inside this little pussy.”

you looked around the barn. you were pretty well hidden, but still. were you really about to have sex with him? in the middle of a barn, in broad daylight? the mere thought made your brain foggy.

“i’m-”

“shh.” his middle finger brought your bottom lip down, before pushing in. eyes never leaving his low-lidded hazel ones, you brought your cheeks in, sucking on the finger. “good girl.”

the praise coming from his mouth went straight to your core, begging for him to pay attention to it again. you didn’t have to wait long for reiner to scissor two slick-covered fingers between your folds, eliciting a soft moan from you.

“shut up. ya wanna get caught?” his fingers entered your cunt with no warning, earning another whine from you. he slapped you across the face, hard, before bringing his hand to your carefully tied ponytail, pulling on it until the hairband snapped. his hand remained entangled with your hair, as his right one worked its way inside you.

you were tight around his two fat fingers, covering them with your slick as he scissored them inside you. you couldn’t begin to imagine what his cock could do to you.

“reiner…” you breathed out, fingernails leaving crescent-shaped marks on his shoulders. he picked up the pace, driving you further up the wall with the mere force of his fingertips. your walls squeezed around him and you tried closing your legs, but he pushed them apart with his knee.

“ya gon’ come already?” he teased, biting your earlobe. and before the knot in your stomach snapped, he pulled away from you, leaving you breathless.

“wha-why…?” you couldn’t even find the right words.

“bitches don’t get to come.” the sound of a buckle turned your attention to him. he pushed your shoulders down, and you fell to your knees in front of him, waited for him to pull his cock out of his underwear.

it was bigger than you thought it would be. wide-eyed, you looked up at him. it stood long and fat, painfully so, with a prominent vein down the right side and a pink leaking tip. he slapped it against your bottom lip and you obeyed.

hesitantly, you brought a hand to the base, pumping it slowly as you worked to fit the rest inside your mouth. with hollowed cheeks, you sucked him in, earning a low groan as his hand met the back of your head.

he pushed your head forward, then used your hair to pull you all the way back, a string of saliva connecting your mouth to his tip.

“take it all.”

“it won’t fit.” you mumbled.

“it will.” he pushed you again, the hair on the top of your head being pulled all ways, making your scalp hurt. you gagged around his cock and flattened your tongue to scrape along the downside, earning a guttural sound from above. you kept pumping what part wouldn’t fit in your mouth, fingertips grazing against his tight balls, coating them with a mix of your saliva and his precum.

reiner looked down at you, ears red and eyes glossed over. he wiped the tears streaming down your face with a grin, licking his thumb after.

“turn around.” he pulled you up by your hair and kissed you sloppily, before gripping your hips to flip you against the wall.

one, two taps of his cock against your ass before he pushed your waist down. you arched your back for him and brought your arms back, holding your ass cheeks apart. he didn’t waste any time, used his tip to gather all the slick from your folds before pushing in.

“fuuuck.” he threw his head back, fingers leaving red marks where he squeezed your hips. “who knew rich pussy was so good.”

you sucked him in almost desperately, your face and torso squeezed against the wall as he stretched your pussy open.

“slower.” you mumbled, trying to shove him away. it was too much, too little prep, too dirty. he held onto your wrists, pulling them back so he could ram into you.

his tip grazed against your cervix and you were gone. your pathetic attempts to cover up your moans echoed against the wall and you tried so hard to keep your legs standing.

his cock was too much. too big for your tight hole. your gummy walls squeezed around him, wouldn’t let him pull out, not that he wanted to.

“stop squeezing.” he groaned, slapping your bare ass. your eyes squeezed shut at the impact, but he soothed the red mark with a soft caress.

“can’t…too much, reiner.” you mewled, turning over your shoulder to look at him. a few beads of sweat trickled down his temple and the veins in his upper arms were popping. the stained work shirt was bunched between his teeth so he could look at where your bodies met.

you suddenly felt empty. you turned around, ready to protest, to see him drag a wooden trunk on the floor. he sat down, pulling you in his lap.

“look at you.” he whispered in your ear before leaning down to kiss your marked neck. “fuckin’ a dirty labourer.” he looked up at you, hand smushing your cheeks together before kissing you harshly.

you lifted yourself up on your knees, lining his cock up with your slit and slowly sliding down. you threw your head back at the feeling. this position allowed more of him to push inside you, which he did with one hard thrust.

he didn’t wait for you to grind on him, no. his arms wrapped around your waist to hold you in place, he thrusted up violently, until you were screaming his name.

“shut the fuck up.” he slapped you across the face. you were too far gone to care, any sliver of attention he gave you going straight to your core to feed your impending orgasm.

“gonna cum…reiner, please.” chants of his name spewed out your mouth as the knot in your stomach finally came undone, and your walls spasmed around his cock.

“ ‘d ya come, little girl?” he gave you a lopsided grin, taking his suede hat off to place it on your head. you nodded, wrapping your arms around him and hiding your face in his neck.

“too much.” you whined, trying to push away from him.

“look at how you’re milking my cock. you want this, don’t ya?” he made you look down at where you two met. your eyes grew wide at the way his tip bulged against your stomach every time he thrusted inside you. he brought your hand over the bulge, pushing it down so you could feel how he fucked into you.

his breath hitched in his throat and he pushed you down, making you take all of him in a painfully good way. you felt his cock twitch and tried to pull away, eyes wide at the way he cockily smiled at you.

“you ain’t goin’ nowhere.” he stilled his movements, groaning loudly as hot spurts of cum hit your cervix and painted your walls white. a few tears escaped your eyes, but reiner kissed them away before his lips met your own in a soft peck.

“relax. you were askin’ for it.”

#aot x reader #aot smut #attack on titan x reader #aot x reader smut #attack on titan smut #snk smut #snk x reader #snk x reader smut #snk x you #aot x y/n #shingeki no kyojin x reader #shingeki no kyojin smut #reiner x reader #reiner x reader smut #reiner braun smut #reiner braun x reader

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fettuccinealfred0 · 4 months

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Til Death Do Us Part | Part 2

Masterlist

Astarion x f!reader, Arranged Marriage AU

Word Count: 7.4k

(CW: general vampirism, period typical sexism, forced marriage)

Summary:

“Do you, Lord Astarion Ancunin, take this lady to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

Astarion gives a dramatic ‘I do’ with a self-important little flourish of his hand. Even in the little time you’ve known him, you’ve come to realize that he is a showman above all and is incapable of turning down an opportunity to be over-the-top.

Gale turns to you, “And do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do,” you force the words out through gritted teeth because at this point, what choice do you really have?

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There’s a knock on your door the next morning, but you ignore it- too consumed by the throbbing pain in your head and the feeling of tiny knives stabbing at the back of your eyes. This is what you get for crying yourself to sleep.

At some point last night, you had managed to pull yourself off the floor and into the bed, still wearing your gown. You had barely thought to pull the pins out of your hair before you were curling in on yourself under the covers, pillow dampening under your cheek.

But there are no tears left this morning, only anger burning through your veins.

Anger felt easy, anger felt familiar. Anger masked hurt and gave it a purpose. You were hurt by Astarion because he made you feel special and you were angry at yourself because you had been too caught up in the fantasy and believed him. The two sentiments twisted and warped in your mind until you were left angry at Astarion for tricking you.

There’s another knock at the door and it infuriates you. Why couldn’t you be left alone to grieve? These people would have the entirety of your life to bother you. Did you not deserve one day to yourself? You pick up one of your shoes from the floor and hurl it at the door as you yell at the person on the other side to leave you alone.

Thankfully, your message must have been received, because for a few moments, there’s nothing but glorious silence. You let your eyes drift closed again, but your mind is too quick to turn back to last night- how easy it had been to dance with Astarion, how his arm had felt wrapped around your waist, the solid line of his body as he had pinned you to the wall and threatened you. And through all those memories is your new fiancé’s stupid, perfect, beautiful, lying face.

The way you see it, you have two ways of getting out of this wedding. Either you manage to escape or figure out how to kill Astarion.

How do you kill a vampire, though? You try to pull the stories you were told as a little girl from the recesses of your mind to see if you remember any weaknesses or weapons you can use against him. You’re supposed to drive something through their heart- a wooden stake. The elegant wooden bed posts are perhaps the most reasonable candidate, you just have to figure out how to saw through the thick wood. At this point, you’re desperate enough to start gnawing on one like a beaver. You’re studying the posts and losing hope at the feasibility of turning one into a stake when the dark haired woman from last night bursts her way into the room.

“Get out!” You practically screech at her, reaching down to pick up your remaining shoe to throw it at her. The woman simply dodges the shoe and continues wheeling in a cart of food.

“You weren’t answering the door, my lady,” she says, in a sickly sweet voice that makes you want to grab the butter knife from the cart and jam it into her throat. The way she looks at you makes you feel like you were the one inconveniencing her and not that she is complicit in your captivity.

The butter knife had you thinking again, though. It was not the best weapon by any means, but it was perhaps the best defense you would have access to. You rise from the bed and move toward the cart under the guise of investigating the food on it.

It is a lavish spread. Someone had obviously gone through great care to make sure you would find at least something on it appealing and your growling stomach is tempted by some of the sweet-looking pastries. Nevertheless, in your scheming this morning, you had already decided that one of your little acts of revenge will be to refuse food. Astarion can’t very well keep a prisoner who is dead. Or at the very least, it will be a great inconvenience for him and that thought fills you with the tiniest spark of joy.

You press your hands to the cart, continuing your fake investigation of the breakfast. The servant has her back turned to you as she remakes the bed and you take the opportunity to carefully slide the knife off the cart, concealing it in the pocket in the folds of your skirt.

“I’m not hungry,” you finally declare, as you settle at the little table in the corner of the room. You feel better, now that you’ve got your secret little knife with you- more prepared, and at least a small step further on your plot to get out of here.

“Lord Ancunin will be worried about you if you don’t eat,” the lady answers, but you can tell she is growing a bit exasperated by your antics. She prepares a plate of food anyway, setting it on the table in front of you. Passing over the food, you instead pick up the cup of tea she’d poured in an attempt to soothe your stomach.

“Astarion can worry all he’d like. I’m not going to let him fatten me up like I’m some pig he’s readying for slaughter,” you push the plate back toward her as you speak.

Astarion might have gotten what he wanted for now, but you were by no means going to make this easy for him. You were going to fight and claw and resist him in every way you knew how. A dark, vengeful part of you smirks at the idea of his pretty face marred by your claw marks.

“If he wanted you dead, you’d already be dead,” the maid says, though her face does soften a bit, full of pity. You hate her for that, for pitying you. Had you really fallen so far that you were seen as nothing more than a helpless little snack for a vampire Lord?

“At least let me help you out of that dress. You’ll feel better with a change of clothes,” she says and even though you’ve decided that this woman is your new enemy along with Astarion, she might be right that you would feel better in new clothes. You debate whether you should accept this offer of help or not, worried that if she were to help you out of your dress, she would find your precious knife tucked in the pocket.

She seems to notice your internal struggle and offers, “Or I could bring you a new dress and you could change on your own?”

You do end up agreeing to those terms, but quickly discover that you have vastly underestimated the difficulty of removing a ballgown. You weren’t used to dressing by yourself and the tiny buttons down the back of your gown seem too slippery and impossible to manage on your own. For a moment, you consider giving up entirely and just wearing this dress for the rest of your miserable life, but now that the idea of changing your clothes has gotten in your head, you want out of the stupid dress that is so full of reminders of last night.

You quickly tuck the knife underneath the pillows of the bed so that the woman cannot find it in your skirts before you swallow your pride and hesitantly knock on the inside of the door. It whips open almost immediately, the dark haired woman looking at you curiously, her long ponytail swaying behind her.

“Can you help me? I can’t get this dress off by myself,” you say, but you can feel your voice is tinged with embarrassment.

She enters the room again and undoes the slippery buttons on the back of your dress with dextrous fingers. Her speed is irritating since you had just spent the past half hour hopping around your room with your hands twisted behind your back like a fool.

“What’s your name?” you finally ask, as she’s helping to undo your corset.

“Shadowheart, my lady.”

“That’s a…” you struggle with the words, trying to be polite, “unique name.”

Shadowheart snorts out a laugh and you appreciate that she seems to have a sense of humor. “I’m not from around here.”

The dress she helps you into is soft and simple. The pale blue cotton is light and will keep you cool during the warm summer afternoon and the thin lace trim around the neckline is delicate and refined, hinting at your fiancé’s wealth. It’s the complete opposite of what you would have expected for the bride of a vampire. A part of you had even considered that Astarion might keep you dressed up in gaudy ball gowns for the rest of all time. He did seem to have a flair for the dramatic. Your initial pleasure with the dress sours when you realize this dress was just another reminder that as your husband, Astarion could completely control every aspect of your life, right down to the clothes on your back. Or the lack of clothes, though you shudder at the thought.

“We can go to a dressmaker soon and get you new clothes,” Shadowheart says, when she notices you plucking sadly at the material. “Or we can try writing a letter to your father and organize having your old clothes sent here, if you’d rather?”

Her offer makes you question if you might have been too quick to judge Shadowheart, who has been nothing but kind to you this morning, even when you have screamed and thrown things at her. Perhaps you could manage to turn her into a useful ally in your escape, after all. You couldn’t allow yourself to think that you might grow friendly with her over time. No, right now, all your mental faculties need to be dedicated to getting out of here before the wedding, before you would be legally bound to Astarion.

“The dressmaker is agreeable to me- though, it would be nice to have some of my old items sent here. Personal belongings and books and whatnot,” you answer and she gives you a small smile. Truthfully, you’d rather not have your old wardrobe sent here, especially since you planned on leaving before it would arrive. Those dresses hold memories that at this point, you’d rather forget. But, if you were to be stuck here forever, you would certainly miss your little collection of books and you also long desperately for the necklace your mother had given you before she died- it would provide a small bit of comfort in this very stressful time.

You hesitate to tell Shadhowheart that the necklace is the real purpose of your request. If your father was given any inclination how much that necklace meant to you or how much it was likely worth, it would certainly be missing if your belongings ever did show up.

“That can certainly be arranged, my lady,” she gives you another sweet smile as she guides you to sit so she can work on your hair. She looks like she’s debating whether or not to speak for a moment before she says, “Believe it or not, but everyone here really does want what’s best for you. This was just the only way for Astarion to ensure you kept his vampirism a secret.”

You scoff, immediately dismissing her words. You hadn’t missed the way that she had mistakenly called him Astarion rather than Lord Ancunin. There was a familiarity that was suggested at her use of his first name and it sat wrong with you- this idea that Astarion could be respected or, gods forbid, friendly enough with his staff that they would feel comfortable using his first name.

“But what about the woman he was drinking from last night? Why does she get to leave with her freedom?” You snap back at her, the hypocrisy of it all fanning the spark of anger within you again.

“The Lord has a longstanding agreement with several local people.” Shadowheart explains and when you let out a huff of annoyance at her answer, she continues, “There’s a level of trust and predictability there that isn’t present with you. You’re a wild card.”

“I wasn’t going to tell anyone,” you grumble, though you aren’t entirely sure if there was any truth to your words. You hadn’t really had time to think about what you would do after the ball since you were too focused on trying to escape Astarion. Perhaps you might have told your father on the carriage ride home, but he would have probably used it as an excuse to send you to the nuthouse and finally be rid of you. You would have still ended the night locked in a room, though admittedly one with worse interior design.

Even after Shadowheart excuses herself from the room, you sit glumly over this realization. It seems predetermined that your fate was to be imprisoned- in the asylum, in this room, in a marriage to Astarion or a marriage to that rat of a man who had been with your father last night.

The escape efforts continue in your mind, but you grow half-heartedness as the hours continue to tick by.

Shadowheart returns a few hours later with lunch, a spread of meats and cheeses with breads and dried fruits. Your fingers pass reluctantly over the dates, which were always a favorite of yours, while you reach to pour yourself a cup of tea. It’s dark and rich and you only realize after you’ve drunk the whole pot that it’s filled the room with a hint of a lovely bergamot smell. Your heart twinges when you realize that Astarion has taken this from you now, too- that bergamot has become intrinsically linked with him in your mind

You spend time staring out the window at the view of the garden, watching the servants come and go as they clean up after the ball and you can’t help but wonder if your view is by design or if this room is just the most equipped to hold a prisoner. Since your room is on the top floor, the distance to the ground makes jumping impossible. The drop could potentially kill you or at least leave you so injured you wouldn’t be able to get very far. It takes about an hour to tie together the sheets from the bed and see how long you can fasten the makeshift rope, if maybe you can climb down the side of the building before you jump. Ultimately, you don’t have enough material and the drop would still be too far. You remake the bed, disheartened at your lack of viable escape options.

When Shadowheart returns a few hours later, she lets out an annoyed sigh at your uneaten lunch, replacing it with dinner, roast duck on a bed of fragrant rice. The aroma wafts through the room, but you hold strong, letting the bowl sit untouched on the small corner table. Once again, you greedily suck down the tea, grateful that you were given an herbal blend that smells of lavender rather than bergamot.

The lack of progress you’ve made in escaping today has you feeling defeated, and you resolve yourself to the fact that your only available option is to fight your way out. After retrieving your hidden butter knife from underneath the plump pillows, you wait by the door. Strength isn’t your strong suit, so the act of surprise will have to be your weapon. You aren’t entirely sure how much damage you can do with the dull knife, but a poor weapon is better than no weapon at all. Hopefully, you can subdue the next person who comes through that door and negotiate your way out. Shadowheart would likely be back to help you prepare for bed soon and as guilty as you feel at the prospect of using her as a hostage, your own well-being was paramount.

The doorknob twists and you pounce. It’s perhaps the worst or the best possible option of who has opened the door.

“Oh, I rather like being in this position with you. Tell me, dearest, what will you do with me now that you’ve caught me?” Astarion practically purrs with his beautiful, lilting voice.

You have Astarion pinned to the wall in the perfect mirror image of last night, your arm against his chest so that the knife is pressed firmly against the column of his throat. You don’t allow yourself to look at his neck longer than it takes to position the knife, too scared you will be distracted by the way the muscles curve and dip into that delightful hollow at the base of his throat.

But you do catch the two distinct puncture wounds on his neck. The crude markings looked as if a wild animal had ripped their teeth into him carelessly. They can only be one thing. Bite marks.

The twin scars were an obvious clue to his true nature, a birthmark left from when he was reborn anew as a vampire. The high collar he had been wearing last night had covered them but the scar tissue is jagged and rough against his pale skin and they stand out unmistakably now.

Ripping your gaze from his neck, you glare into his definitely-not-distracting eyes as he regards you with a hint of amusement that just serves to irritate you further. You were supposed to be intimidating here, not amusing.

“Really, what was the plan here?” Astarion seems to grow bored at your lack of a response, lips turning up at the corner as he lets out a breath of laughter, “To stab me to death with a knife that’s not even sharp enough to cut a slice of bread?”

Your arm holding the knife up to his neck wavers and Astarion’s fingers trace a gentle path across your arms until he grasps your hand, nearly crushing it in his grip. The pain makes you involuntarily open your fist and the knife clatters to the floor with a clunk. Astarion’s quick to move his boot to step on it so you’re unable to pick it up.

With the threat of the knife removed, Astarion still lets you keep him pinned to the wall. “I see you got at least something out of the breakfast I sent for you.”

“I don’t appreciate being locked in my room,” you snarl back at him.

“Yes, well, when you start to earn some trust, I’ll let you out. But you’re not off to a strong start with the knife, darling.”

Darling.

You think of how he had called you darling last night as he swept you into his arms and danced, how it had sounded like a hymn dripping from his lips that caused a sweet warmth to pool in your belly. Now, you practically hiss at him using the words, hackles raised in defense like a wild dog.

He pokes your cheek, lips curled up in a smile, “Very scary.”

“I hate you.”

“A shame, really. We could’ve had so much fun together,” Astarion’s hand sneaks down to curl around your back and rest against your hip while he talks, pulling you closer against him. The position is so similar to how he had held you while you danced last night and for a moment, you give in, letting yourself enjoy his touch rather than immediately shaking his hands off.

His voice is deep and sultry, hand tightening where it clutches against the fabric of your dress, “If only you hadn’t ruined my plans for last night… I would have come back from my midnight snack, satiated by blood, but starving for you. I would have taken you to stroll the gardens, fed you a line about how the roses were jealous of your beauty and I would have even cut one off for you for you to remember me by.”

You’re struck by how similar his plan was to your daydream last night, as if Astarion was intimately familiar with your deepest desires.

He’s leaning closer and the soft brush of one of his white curls against your forehead is nearly divine as his words continue to hypnotize you, “I would have kissed you, over and over and over again, until you couldn’t think straight.”

“I could’ve touched you,” he emphasizes his words by dipping the hand on your waist just a fraction of an inch lower. The warm smell of bergamot is flooding your senses and his mouth is moving so, so close to yours, only a hair’s breadth away from your own as he speaks in a rich, seductive voice. Your lips part in anticipation, breath hitching in your throat at the thought.

“Have you ever been touched before?” His gaze feels like a caress as it slides down your neck to your collarbones, gentle fingers tilting your chin up to refocus your gaze on his lovely face.

“No, not a proper little girl like you. I can’t imagine how pent up you are. I would have used my mouth and my hands on you until you saw stars. Until all you could remember was my name, falling from your lips like a prayer.”

“Enough,” you shake your head, placing your hand against his chest to press yourself a step away from him. His eyes are dark and hooded as he follows your movement and you take a deep breath, trying to calm the flaming heat you feel licking at your face.

It’s cruel of Astarion to imprison you and then come in here and fill your mind with delicious fantasies. Perhaps this is his way of playing with his food- to visit you and shame you for how desperately you wanted him. It was cruel of him to demean you for your desire, not after he pretended to need you just as badly last night.

“You don’t get to mock me,” you say to him, once you’ve collected your composure.

“I’m not mocking, pet, I’m teasing.” He’s still leaned against the wall, arms casually crossed across his chest. “It’s what good lovers do to each other.”

“Lovers?” you splutter.

“I’m teasing again, dear. Gods, you make it so easy.” Astarion finally pushes himself off from the wall, leaning down to pick up the knife and tuck it in his own pocket.

You glare at him while he moves, attempting to assert your dominance over a situation that you were quickly losing control of.

“You haven’t eaten today,” Astarion breaks the silence, eyes softening a bit. He sounds genuinely concerned and his pretend sincerity has you wondering if you could be quick enough to grab the knife back out of his pocket and give him a good stab in the side. He doesn’t get to be concerned about you. Not when he is the one causing you distress.

“I wasn’t hungry.” Your stomach betrays you by choosing that moment to grumble. You know Astarion heard it. Damned vampire.

“My, my. Well, you’re either lying or you’re dying of some weird stomach condition. And as much fun as the latter would be, I’d really prefer you stay alive until our wedding.”

Refusing to respond to his taunts, you cross your arms over your chest and continue glaring.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to poison you, darling. That would be a waste of perfectly good blood.” Astarion says, rolling his eyes. You know that he catches how you stiffen at the mention of blood.

“Oh,” he draws out the word all long and self-important now that he thinks he has you figured out, “So that’s what you’re worried about, that I’m going to drink from you. Dearest, as fun as it was chasing after you last night, I prefer meals that are a bit easier to catch.”

You remain silent, still, and Astarion takes a step closer to you, his fingers brushing affectionately against your upper arm. It’s nearly impossible to hold back the shiver that threatens to run down your spine.

“Just promise me you’ll eat something,” his eyes have got that stupid soft-ness to them again that makes you want to do the opposite of what he’s saying just to spite him.

You remind yourself that you can’t believe a word he says. Astarion has proven himself as a liar and a cheat. In fact, his whole act tonight is probably a part of his masterplan to sacrifice you for your virgin blood or something.

“I won’t promise you anything!” you cry, incredulous.

Astarion moves to leave but pauses in the doorway, hand curled around the doorknob. If he would just open the door, you could try to rush out around him.

“How do you feel about a nighttime wedding?” He asks, turning to look at you over his shoulder.

“Whatever pleases you, husband.” You hiss back at him. “My opinion on our upcoming marriage hasn’t seemed to matter so far.”

“Yes, well, you do forfeit some right to make your own choices when you exhibit poor decision making capabilities and sneak around, following scary monsters in the dark,” he snarks, which sets off a fresh wave of anger within you.

Astarion closes his eyes, letting out a deep breath. You feel a bit of pride that you seem to be getting under his skin just as much as he is frustrating you.

“You like roses, right?” Astarion asks.

“Yes,” you reply. The initial pleasure that he had remembered a detail about you from last night fades as you begin to grow wary about his motives in asking.

“Good, I’ve planned for there to be plenty at the wedding tomorrow night. I’ll be the handsome devil standing at the end of the aisle,” he shoots a wink over his shoulder before the lock clicks behind him. At this point, the familiar sound nearly makes you sick to your stomach.

—---

Shadowheart comes in to see you sulking a bit later and draws a bath for you. The warm water feels wonderful, but does nothing to tamper the heat that has been rising under your skin since the moment Astarion let you pin him to the wall.

You don’t sleep very well that night, anger and something else coursing through your veins. Astarion’s words from earlier stick with you in your dreams.

I would have kissed you, over and over and over again.

I would have used my mouth and my hands on you until you saw stars. Until all you could remember was my name, falling from your lips like a prayer.

And a day ago, you would have let him, would have been driven half mad with ecstasy at the prospect. But Astarion had to ruin that. Astarion had to ruin everything. He was the subject of all of your daydreams and the architect of all your nightmares.

You do manage to sleep, eventually, but you wake up hot and sticky with sweat, the taste of Astarion’s lips still a whisper in your mind.

And yeah, okay, maybe you do snag a pastry at breakfast when Shadowheart isn’t looking. She doesn’t say anything, but you know she notices. You can only hope that she doesn’t report it back to Astarion.

In the morning, you watch the gardens as they’re prepared for the wedding, observing how the ornate flowery archway that you suppose will be your altar is constructed at a moment’s notice. You feel like you are marching to your death as the wedding crawls ever closer, your chance of escape slipping further away with every passing moment.

Shadowheart returns in the late afternoon to help you prepare for the ceremony. The dress she carries with her is far simpler than you expected, less intricate even than your dress from the ball a couple nights ago. The dark material is offset with shimmery, golden thread embroidered into the material in beautiful floral patterns. You wonder if Astarion just kept this on hand or had managed to contact a dressmaker who could make this dress so quickly.

Shadowheart pins your hair up in tasteful braided style and you do have to admit that you look beautiful when you look into the mirror. That familiar rage is burning in you again. You don’t want to look beautiful for Astarion, you don’t want to drag this out any longer or harder than it needs to be.

You dread the thought of tonight. You were not as naive to the world as your father might have thought; you had heard the whisperings of other ladies when they discussed the horrors of their marital beds, heard the talk of greedy husbands and so much pain. On a normal wedding night, even the best of men could turn into a savage and you shudder to think what it might be like with a man who is already a beast. How much worse would it be for you?

But were you not a hypocrite? Had you not dreamt of coming undone on his elegant hands just last night? You force yourself to stop before you can continue down that train of thought and get carried away with silly, romantic notions. No, it was best to prepare for the worst. Tonight would be a worse torture than your two days locked in a cage. And you had to attend a stupid party about it first.

Shadowheart seems to be able to sense your nerves, probably because you’ve spent the whole afternoon alternating between fiddling with your hands and sighing.

She kneels down in front of you, staring at you with an intensity that lets you know her next words will be very important. “You know that I am your lady’s maid. That I default to serving you over the Lord, right?”

“Deep down, he is a good man, but if anything, and I mean anything, happens tonight that makes you uncomfortable, you call me and I will drag Lord Ancunin out of here bruised and bloody. I don’t care if it’s as simple as him attempting to hold your hand when you don’t wish him to.”

Her words comfort you even though you wonder how much time that would really buy you. After all, it was part of your wifely duties to satisfy your husband, to bear his children. Although you aren’t entirely sure if it’s possible to have children with a vampire, you’re going to operate under the assumption that it’s possible until you’re told otherwise as part of your ‘prepare for the worst’ strategy.

“Thank you,” you sincerely tell her because you want to let her know that her words have comforted you even if you doubt that she would be able to fight off a vampire.

“If you really wanted to help, you could get me out of this marriage,” you offer up, partially as a joke and partially to see if maybe the solution to your problems is really that easy.

“We both know I can’t do that,” Shadowheart says, because it never is that easy. Once again, she’s got that stupid, sad smile on her face again that makes you want to knock her pretty teeth out.

“Thought I’d try, at least.”

Your feet seem to have stopped working, so Shadowheart has to practically drag you out of the room and dump you in the garden. She’s, unfortunately, much stronger than she looks. Who knows, maybe she could take down a vampire?

The floral archway you had spent all morning looking at is even more breathtaking in person. The deep, red roses are braided in against beautiful ironwork. You hate Astarion for remembering that you liked roses, hate him for feigning kindness and trying to do something that you would like.

Astarion is standing at the end of the altar, as promised, and damn it all if he doesn’t look like Lucifer incarnate- the most beautiful angel hiding an evil and twisted soul. When you get closer, you can see that his waistcoat has matching floral embroidery on it.

So, you’re matching now? That’s what the world has devolved into. It takes everything in you to not rip the stupid dress off right then. But, you refrain yourself because you’re in public and you’re a lady (and definitely not because you were humbled by the button fiasco yesterday).

You practically snarl when you meet Astarion at the altar but he ignores you, his finger reaching out to trace along the petal of rose embroidered on your dress, right next to your collarbone. If he were alive, you would be able to feel the warmth from his hand.

“Do you like it?” he asks.

“You have ruined roses for me,” you spit back at him. Astarion’s brow furrows for a moment before the man standing next to the two of you is awkwardly clearing his throat. You recognize him from the ball, as the man who interrupted your and Astarion’s dance. He must be Astarion’s valet, serving him as Shadowheart does for you.

“Well, let’s get this show on the road, shall we?” The valet tries to sound enthusiastic but he wilts a bit when you shift your glare to him.

You can feel Shadowheart standing behind you and you know that if you try to run, she’ll simply grab you and drag you back.

“The quicker this is over with, the better.” You say and can’t resist looking at Astarion and adding, “Though, I’m sure you know a thing or two about finishing quickly, darling.”

You can tell that Astarion’s valet is holding back a laugh at your comment.

“Continue, Gale.” Astarion finally instructs after a few seconds of stunned silence.

The man, Gale, holds up a stack of papers that he begins to read from. Oh my, were all of those pages filled with words? You might be here all night.

“What is marriage? A contract, yes, but also the blessed union of two souls, sealed together in eternal love. The marriage bond is sacred and divine, but we must not mistake it as pure. No, real love is never pure. It is messy and confusing and the both of you will make many mistakes as you grow together.”

Hang on, was this guy even married? Who the fuck is he to be out here spewing nonsense about the sanctity of marriage? And when did he even have the time to write this? You’re so confused by the situation that your anger at Astarion has managed to dissipate completely.

Gale is somehow still rambling on, minutes later, as you stare at him with an open mouth, “And although, the two of you are entering this contract under… less than ideal circumstances, we can only hope that your love will grow to flourish. In fact-”

Astarion finally cuts him off. “We can do without the fanfare, I think.”

Gale gives a disappointed sigh, grumbling about how he was just trying to make this a nice moment.

“Do you, Lord Astarion Ancunin, take this lady to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

Astarion gives a dramatic ‘I do’ with a self-important little flourish of his hand. Even in the short time you’ve known him, you’ve come to realize that he is a showman above all and is incapable of turning down an opportunity to be over-the-top.

Gale turns to you, “And do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do,” you force the words out through gritted teeth because at this point, what choice do you really have?

You slide the rings on each other’s fingers and Astarion’s cool skin against your hand feels wonderful amidst the balmy summer night.

There’s no after-party, no fanfare. You simply say the words and sign the paperwork and leave immediately, content to go wallow by yourself in your room as you wait for Astarion to consummate your marriage.

You’ve half sent yourself into a panic as you pace, even if Shadowheart’s promise from earlier rings comfortably in your ears. You wish you hadn’t already wasted your knife yesterday. It would at least provide some false sense of comfort for when Astarion came for you.

You sit and you wait. And you wait. And you wait. Astarion doesn’t come.

You feel your eyes struggling to stay open and only when you catch your chin falling down to your chest do you snap yourself awake. This isn’t like you, to just take something lying down. The only solution left is to confront him. You jump to your feet, crossing the room with the most determination you’ve been able to muster all day.

For the first time, the door to your room is unlocked when you turn the handle. Surprised, you poke your head out, scanning left and right down the hallway to check that there’s not some sort of booby trap. That seems like something Astarion would do- offer you hope of escape and then callously snatch it away at the last moment.

Candlelight flickers in the doorway a few rooms away. When you peek into the room, Astarion is reading something, leaning back in a chair with his feet propped up on the desk looking like the arrogant asshole you know he is. He doesn’t acknowledge your presence at all, just turns the page of his book.

“The door was unlocked,” you say, because you aren’t really sure of how else to greet him. Hello felt far too simple after you had spent the past two nights pinning each other to walls and playing mind games with one another.

Astarion hums in affirmation, eyes still focused on the book in his lap. “Yes, I only had it locked in order to keep you here long enough for us to get married. Do what you’d like now. You are the new lady of the manor.”

It seems unreal, that the past two days of torture were ultimately going to amount to… nothing? Perhaps this was just another one of his tricks to catch you unawares? If you stopped thinking of him like a threat, stopped expecting the worst in him, or gods forbid, if you lowered your guard, it would be that much easier for him to trap you.

“So, I’m free to leave?” You try asking cautiously, expecting his red eyes to snap up and for him to hiss out an angry no, for him to laugh at you and snatch away your freedom right after he had teased you with the unlocked door.

“I’d suggest you wait until the morning, but yes, feel free to leave and continue on with your life however you please. Or stay. I really don’t care.” He says instead, turning the page of his book again. Was he even bothering to listen to you?

“Then why did you force me to marry you?” You cry out because nothing these past two days has made any sense to you. Nothing has made sense to you since you saw Astarion standing in front of you like a holy angel who had been blessed with all of heaven’s beauty, when all you knew was that this man had been made to ruin you.

And now, everything about Astarion is a contradiction. You hate him and yet you crave him. He offers you hope while crudely stabbing through your back with a knife. He imprisons you and shackles you to him by law and offers to let you go free. Even now, as you stare at how the candlelight sends shadows dancing across his pale skin that make his jawline somehow appear even sharper, you aren’t sure whether you want to kiss him or kill him.

“Well, I doubt anyone would believe a new bride when she says her husband is a vampire. They’d chalk it up to a newlywed squabble or perhaps think that you just don’t understand the sensuality of a good bite. And if you do choose to leave, the longer we aren’t together, the more people will assume you’re spreading nasty rumors because we’re estranged.”

That… actually makes a lot of sense. You had been too caught up in your panic and your anger to look at this situation with any real rationality.

But now, faced with the choice, where would you go? If all the freedom in the world was yours, what would you do with it? Certainly, you wouldn’t go to your old home, with your angry father and unsympathetic brothers.

You would want a garden, you think, perhaps one to rival the Ancunin’s. You would want to fill your days with reading and gardening and walking. For the first time, you wonder if perhaps the life you’ve always wished for has been offered up to you on a silver platter. Your mind had been so tainted with your hatred for Astarion that you didn’t even imagine that perhaps you could be happy here. That perhaps you could be happier than you even were before.

“I don’t… I don’t really have anywhere else to go,” your shoulders drop in realization, fingertips nervously running along the pretty embroidery of your dress. It feels like an admission of defeat as you stand in front of him, as if you’ve been eviscerated and are trying desperately to keep your insides from falling out on the floor in front of him.

“Stay here then,” Astarion answers and he looks so bored with the conversation that the familiar fire of anger is burning in your veins. How dare he callously act like his actions have had no consequence on your life? How dare he act like he didn’t have the legal authority to control you as your husband if he wanted to? How dare he act like he hadn’t flipped your world upside down the moment he first swept you into his arms?

You force yourself to take a deep breath, to soothe the anger that sits deep in your chest and you finally decide to bring up the issue that’s plagued your mind all day. “You didn’t come to my room tonight.”

“Do you want me to?” He looks genuinely shocked and finally closes the book and drops his feet from the desk. He takes a moment to collect himself before leaning forward, looking up at you from under his eyelashes. “I know I’m irresistible. There is still plenty of time tonight for me to ravish you, if that’s what you’d like.”

You know it’s an act, know he’s probably teasing to get a rise out of you. But you can help the panic that bubbles in you and you immediately shout a refusal to his offer.

Astarion leans back in his chair, hands coming to rest under his chin. His fingers are long and slender and oh, so elegant as they press together as if in prayer. This man, who could destroy faiths and desecrate holy ground with just the flick of his pretty wrist.

It dawns on you that the gold wedding ring you had slipped onto his finger hours ago has already mysteriously disappeared from his hands. And though it might be hypocritical of you, who removed your ring almost immediately, you can’t help but be a little hurt that he apparently wasted no time in casting you aside, either. Have you already been so cruelly disregarded?

“I don’t go where I’m unwelcome, darling.” He curls his lips up at the corner in a devilish smile, “I’d much rather wait until you’re so desperate that you beg me to have you.”

You’re determined not to give Astarion the shocked, embarrassed reaction you know he’s itching for.

“And what if I want you to be the one to beg?” you ask him instead. His eyes flash with a wicked gleam, so red you can’t help but remember the blood running down his chin in the moonlight.

“Well, that can certainly be arranged, darling.” Astarion keeps you locked in his fiery gaze for another moment or two before he sighs and breaks the tension. “But that’s not going to happen tonight, so I suggest you go to bed. Get some beauty sleep, not that you need it.”

And yeah, maybe you do have to hold back a laugh at that stupid line.

“Goodnight,” you say, turning to go back to your room.

“Sweet dreams, little flower,” Astarion calls after you.

And for the second night in a row, you dream of crimson eyes and elegant hands that have you waking restless and unfulfilled.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Notes:

For the record, I absolutely love Gale, but lets not pretend that he wouldn't go SO over the top if he was allowed to officiate a wedding.

As always, thanks to AliensNSuch on ao3 for beta-reading! ETA for the third chapter is next Sunday, 12/31.

#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion ancunin #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #reader insert #baldurs gate 3 fanfic #til death do us part

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anime-fan-05 · 2 months

Text

Hunter x Hunter ~Nicknames~

Manga/anime: Hunter x Hunter

Warnings: nothing

(Y/N): your name

Gon F.

Cherry: he started calling you that after you two made a cake with cherries one day; he had given you a sweet kiss, so you had blushed a lot. "You're as red as a cherry!" He had screamed

Cutie: he started calling you that unconsciously during a date, where he said you were beautiful ("You're too cute, cutie!")

Sugar: calling you that gives him a sense of tenderness and, by giving you this nickname, he wants to convey all his love to you

Sweetie pie: it was the first nickname he gave you when you started dating. He generally uses it very often because he believes it represents you perfectly

(Y/N)-chan: before you two got engaged, he called you that, and he sometimes still does it. When he calls you like that, he remembers your first date, during which he actually called you "(Y/N)-chan"

Killua Z.

Babe: he calls you that because you arouse almost the same emotions he feels when he's with Alluka. In fact, he wants to take care of you, love and protect you, and he sees you as something truly precious. However, he rarely uses this nickname because he's ashamed

Baka: this is Killua's iconic nickname, also given to you by him. Nevertheless, when he calls you that, his voice takes on a soft tone, different from his usual joking voice, and his eyes soften

Honey: he usually uses this when you cuddle, when he softens in your arms and wants nothing more than to stay there for all his life

My light: he thinks you're his light, the reason he doesn't fall into darkness. For him you two are complementary opposites: he's the darkness, you're the light that illuminates it. Nevertheless, he only used this nickname once: you risked dying and he, running towards you almost crying, called you that, begging you not to let him too die that way

Pookie: he often uses this nickname. For him it's a perfect term of endearment for you

Kurapika K.

Darling: very classic nickname, just like him. He uses it very often when you're in public because he's ashamed of calling you by the sweet nicknames he uses in private

Love: this too is used in public by him, although to a lesser extent than the previous one

My heart: he thinks it's thanks to you that his heart beats, thanks to you he can live and distract himself from his revenge, so he wants to communicate it to you with this nickname

My life: similar to the previous nickname, he believes you're what makes him feel alive, who makes him live

Sunshine: like Killua, he thinks you're the light that illuminates the darkness of his heart. This is the nickname he uses the most and it's also the name he wrote on your contact

Leorio P.

Doll: he thinks you're beautiful and perfect like a doll and this is one of the nicknames which suits you best

Hottie: he's Leorio, what can we do? There must be at least one slightly perverted nickname in his vocabulary

Princess: he thinks it's the perfect nickname for you and it represents exactly who you're and how he should treat you. When you aren't home, he calls you that. Furthermore, this is the name he wrote on your contact

Shorty: Leorio is tall, very tall, and he wants to underline this by calling you that. He uses this nickname when he's in a particularly playful mood

Sweetheart: nickname used the most, it also shows his true sweet character. He loves calling you that, especially in front of your and his friends because it shows he isn't just a pervert in this way

💮 Rules 💮 Masterlist 💮

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harlowsthetic · 10 months

Text

Missing Anniversary.

Featuring. Jack Harlow x Fem! Wife! Reader.

Anonymous Request. Can you write a jack fic where he misses an important date like anniversary or something so a little angsty that turns into fluff.

Summary. Jack misses an anniversary and you’re upset.

General Tags. Angst and Fluff.

Content Warnings. Crying that's it.

Word Count. 809.

Notes. Anon, I hope I did your request justice, I'm so nervous, this is my first fic that's out on this acc and I really wish I did good, please go easy on me. If you'd like to be tagged when future works are out, you can fill out that taglist form.

Extra. Requests are open, please read my rules beforehand! / Comments, likes, and reblogs are highly appreciated but not pressured.

Starred Links. Navigation + Masterlist + Prompts + Taglist

When Jack came home, you were sitting on the couch strolling through your Instagram not even throwing a glance his way. He walks in and smiles when he sees you. “Hey babe, it was a good day at the studio, got a lot done but I missed you though.” He said with a huge smile on his face as he walked up to you going to kiss your lips but you moved your head slightly so that his lips met your cheek.

“What was that?” He questioned but you just ignored him and kept scrolling through your phone. You were pissed and you had every right to be, today was your wedding anniversary and you thought to make it special by cooking his favorite food and setting up his favorite lingerie that he could take off of you later but he forgot. You tried giving him the benefit of the doubt like maybe his phone stopped working but he texted you earlier asking you to send a picture of the cologne he regularly used.

You knew he would be busy with his album, and you were fine with that, you supported him every step of the way but you never expected him to forget an important day like this, you treasured this day so much, the day you married your high school sweetheart so him forgetting made you feel hurt, you’d have been happy if he just sent a text, it was the thought that count.

“So you not gon tell me why you’re acting weird?” Jack was getting quite annoyed at being ignored especially when he came home early to be with you since he missed you throughout the day, you were the only thing on his mind when he was at the studio so for you to be acting this way towards him was crazy. You simply rolled your eyes and got up and walked past him, bumping his shoulder as you walked to the dining table and picked up the plates of food that were now cold, and made your way to the kitchen to wrap them with saran wrap.

Jack wondered what he could’ve done to make you this mad at him but he came up empty. What he did know was he wasn’t going to let you go to bed angry. “Babe, please tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it,” he spoke softly as he walked into the kitchen, watching you put the food in the fridge. You ignored him again and were about to make your way to the bedroom but Jack immediately got in front of you, stopping you from taking another step. “Nuh-uh, you know we don’t do silent treatment and no going to sleep angry at each other,” he says as he looks down at you.

“Jackman move out of my way,” you said as you got annoyed with him being in your presence, not wanting to look into his eyes knowing if you do, you would give in like you always did. Jack was surprised by the use of his first name since you always called him ‘babe’ or ‘baby’. “Not until you tell me what's going on.”

“Do you know what today is? Why don’t you check the date!” You yelled as you stepped back putting some distance between you and him. You watched him pull out his phone with a quizzical look on his face and when he sees the date, you turn your back towards him not wanting to make eye contact since you might start crying at any moment. “Baby… I’m so sorry, I thought it was tomorrow, I swear I have everything planned,” you stayed silent and he came closer, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer to him and that’s all it took for the tears to roll down your cheeks and he started rocking you back and forth.

“You know I love you right?” He says soothingly as he starts tracing shapes on your stomach, you nod your head silently and lean more into his touch. “I promise you, I thought the 25th was tomorrow and had everything ready for us to celebrate,”

“It wouldn’t hurt you to start checking your calendar on your phone,” your response makes him chuckle. “Yes, I’ll be more up to date from now on, can we start over our anniversary for tomorrow, trust me you gon love what I have planned.”

You turn around in his arms and look into his blue eyes. “Yes we can, I’m sorry I was mean to you,” he shakes his head. “Don’t apologize, I deserved it, I love you,” he rubs your arm a bit. “I love you too, babe,” he connects his lips with yours, holding you close to him not letting you go, come tomorrow he will make it all up to you.

#🎤 𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩? ╱ 𝙟𝙖𝙘𝙠.#jack harlow #jack harlow angst #jack harlow blurb #jack harlow concepts #jack harlow fanfic #jack harlow fluff #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow one shot #jack harlow x y/n #jack harlow x you #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow story

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strawhatkia · 9 months

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golden hour.

INCLUDES ! katsuki bakugou, shota aizawa, mirio togata, tamaki keigo

GENRE ! fluff

SYNOPSIS ! they catch you at golden hour

WARNINGS ! a lil bird tom foolery, let me know if i missed anything, edited!

WORD COUNT ! 0.9k

A/N ! another repost for mha ! it was originally requested -> “hcs of Mirio, Bakugo, Aizawa, and Hawks reacting to their black gf’s skin glowing in golden hour? She doesn’t even notice it, she’s reading or scrolling on her phone but she so damn fine”

reblogs and comments are welcomed and loved, so leave some please ! i will respond ! 🤍

MAIN MASTERLIST | BNHA MASTERLIST | TAGLIST

— ☾⋆⁺₊🧨💢✧ KATSUKI BAKUGO !

simp

he couldn’t believe his fucking eyes

there you were, sitting like an actual goddess before him, all cuddled up under the sun readin’ yo favorite book

mans has neva felt more blessed in his life nigga crying and shit

he originally came in to bother you cuz he was bored but now all he worried about is getting a damn camera-

“hey, angelface!-….” “yes, kats?” “….” “..kats? baby?" *he stomps off into the distance* "katsuki! is something wrong, why are you stomping away!?” “WHERE IN THE FUCK IS THE CAMERA DAMN IT?!”

my mans said he needed a polaroid so he can keep that shit in his wallet cause that's exactly where that picture is going

tbh, he already has a different pictures for both his lockscreen and homescreen on both his phone and laptop but rested assured, he gon get that picture !

once he got the picture, he couldn’t stop looking at it (believe this: he flashes his wallet to show off that picture to girls who hit on him with the biggest smirk, "im already taken! now piss off.")

“you know the real thing is over here, baby” *cue the blush* “shut up, dummy”

— ☾⋆⁺₊🌟🫨✧ MIRIO TOGATA !

it went something like this

he walked in with a “hey, sunshine!”, looked up, saw you in bed in yo bonnet and his big shirt, scrolling on yo phone under the sun and froze

your skin just glistening and shining- he could have sworn that one of the angels came down to visit him in the form of you

problem is…he hasn’t moved in the last 2 minutes

“mirio…mirio…mirio, baby, BLINK!!” “huh?” “damn boy, did you meet Jesus while you was gone?” “why would I do that when I have a goddess right in front of me?”

being as black as you are, you could have SWORE that yo cheeks started to heat up from that comment and he is so proud for his quick thinking

“shut up, cheese ball” “but sunshine~ you love me and my cheesiness” “…unfortunately”

he eventually joined you in bed and just laid in your lap, looked up at you with a goofy look on his face

he spends the rest of his time admiring you, even after the sun went down

goofy ass nigga- i love him so much

— ☾⋆⁺₊🪶🪽✧ KEIGO TAMAKI / HAWKS !

i’m gon clown him a little

aight, birds like glittery things…he’s a bird man…your melanin looks like jewels under the sun…i have connected the dots

no but seriously, he just saw you sitting there and was instantly pulled in

you were laying on his couch trying to take a nap under the sun cause let’s be honest, the sun is soothing as fuck on melanated skin

he had just out the shower and was in sweatpants gray and no shirt YUM

he just really loved how relaxed you were that i gave him a sense of pride to know you felt safe enough in his home

i can imagine him being a lil paranoid that you deem his house safe enough to hang out with so you spending your time just visiting or staying over night made him feel really happy

“comfortable there, dove? you know there’s a bed, right?” “i like the sun, keigo. It feels nice.” “if you say so, baby.”

ain’t no more room on the couch for him and his humongous ass wings to join you, so he settles for taking a seat on the coffee table and taking a couple of pictures of you looking so peaceful

"stop snapping pictures of me, creep." "aw, you'll hurt my feelings, baby" "im tryna sleep and your phone is distracting with that loud ass clicking sound" "sorry but i need a new background picture to switch out the old one" "yea yea whatever" "just go back to sleep" "stop taking pictures of me" "no ❤"

he put it as his computer background and the lock screen on his phone

bonus: he took a of video of him stroking your face in your sleep and you leaned in to it. in the background if you listen closely, you can hear him say “my baby is so beautiful🥺” "kei, baby, lemme sleep" "alright, love ❤"

i will fucking CRY

— ☾⋆⁺₊🐈‍⬛☕✧ SHOTA AIZAWA / ERASERHEAD

i don’t think he would be up enough to catch you at golden hour

but after the one time he did, he took a mental note to do it more often

you looked so ethereal- he didn't even know he could feel so relaxed just by looking at something

you were sitting in the corner of bed where the suns rays come, reading something on yo phone and just looking completely relaxed in life

he just stopped at the doorway, where you couldn’t really see him and leaned against the door frame, softly smiling at your relaxed figure

“she looks so peaceful…how did I get so lucky?” this was the moment he felt like he hit the lottery

however when you did notice him, you nearly jumped out yo skin

“OH SHIT!! AIZAWA?!?!” “yes?” “HOW LONG YOU BEEN STANDING THERE!?!- WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY SOMETHING!?!” “sorry-”, he chuckles, “-you just looked so peaceful, i didn’t want to interrupt.” “that’s sweet, honey…but don’t you eva scare me like that again.” “yes ma’am”

y’all ended up taking a nap together

after that he just always seem to find you at this time or somehow put you in sun’s rays just so he could admire you

bonus: he took polaroid pictures of you sleeping at golden hour and carries them with him. class 1-A found out about it and teased him about for weeks (which lead to brutally training for weeks on end, them stubborn ass kids would nawt let it go.)

©STRAWHATKIA ━ all rights reserved. all content published on this blog belongs to starsoir. please refrain from copying, stealing, profiting off my works, or using my works for asmr related work. i don’t allow my works to be used or adapted in any way without my permission.

reblogs and comments are welcomed and loved, so leave some please ! i will respond ! 🤍

wanna read more ??

boyfriend. | f. | katsuki bakugo

lip gloss, lil mama. | f. | multiple characters

taglist: @mypimpademia @cosmiles @megurulvr @dreampurpledreams

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lalachat · 6 months

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"And there you were..."

Author's note: WITERLLY WHAT THE HECK GUYS!!! You have made my heart so full! Almost 100 notes in under 24 hours😭❤️ yall gon make me cry! I am truly and utterly grateful that y'all are liking it so far! I'm a little insecure with my writing, but it's only because i'm so new. I am open to any kind of advice you can give me or constructive criticism that will help make this fic better for you readers. With practice comes improvement!! Also, look i'm evolving with my tumbler knowledge and added dividers, a tag list, and a masterlist that i hope works! Look at me go😭🤧 ANYWHOOOO... are y'all ready for this one?? I fully planned on posting this next week but i'm too freaking excited! Eheheheh writing this had me giggling and kicking my feet! Enjoy my loves<3

Summary: You and Lucien decided to leave Rita's after discovering your mates kissing each other. With no reason to stay, Lucien offers you the comfort of his home and a glass of your favorite wine to help decompress the stress of both your mates. How could you say no?

This is for all my Lucien girlies❤️

Warnings: usage of profanity, sexual tension growing between Lucien and y/n, some fluff bc why not, sharing a bed, potential grammar and spelling issues

Word Count: around 3,350

Chapter 2: "Scream my name..."

As you and Lucien walked out of Rita’s, neither of you had noticed two pairs of eyes lingering watching you both leave after they heard Rhys’ commotion questioning Mor into oblivion about what the hell was going on. Mor had almost smirked at the fact that all it took was for you and Lucien to leave together to make Az and Elain both glance at y’alls receding figures. If it weren't for Rhysand in her face, she well would have. Even as Rhys is trying to get her to talk, she could not wait to tell you the plan had worked! Even if it was just a glance, it was still something! Small progress is still progress, right? Oh, she wishes she could have Feyre paint their reactions to you two leaving because it was priceless. Maybe Mor would and give it to you for solstice? But for now, she has a very upset cousin to deal with.

You and Lucien stopped at a local market to grab snacks and your favorite wine for your impromptu evening at his apartment. As you walk out of the market towards his place, Lucien can’t help but to ask about Azriel.

“So... The shadowsinger is your mate huh?” Lucien asks while tucking his hands in his front pockets glancing to your face as he asked you his question.

“Yeah... When I first met Az, it was when Rhys had offered me a room to stay in for a night. Rhys and I had quite literally run into each other a moment prior. I was traveling through the night court and was so distracted by the beauty that I ended up running right into Rhysand. I had knocked his freshly bought paint that he was planning to give Feyre all over us. I felt so bad that I kept offering to pay him for the cost of the paint along with his clothes, but he kindly refused. I had no mental shields back then, so he easily saw I was a nomadic traveler that had no place to stay or wash up. He offered me a room in his home for a night and a training over mental shields as payment, and I kindly accepted. I hadn't had a nice place to stay in such a long time. But, little did I know it would not be my peace and that my mate lived in the home I was about to stay at.” you said as you walked in tandem with Lucien down the streets towards his apartment.

“Always so generous that high lord. And, I assume you know who my mate is then?”

“That he is. And yes, I do. If you don’t mind me asking, why doesn’t she want the bond?”

“The same reason your mate doesn’t see yours... She’s too busy being enamored by him to try and pursue or explore things with me.” He finds a rock on the pavement to kick along as you two walk. Lucien kicks it towards you.

“At least she knows you’re her mate.” you shrug, kick the rock back, and Lucien chuckles.

“You have a point, and Azriel would know if you would just tell him.”

“Yeah, but would it change anything between us? Probably not. It would most likely end up like you and Elain if I told him...” Lucien stops and goes silent for a moment. “No offense of course!”

“None taken. How did we even end up in this mess? You and I both having mates who do not reciprocate any kind of feelings toward us because they like each other is almost ironic.” He laughs at this situation you are both in.

“You know now that you're saying it out loud, it is quite ridiculous.” You giggle. For a moment you had completely forgotten about Azriel and Elain. Lucien once again, being so alluring that you forgotten what you had just seen at Rita’s.

Lucien glances at you and finally takes in your appearance. Your cheeks start to turn rosy at the sight of his eyes trailing over your body. Your dress still leaving little imagination for Lucien. Your body grows hot from the sudden attention.

“He’s absolutely dumb as rocks for not looking at you tonight, because you look ravishing.” and gives you a playful wink.

“Lucien you're just saying that to make me feel better.”

“Y/n I kid you not, I truly mean it. You are one of the most beautiful females I have ever seen!”

“Thank you Lucien, that means so much more to me than you will ever know,” as you look into his eyes and smile at him. He stares at you, smiles and dips his head to say you're welcome before continuing.

“Almost there, it is right around this corner.”

“Perfect, because I am freezing and in dire of more alcohol. I am too sober for all this emotional shit,” you say as Lucien laughs at your comment and you both turn the corner.

“And we're here! Home sweet home!”

You walk into his apartment and your senses are engulfed by the smell of cinnamon sticks, crisp apples, cedarwood, and roasted chestnuts. It felt like home. Everything in his apartment felt so warm and welcoming. You sat down the groceries you had gotten on the center table near the living room couch, and slowly took in his décor. You were surprised everything looked so coordinated. His apartment was filled with warm colors like reds, oranges, and yellows. It reminded you of your brief stay in the autumn court. You wondered if that’s why Lucien decorated it this way. Maybe he had found a sense of belonging in those colors. While you were taking in his apartment, you hadn’t noticed him grabbing you a change of clothes to wear along with a warm woolly blanket.

“Here, these are for you to change into, and this is for you when you get cold later because I know you,” Lucien handed you the clothes and sat the blanket down on the couch. “The bathroom is through the hall on your left! Let me know if you need anything.”

“Okay, thank you!”

You started walking to the bathroom, the floor creaking beneath your feet as you opened the door. You stepped inside and quietly shut the door. You could hear Lucien in the kitchen popping the bottle of wine and pouring you both glasses, but what you forgot to realize is how you were going to take this dress off. After Mor’s last minute dress change, you had to call Nuala and Cerridwen to help you into it. You had not thought about how you were going to get it off. You slightly began to panic. “It’s okay... you can do this. It’s just a dress, can't be that hard right?” You tried to maneuver your arms into reaching the back of your dress but to no avail, Mor had to pick the most complicated thing you have ever seen. She was right though, this dress did look hot as fuck on you. You struggled a few times more before huffing and giving up. So, you had to do what you had to do...

“LUCIEN, I NEED HELP!” You could practically hear him sprinting down the hall to get to you in the bathroom. Without thinking he pushes the door wide open.

“WHAT IS IT? Are you alright?” His face scans you for any kind of injuries but finds none. The only thing he finds is you still in that damn dress that drove him crazy. “Why are you not in the clothes I gave you?”

“First of all, I could have been indecent. Didn’t your mother ever teach you to knock! Secondly, you see, as a male you would not understand this predicament, but I cannot get my dress off by myself. I need help unfortunately... I swear this is all Mor’s fault!”

Cauldron boil him... “So, you mean to tell me, you screamed my name to help you with your dress because you cannot do it yourself?”

“Yes...” you can hear Lucien sigh.

“There are much better ways to scream my name y/n and you know that but for the sake that you are quite literally stuck in that dress, I’ll help you. Turn around.” Your face turns hot at his comment, and you swat at his arm.

“LUCIEN! This is not funny!” he can't help but chuckle at your flustered state.

“Okay, okay, you being stuck in a dress is not funny. Got it! Now stop being stubborn and turn around so I can help.”

“No, wait! You have to close your eyes!”

“Y/n, how am I supposed to help you with your dress if I cannot see? Besides you act like I haven't seen you naked.” Again, your face betrays you as your cheeks turn bright red at the thought. You huff.

“Fine, okay you can keep your eyes open but no funny business Mr. Vanserra. I am watching you!” Lucien chuckles at how flustered he had made you and he is living for it.

You slowly turn your back to him and lock eyes with him through the bathroom mirror. Lucien takes the back of his knuckles and traces them delicately down the skin of your spine, almost like if you were made of glass and that you'd break at the slightest touch. His hand radiates so much warmth you must stop yourself from letting out a couple of sighs. The entire time he does this his eyes do not leave from yours through the mirror. His hand finally reaches the back of your dress, and he looks away to start undoing the claps. Thank the mother because his stare was driving you crazy. Each clasp he undoes, he makes sure to take his sweet time on. He doesn't miss the way your skin crawls with goosebumps at the slightest touch of his hands against your back. Gods, you had missed his fiery touch. It had felt like forever since he last touched you.

You slowly felt the dress getting heavier with each clasp undone. You could tell Lucien was near the end when your dress had almost slipped off your chest threatening to expose your naked breasts to him. Luckily, Lucien was too preoccupied to have noticed you trying to regather it back up for coverage. You couldn’t help but to selfishly think about turning around to look at him as your dress falls to the floor. Heat slowly began to warm your lower abdomen. You had to clench your thighs together in hope of Lucien not catching your growing scent of arousal. What would Lucien do to you if you did that? Would he pin you against the sink and truly make you scream his name? Gods you wished. Just then you caught a whiff of your scent. Damn your mind and body for betraying you! You were so worried about Lucien this whole time, when you should've been worrying about yourself. However, you decide that this is probably not the time to be thinking about such lewd things after what happened with Az.

As he was on the last clasp, Lucien couldn’t help catching your lingering scent in the air. You were going to be the death of him. He kisses the newly exposed skin of your back as his scent starts to slightly change and mix in with yours. Your head fell back as your eyes closed in anticipation. His eyes had wandered back to the mirror to see your eyes shut reeling in his touch as he peppered kisses up and down your spine. He marveled at this moment for a brief second before unclasping the last clasp of your dress. Your eyes met his as the last clasp was undone, and you let your dress pool to the floor as a test of restraint. For you or him, you didn’t know which. He held you gaze for a moment, never looking away from your eyes, before ghosting his lips on the nape of your neck.

“All done...” he whispered as he slowly turned around, shut the door, and walked away back to the kitchen. Cruel wicked male.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and tried to recompose yourself. Gods would drinking more wine be safe anymore after what just happened? You sighed and you picked your dress up off the floor and folded it as nicely as you could. You grabbed the clothes Lucien had given you to change into and started putting them on. Immediately you are swallowed by the musk of Lucien's clothes. It is almost overwhelming if it weren’t for the fact that you loved the smell of the autumn court male.

You laughed at yourself in the mirror as you looked and saw his t hanging so loose on you, it was practically a dress. But let's be honest, you loved it. You slowly opened the bathroom door and made your way out with your former dress folded nicely in your hands. You sat your dress down on the table and turned towards Lucien with a smile.

“So... how do I look?” and give him a twirl. Lucien looks at you and smiles. Gods, you looked even better in his clothes than in that dress but he wasn’t about to give in that easily.

“Like a little boy.” Lucien said with a playful gleam in his eyes.

“YOU TAKE THAT BACK RIGHT NOW!” as you shake a finger at his face. He laughs.

“Fine... You look like a very cute little boy!” he says grinning from ear to ear loving the effects his teasing was having on you tonight. You instead stick out your tongue and give him that all too well known finger gesture. He is practically hurled over in laughter, but you just huff and plop yourself on his couch.

“Be useful and get this “cute little boy” more wine! I'm definitely too sober now.” He laughs again and it warms your chest. You cant help but to grin back.

“Are you sure you can drink wine? You look a little young to be drinking such adult drinks” as he grabs the wine glasses along with the bottle for refills later.

“LUCIEN, I WILL STRANGLE YOU IF I HEAR ONE MORE LITTLE BOY JOKE!”

“Okay, okay. Here’s your wine doll.” He hands you your glass with a smile, “You actually look even more beautiful now that you’re in my clothes.” As he sends you a wink before sipping some of his wine.

“Thank you...” you smile as you take a sip from your own glass.

“So, other than your mate being an enigma to you, what else has happened since I saw you last?” you both get comfy on the couch and sip on your wine.

You had failed to realize how long you and Lucien were apart. You told him about your travels through all the different courts, and he told you about his part in the war along with how he became a part of the night court. You both sat there and exchanged every story you could possibly think of, trying to catch up on every moment you missed together. Soon the stories turn into giggling. Neither of you could hold it together as one of you would say something slurred and the other could cry out in laughter. It was the wine-speaking now, but neither of you had minded. You both had forgotten what it was like to be in each other's presence. It was nice to rekindle old flames with your friend, but you had to be careful. Recatching old feelings would not be good for you with this whole Azriel situation. You looked out the corner of your eye to see Lucien trying to fight off a yawn.

“Oh, don't tell me my lil fox boy has grown tired of me?” as you slightly pinch his cheeks. He grins as he sees you also fighting off your own tiredness.

“Mmmm seems like my yawns are contagious then, because I could’ve sworn I saw you do one just now.” he raises an eyebrow at you.

“Okay, maybe I did. All this catching up and wine drinking has made me sleepy.” You decide to grab the blanket Lucien sat on the couch for you earlier this evening.

“I don’t blame you... Now if you excuse me, I am going to go change into something more comfortable, these clothes are killing me, and then we will call it a night.” he says as he sticks a finger in his collared shirt to loosen the neck and walks off still in the clothes he wore at Rita’s. You chuckle at his figure walking down the hallway to what you would assume to be his room. You don’t know how long he was in there, but you couldn’t wait any longer. Your eyes were too heavy, and you were too drunk to stop your movements down the hallway towards where Lucien disappeared. You find the door he dipped into and see it is cracked a smidge. You decide to knock, unlike Lucien earlier.

“Hey Lu? Can I come in?” No answer. “Lucien I’m really tired and I don’t know where you want me to sleep...” you slowly push the door open but put too much weight on it and tumble forward into his room. Unlike your knocking, Lucien heard you tumble and was at your side to catch you in a heartbeat. You let out a laugh. “Oh, I'm too drunk for this shit... I'm sorry, I only came here too-” you look up to see him in gray sweat pants, hair loose, and no shirt. Mother blessed this man too much! Oh fuck. Get me out of here.

“Y/n, you were saying something?” He looks down at you with mischief in his eyes knowing you couldn’t keep yours off his bare chest and gray sweatpants. Your eyes blink rapidly, and you shake your head trying to get that image out your mind but its seared its way in.

“Oh yes. I was just- um, why did I- OH! Where do you want me to sleep? I’m like minutes away from passing out on the damn floor!” Lucien laughs.

“You can sleep in here, and I can stay on the couch for tonight. Is that alright?”

“This is your bed and home Lucien. I can't let you sleep on the couch as I take your bed... it just feels wrong. I'll take the couch and you can keep your bed for tonight.” you say as you turn around to head back into the living room before you feel Lucien's hand around your waist stopping you.

“Y/n I swear to the mother, do not be stubborn and take the damn bed please. It’s too late for this, I promise you it’s okay! I insist.”

“I guess old habits never die. Always trying to get me in your bed Lu.” you smirk as you crawl in and wrap up in his silk auburn sheets. You thought his house and clothes smelled nice, but his sheets, his sheets were heavenly. You almost fell asleep then and there because it was so calming. Lucien walks over to you and kisses you on the forehead.

“Goodnight doll, I am truly sorry for your mates behavior tonight. Sleep well...” He turns around, turns out the lights, and is about to walk out the door but hesitates as he hears you say--

“Lucien wait-”

“Yes?”

“We’re both adults here, right?”

“Well one of us looks like a little boy, but yes. Why?” Lucien replied. You rolled your eyes at his playful remark from earlier.

“Adults can share a bed, and nothing has to happen.”

“Y/n are you saying you want me to sleep next to you?”

“Yes, I am. I don’t want to sleep alone tonight.” you sigh.

“Always so persuasive... scoot over.” You open the sheets and scoot over in the bed to make room for Lucien. You feel the bed dip down as he crawls in. You both lay there for a moment reeling in that you two are sharing a bed again. The only difference is now the lingering heartbreak you both feel from your mates. You turn around to face Lucien and ask-

“Can I lay on your chest?” He doesn’t verbally respond but wraps his hands around your waist and softly pulls you closer to him. You lay your head on his chest, listening to his heart beat, and look up at his face. You tuck a couple of stray hairs that had fallen in his face and tuck them behind his ears and say, “Thank you for tonight, Lucien. Elain is so lucky to have you, she just doesn’t know it yet.”

“Thank you doll, neither does Azriel. Now let's get some much needed rest. Goodnight,” said Lucien.

“Goodnight Lu,” as you rest your hand on his bare chest next to your head and you feel Lucien's arms tighten around you. You can't help but to feel so at peace in his presence, and neither can he, as you both fell asleep holding each other all night.

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Tags:

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acknowledge-reigns · 22 days

Text

Worst To Me (Roman Reigns x Black!fem oc SMUT! 18+!!!)

Description: After Roman loses his title he knows the perfect way to blow off some steam.

Warnings: Dom/sub dynamic, masochist sub!oc, sadist Dom!Roman but obviously ssc, nipple play, spanking, rough sex, dirty talk, name calling (slut/slutty, toy.), petnames (babygirl, sweetness), edging, hair pulling/tugging, begging, marking/love bites, creampie, Honorifics (My tribal Chief. Daddy).

Song: Worst To Me by Noah Davis.

Other stories featuring Roman x Lilah include: Jealous, 34+35, There Goes My Baby and Nonsense.

My entire Masterlist can be found here.

Face claim: Jaylon Barron

Again, MDNI!!! THIS IS AN 18+ FAN FICTION. As always my stories are about Roman Reigns NOT Joe Anoa'i. Mostly smut with sprinkles of Angst and Fluff.

As Roman walked backstage, frustration and anger coursed through his veins. How fucking dare they. Seth, Jey, Sami. Every person who he ever loved that had stabbed him in the back had to just cost him the title. He lost to Cody fucking Rhodes of all people. He knew he needed to release some tension.

Lilah was always there to provide him with what he needed - she craved that pain and pleasure in equal measure as much as he craved giving it to her. A perfect little canvas for him to mark up. To make her scream and writhe, whimper and moan. Bring back his sense of control.

Tonight, she would be the one who helped him forget about everything else. She was waiting for him in his private locker room, wearing nothing but red and black lingerie that hugged her curves perfectly just as he'd instructed her to before he went out for his match.

Without a single word he grabbed her roughly by the waist and pinned her against the wall, his strong arms holding her in place as he pressed his lips against hers with a force that left no room for questioning who's in charge here. She moaned softly into the kiss and arched her back towards him, eager to feel more of his touch but he paused.

"Safeword, babygirl?" Roman questioned.

"Pickles, My Tribal Chief." Lilah responded.

"Good. Remember it, Sweetness because I'm not gon' go easy on you tonight." He stated as he began exploring every inch of her body with rough hands having made quick work of undoing her bra.

"Do your worst." Lilah teased.

With a smirk he began squeezing and pinching her hardened little nipples, taking his time enjoying her reactions as he twisted them. She squirmed beneath him, begging for mercy through whimpers and gasps.

Roman ignored her pleas, since none of them were their agreed upon safe word and continued to unleash his pent-up frustration on her body. He grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked it back, exposing the delicate curve of her neck where he sank his teeth into the tender flesh without hesitation. She let out a cry of pain that quickly turned into moans of utter bliss as he sucked hard enough to leave marks all over her.

Fuck. He was marking his territory. As if he were saying 'They can take my title, they can take everything else but can't nobody take my woman'.

Roman smirked, he knew she was enjoying every second of it, even though she pretended otherwise. He let go of her hair and spun her around so that she was facing away from him, giving him access to that plump juicy ass he loved so much. With a low growl, he pulled down her panties and spanked her hard enough to make her gasp and illicit a nice appealing jiggle.

He spanked her repeatedly, alternating between left and right sides with each blow. The sound of his palm meeting her flesh echoed through the room, mingling with their heavy breathing. She could feel herself getting wetter by the second.

"You forgetting to thank your Tribal Chief huh? I know my little toy knows better than that." Roman spat oozing dominance from his very core that left her breathless as he slapped her ass harder.

"Fuck! Thank you, My Tribal Chief." Lilah cried out.

He felt his anger and frustration slowly dissipating as he lost himself in the sensation of punishing Lilah. He grabbed her by the hips and lifted her up, carrying her towards a nearby bench where he bent her over with ease. He could manhandle her like a little rag doll, in truth he could probably manhandle most anyone that way if he wanted to. He's Roman Reigns.

Roman positioned himself behind her. Lilah felt his hot breath against her skin and then the unmistakable sensation of him entering her from behind. He started thrusting hard and fast, using all his strength to claim every inch of her body as his own. His. Something Cody can't take. Something Seth can't take. Something Jey can't take.

Lilah let out a moan as Roman pounded into her relentlessly. She could feel herself getting closer and closer to the edge with each passing second, but she knew better than to beg for release before he was ready to give it. Not when he was like this. He needed to feel completely in control.

His hands gripped her hips tightly, keeping her in place as he felt his own pleasure building up inside him as he continued to ravage Lilah's body. He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, "I love those pretty little noises you make you hear me? You gon' let the whole locker room hear you fucking acknowledge me." Roman said.

She was unable to form coherent words with the way he was making her feel. With a wicked grin on his face, Roman increased the pace of his thrusts. "I own this fucking pussy. I will always own this fucking pussy." Roman growled, "Say it!" he demanded.

"You own this fucking pussy" Lilah repeated barely between moans.

"Say it again. Say it again. Louder." Roman ordered.

"You own this fucking pussy, daddy." She stated as loud and clear as she could.

"That's what I thought. This slutty little pussy acknowledges me." Roman let out that smug little chuckle he does.

Roman could feel himself getting closer to the edge but He slowed down his pace and focused on hitting all the right spots inside Lilah, causing her body to shudder with pleasure. She let out a series of high-pitched moans that filled the room with an intoxicating energy. This is control. This is power.

He continued to tease Lilah, bringing her right to the brink of orgasm before pulling away just in time. He enjoyed seeing her squirm beneath him, desperate for release but unable to do anything about it without his permission. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of denial and torture, he let go completely and allowed himself to be consumed by the pleasure. Lilah let out a scream of ecstasy as she reached her peak, her body convulsing with waves of pleasure that seemed to go on forever and ever. Roman followed suit soon after, his own release hitting him like a tidal wave as he buried himself deep inside her one final time filling her with his seed.

After cleaning up and catching their breath, Roman led Lilah over to the locker room couch where they could relax in each other's arms. He wrapped his muscular arms around her and pulled her close, kissing the top of her head gently. "Are you okay?" he asked softly as he stroked her hair back from her face. "That was... intense."

"I should be asking you that. I know what that title meant to you." Lilah said.

Roman sighed and pulled her even closer, his expression growing serious. "It did mean a lot to me," he admitted quietly. "But at the end of the day, it's just a belt. It doesn't define who I am. I'll always be Roman Reigns." He paused for a moment before continuing. "What matters most is that we stay together through thick and thin, no matter what happens. Belt or no belt."

"Wait, is that what all this was about? you were worried I'd leave you if you aren't champion?" Lilah asked softly.

Roman looked away for a moment, embarrassed that he'd let his insecurities get the best of him. "Maybe," he admitted reluctantly. "I know it sounds stupid now, but I guess deep down I was afraid you'd stop loving me if I wasn't on top anymore."

There it was. That trauma rearing it's ugly head. People leave. Seth left. Jey left. Sami left. Hell, Dean left. That same trauma that cost him his damn title tonight.

Lilah smiled softly and reached up to caress Roman's cheek. "Hey, listen to me," she said gently. "You don't need a title to be worthy of my love. You are an incredible person with so much talent and potential that it takes my breath away sometimes. I will always love and acknowledge you." She paused for a moment before adding, "No matter what".

Roman felt a lump form in his throat as he listened to Lilah's words. He knew she was being sincere and that her love for him ran deep, but it still didn't completely erase the doubts that had been nagging at him ever since he lost the title. "I appreciate everything you just said," he finally managed to choke out after a few moments of silence. "But I can't help feeling like I let everyone down when I lost my title.. The family.. I was supposed to keep us at the top of the mountain."

Lilah nodded in understanding and wrapped her arms around Roman's neck, pulling him close. "I know how much it means to you," she said softly. "But the truth is, no one can keep us at the top forever. Sometimes we have to take a step back and rebuild before we can come out stronger than ever. You did it for four years, Roman. That's special." She said

Roman smiled at Lilah's words and kissed her gently on the forehead. "You always know just what to say," he said softly. "I don't know where I would be without you." He pulled her closer and held her tightly, feeling grateful for her love and support. Roman and Lilah stayed cuddled up on the locker room couch for a while longer, enjoying each other's company and trying to forget about the stresses of their professional lives. Eventually, though, they knew that it was time to get back out there and face whatever challenges lay ahead. Just not right now.

#roman reigns x oc #roman reigns smut #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns x black reader #roman reigns x black oc #roman reigns #the tribal chief #wwe roman reigns #head of the table #the head of the table #the only one #the bloodline #Spotify

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writingoddess1125 · 5 months

Text

For The Captian

Captian John Price x FemReader

This is just porn- Straight Porn. No Plot

⚠️ Warnings: ⚠️ Unprotected Sex, Dirty Nasty Sex, Fingering, Teasing?, Brat?

If you like Click Here! <-

Masterlist <<<

"J-John! Please-" You sobbed out desperately, pushing your head back against his shoulder and bucking your hips into your Captian's hand. He had been doing this for an hour- punishment he called it for being a brat. Having you seated on his lap without cloths as one hand nestled inside your weeping cunt and the other working on his laptop infront of you.

"Please what Darling?~" He teased, His calluses fingers working painful circles in your oversenstive clit drawing another pleasure sob from you as your thighs shook around his hand and you came again on him.

He chuckled at this, clearly amused by how you'd come undone by his fingers and the cute whimpers you managed out. Pulling his hand away to lick clean with a pleased hum hearing you whine.

You grind your ass against him- Feeling his cock pressed painfully against your ass desperate to get out. Earning a grunt from him as he closed his laptop and placed both hands on your thighs giving a squeeze in warning.

"Oh I know thats what you want~ But you gotta have to ask very nicely~" He purred in your ear, making you whimper in desperation.

"I-I want you to fuck me Captian- Please" You say softly, your pride not being as important as wanting his cock.

"Atta Girl~"

He grabbed your hips suddently, pushing you against the desk and flipping you so you were flat on your back lifting your legs high so your heels rested perfectly on his shoulders.

The world spinning by how fast he had been moving-

You couldn't help but look down seeing his massive cock laid perfectly over your cunt, him teasing your clit with his cock.

"Like the view?" He purred out, seeing the way you blushed deeply at this. His cock rubbing on your clit gently, earning a moan from you as you arch your back in pleasure.

"Such a pretty thing you are~ So wet and ready for me" He purred patting your pussy with his cock for a moment before pushing slowly into you.

John hissed, feeling how tight you were- every inch of him fill you. Your eyes rolled back and you gasped out in bliss at feeling him-

"Good Girl" He moaned out, Snapping his hips forward and drawinv a loud moan to escape you as it felt like lightning was shooting through your body and your world began to spin.

"That's it Love~"

John began to move almost immediately, thrusting hard into you suddently making you cry out in pleasure. He wasn't kind- Slapping his hips against yours as he held your legs firmly against him and drilled into you-

"J-John Fuck! Ngh!~" You moaned out desperately, Hearing the Captian laugh above you as he continued to drill into your aching cunt. John growled as he continued to fuck into you like a mad man- His eyes looking like a starved man who had finally gotten a meal as he grunted in pleasure.

"That's it love~ comin undone" He hissed out, his hips moving faster against your own as your arms reached out desperately to grab the end of the desk to try to ground yourself.

"C-Cum!~ I am gon-" You moaned out, chanting out for the man above you as he snickered and kept his brutal pace.

"Fucking do it-Cum for me~"

You sobbed out in pleasure and came hard- Shaking in bliss as you tightened around John's cock desperately. Dizzy and blissed out from how many times you'd come in the last hour, ready to fall asleep. Till a sharp slap to your ass brought you back, looking to see John who was still pressed into you smirking down as he thrusted into you- Still feeling he hadn't come just yet. Your heart fluttering in your chest as John buried himself deeply inside of you that you practically saw stars and almost came again.

"We are just getting started Love~"

#x reader #call of duty thoughts #call of duty ww2 #call of duty mw3 #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty #call of duty smut #captain john price #john price #captian price x reader #cod price #captian price #captain price #price #price smut #captian john price

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imwetforyourmom · 3 months

Text

Masterlist‼️‼️

fanfic masterlist.

masterlist edit number #2

the edits are not mine.

All three

home

comfort your child

ghost busters

ladies

eyes

“and matt was ugly”

the goat

girl look at that body

home is whenever im with you

frozennova

heartless

shaboya

muévete

innocent, remember?

deja vu

la, la, la

who ya gonna call?

Nick

hot

imitate

they gon hate me regardless

you know I will

ok now where that beautiful man at

alone

you know where to find me, and i know where to look

shh

dont you think we’re going too far?

I instantly started crying

woah, no

im angeline joline

I feel like a fem queen

Matt

rider, rider.

360°

make it rain

shower

woman

super duper

stage

hands on your knees

good shot

oh yeah

back that ass

mr miyagi

she said

both

go bang

pythia

the beat drop

one bullet

light vs dark

phenomenal

superman

just take the train

you’ll pick it up now

fingertips of yours

she got me up all night

fingertips of yours

you’ll pick it up now

just take the train

pink shirt

sweetheart

I feel like a fem queen

hes so fine

bad bitch wanna fuck

Chris

one last problem

where have you been

plot twist

hot

back that ass

breakin dishes

chester

heart to heart

oh yeah

she knows

tour

not drew

rubbing on her thighs

light shot diamonds

where have you been

el chris caliente

yk you cant roam without caeser

blow what off?

both

the beat drop

like a harley

one bullet

take it slow

light vs dark

phenomenal

superman

I just gotta know

oh my fucking gosh

I only call you when

I just gotta know

dont you think we’re going too far?

I instantly started crying

im kinda busy..

yeah

chris is the boy that I wanna meet

#masterlist #edits #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo edit #sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo edit #matthew sturniolo

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entishramblings · 11 months

Text

Fuck the Forbidden Pt. 1

[Boromir/F!MermaidReader]

PART 2 | PART 3 — coming soon!

Fuck the Forbidden: FTF LINK MASTERLIST

A.N: so, I went to see the little mermaid live action and I couldn’t resist making a one-shot inspired by it. however,,, there are some twists and turns to the tail (heh see what I did there) so it is a bit different ;)

Request: none

Pairing: Boromir X Fem!MermaidReader

Summary: The Reader is a Mermaid and witnessed a shipwreck. She becomes interested in human life—particularly one human: Boromir.

Disclaimer: Any mythology relating to the mermaids of middle earth is not canon. also I tried my best with arda water/river geography plz don’t come at me—it’s not one of my finer subjects :/

Word Count: 9.5k — listen, I have a problem

Warnings: depression, drowning, ptsd, alcoholism, angst, comfort, fluff, stalking (idk how to make that last one sound less creepy. you’re just gonna have to read it).

MASTERLIST | AO3 | WATTPAD

The gulf of the great sea was known to bring down ships in the Bay of Belfalas during an unlucky storm. The rocky path towards the shore had claimed the lives of many during such circumstances. Though the weather was usually fair, now was not one of those times. The ship, The Deseirre, rocked and tilted under the storm's ruling, making it nearly impossible for the crew to evade the onslaught of unwelcomed waves crashing aboard. The harsh waters hit hard upon the men manning the vessel, nearly drowning them in the angry salt water of the sea as they desperately tried to keep the boat from going down. The captain of the ship was manning the wheel, turning and spinning it with frantic urgency. The quartermaster was calling out orders, directing the crew's efforts to secure the hatches and hold the ship steady. The sailors were running lines and yanking on ropes, hoping to pull the sails in a direction that would keep them afloat. However, as the night sky wept and bellowed in rage, it further obscured the treacherous rocks lurking in the cove. Still, Boromir prayed that their vessel wouldn’t be one to join the graveyard below.

“ONE. OF. YOU. FUCKING MORONS—“ A wave crashed down upon the quartermaster, stealing his sentence for a moment. The water slid across the deck, revealing his form. His waterlogged body fumbled to rise. “—GO REEF THE SAILS! NOW!”

The Captain of the Minas Tirith Guard caught the desperate man’s gaze and nodded—telling him that he would be the one to do the task. Boromir then took to stumbling across the rocking ship, dodging flying parcels and rolling barrels, as he attempted to get to the ship’s mast.

A sudden cry interrupted his actions, causing Boromir to turn his attention. It was Elidon, the youngest member of their group at the age of fourteen. He had been hit by one of the barrels—and three more were coming his way.

Instantly, the Gondorian Captain moved to his aid. He jumped in-front of the boy and took the blow of the next barrel before yanking them both out of the way of the other two.

“Sir Boromir, th—thank you.” Elidon stammered out.

He patted the younger’s shoulder in recognition of his thanks. “Help Heimir and the rest of the crew! Go!”

“But—but where are you going?! That side of the ship is getting hit with the most water?!”

“The sails must be reefed! Go to Heimir!” he yelled as he ran off towards the rigging.

A diplomatic mission, his father had called it.

Boromir, now at the mast, grasped onto the ropes and heaved himself up onto the first prong of the rigging.

Just a quick check-in across the seas to confirm their trade routes and hold relations, he had said.

The Captain of the Guard twisted his fingers as the wet material slipped from them, nearly losing his grasp.

It would be an easy sail, Denethor had claimed.

Boromir struggled to keep his footing as a large wave crashed upon him, disorienting him.

Not too far of a venture, he had insisted.

Of course, without any objection, Boromir had agreed to go to be the face of such discussions. After all, Gondor needed a representative, and who could be more suitable than the steward’s son himself?! Boromir had been actively assisting his father in various administrative tasks to ensure the smooth operation of Minas Tirith—hell, he was captain of the guard! Therefore, a simple sail was nothing; but, much to his dismay, this was no simple sail. They had come across rough waves and rocky terrain through their journey. They had hoped that the way back wouldn’t be as difficult. But, boy, were they wrong. It was worse.

So here the Soldier of Gondor was, climbing the rigging to reach the sails and secure the reef points. Hopefully, with luck, it would reduce the risk of the ship capsizing.

He was nearly there, only a couple feet away, when he first heard it: the shouting.

Though it was not just the yelling of orders and commands.

No, no, this was different.

This was the shouting of terror. A cry to let the rest of them know it was too late. There was nothing to be done at this point. It was just a warning—for them to brace themselves. They had but seconds.

One. Two. Three.

The ship crashed hard upon a rock, the sound of the splintering snap of wood getting lost in that of lightning.

Boromir's desperate grip grew stronger, his fingers digging into the coarse fibers of the rope as his legs flailed helplessly in the air. He could feel the burn of the material tearing and ripping open his skin, an agonizing reminder of the dire situation he found himself in. Yet despite this, he clung to that lifeline, his very existence hanging by a thread. He didn’t want to die. No, not like this.

The crew members' panicked voices echoed through the air, their urgent cries piercing the tense atmosphere and striking reality back into Boromir’s bones. Swiftly, they scrambled towards the lifeboats, driven by the need for survival. The soldier knew the ship was done. The irrevocable truth was evident—the ship was destined to sink and there was no saving it.

With a swift twist of his head, Boromir shook off the wet strands of hair that clung to his face, obscuring his vision. He knew he had to get to the others—quickly. His eyes darted from one possible route to another, assessing each for its level of safety.

Boromir, with his heart pounding, shifted his position. He would have to swing for it.

With a calculated movement, he extended his arm, stretching it out towards a rope that hung close by. His fingers grazed its surface, but it remained just out of his immediate reach.

He tried again. His palm collided with the rope, yet still, it slipped from his grasp.

Determined, Boromir reconfigured his stance once more, hoping that this adjustment would be the key to finally bridging the gap between his outstretched hand and his only lifeline.

However, just as he was to make contact, a powerful wave slammed into his back. This sent him flying through the air. Helpless and disoriented, he tumbled uncontrollably down the rigging, hurtling towards the ship's deck. With mere seconds to react, he desperately attempted to reposition his form mid-fall, aiming to land on the meatiest part of his body. However, before he could even try to execute any maneuver, a gust of wind propelled a swinging beam directly towards him. Its side rammed right into his abdomen, forcefully taking him along its path. A pained groan escaped his lips as his head collided with yet another beam. The darkness then consumed him.

From their lifeboats, the crew gazed in disbelief at the sight of the Steward's Son, a figure who had always treated them with kindness and compassion, being tossed about in the air like a little gnat. The rage of the sea batted him away dismissively, as if he was nothing more than a little pest. With mouths agape in astonishment, the sailors watched Boromir’s lifeless form plummeting into the water—water that seemed to almost reach up towards him, as if the ocean itself yearned to soften the pain of his fall. The roar and rumble of the waves then consumed him and his limp form vanished beneath the inky depths. He was swallowed whole by the relentless force of the sea.

“Make for the shore!” The captain of the now non-existent ship hollered.

“But Captain!” Elidon cried out frantically. “What of Sir Boromir?! We cannot leave him!”

Grasping the torn and drenched fabric of his younger companion's tunic, the captain hollered his reply. “No man could have survived a blow to the back of the head like that. Forget Sir Boromir!” His gaze then shifted urgently towards Heimir, a comrade who shared in the grief of the recently departed. "Row for the shore! NOW! We cannot delay a moment longer!"

“But Captain!” Elidon shouted.

“Shut it boy! Or I will throw you over too!” he snapped back.

Reluctantly, Heimir and another sailor, Stinar, started to row. The little lifeboat began to surge with the way of the winds as the men upon it desperately attempted to bring it home steady—the friend that some had held so dearly, abandoned to the black sea.

The men, however, did not know one thing—the most important thing.

They didn’t know of the legends that had almost since faded from their line. The legends that only the eldest of sailors dared to even whisper of—even after a couple pints. The legends of the beautiful and sinful beasts of the sea. The ones that lured men to their deaths and used their skeletons for fashioning jewelry.

…..

Amidst the disassembling of The Deseirre—its fragments mercilessly thrown upon the tumultuous waves to be claimed by the gods of deep—a pair of vigilant eyes floated atop the water's surface.

Their curious gaze captured the ethereal moonlight, reflecting its shimmering glow as the sea raged on. Observing intently, they absorbed the tragic spectacle of the ship bending and breaking. They witnessed the anguished cries of its crew and the frenzied efforts of those fighting for survival. In solemn stillness, they silently beheld the suffering. Yet, a tender warmth seeped into those unwavering eyes when they witnessed one soul selflessly shielding another of many years younger. This man took the brunt of debris, despite the pain. And, well, those inquiring eyes decided to follow that man.

They watched as he scrambled across the ship, desperately climbing to reach or do….something. They didn't know exactly what his goal was, but from his frantic behavior, they could only guess it was intended to prevent the ship from going down. His efforts, however, appeared to be in vain, for the ship was splitting into ruins and the men were abandoning it—all but him. He tried. Oh, yes, he tried very hard, but it seemed the odds were not in his favor.

Down he fell—spiraling unconscious towards the abyss.

And those eyes, the ones that surveyed the shipwreck, were connected to a lifeform that could feel such pain—pain of the heart. They belonged to one called (Y/N).

(Y/N) knew she shouldn’t.

They were not allowed to—none of them were.

It was forbidden among their clan.

Though the begging of the young boy yanked upon the crevices of her chest.

It was forbidden.

All men couldn't be like those ones—the ones her father fought in ‘TheWar of the Riptides’ all those centuries ago.

It was forbidden.

This man—this man couldn't be like them. No. No, he wasn't like them. He was a good man.

It was forbidden.

He had saved the boy and taken the pain with no complaint. After all that had happened in the past couple centuries, she had to believe that there was some kindness—some decency—left in the human race. And in that act, she saw it. She knew she saw it. So, here, listening to the young boy plead for the rescue of the man, Boromir, she could not let it disappear.

It was forbidden.

She couldn't let that kindness rot at the bottom of the deep.

It was forbidden.

She could not let it cease to exist.

Fuck the forbidden.

(Y/N) extended her palm outward, commanding the water to cradle the man's body, cushioning his descent and lessening the impact. The waves obediently rose, embracing his lifeless form for a fleeting moment before consuming him. Swiftly, she dipped beneath the surface, her tail propelling her gracefully through the depths. It took only mere seconds for her to locate the drifting figure, and without hesitation, she folded her arms around his limp frame. Drawing upon the innate strength bestowed upon her people, her fins pushed them both upwards. Their heads emerged from the water's surface and the moonlight bathed them in unison with the rain.

Ensuring the man’s head remained above the water's surface, the mermaid skillfully navigated her way towards the shoreline. She glided past the treacherous rocky terrain that had proven to be the ship’s demise. She evaded the broken debris that came from the hopeless fight. And she eluded the relentless onslaught of waves that came to snatch the prize she had stolen.

(Y/N) reached the shore at the break of dawn, just as the sun began its ascent to its position among the sky. The storm had halted during the first rays of light and now it kissed her skin and scales with praise. As she brushed upon the land, she gently laid Boromir’s head down upon the sand. Slow and soft she went about it. She was so careful with him. So diligent. She wanted him to survive. She needed him to survive.

With caution, (Y/N) leaned in and placed her ear against Boromir’s chest, her brow creasing and her lips tensing.

Please, please, please.

And there it was: the sound of blood thundering through veins, mimicking the tantrum of the storm in a mocking delight.

(Y/N) smiled softly. Oh yes, fuck the forbidden.

She lifted her head from the man’s form and bit her lip as a strange guilt flooded through her heart. Despite her relief, apprehension crept into her mind as she dreaded the potential consequences from the gods—and her father. She understood deep down that she should not have intervened. Just coming to the surface was bad enough. But this? Saving a man? Surely that was an extreme that shouldn’t have been trifled with. The mere glimpse of her tail, by even a single human, would forever rekindle the forgotten war between the races. It would seal the fate of the merfolk, burying them in their ocean.

It was forbidden.

(Y/N) turned to look behind her at the open ocean.

The little lifeboats were still a mile or two out. She had time—just a little time.

Despite the shame of her people that hung around her neck, she focused her care upon the unconscious man. Resting her elbow in the warm sand beside him, (Y/N) fixed her gaze upon his serene expression. Unable to resist, her index finger traced a delicate path along his cheekbone, his lips, and his chin. He didn’t seem like the humans from the tales. They all had been war-torn and death-driven. He was the opposite. He valued life—if it hadn't been for him that young boy would have found a new home in the watery graveyard. (Y/N) brushed his dark sandy hair from his face as she continued to caress his skin. Softly, she began to hum a healing harmony, seeking to provide solace to the motionless man. However, her efforts were brought to an abrupt halt when shouts sounded from the cliff above.

The land-dwellers had caught sight of the lifeboats, and it was only a matter of time before they set their eyes upon her. The fleeting sense of time she had once perceived vanished in an instant, replaced by an overwhelming sense of urgency. Yet, a spluttering cough at her side diverted her focus, triggering another surge of anxiety within her core.

It was forbidden.

“Who are you?” Boromir croaked, his squinting and blinking eyes conveying that he could not yet focus on her. His trembling hand then reached out to cup her cheek, taking its time to search for her skin in the air. As he did so, his palm accidently brushed upon her necklace of shell, seaglass, and bone. Still, he fumbled for tangible confirmation of her presence, and he did so until his hand found her face. “Who are you?” he whispered once more.

She placed her hand upon his beating heart. “Survive and live,” she commanded.

Then she was gone.

…..

Boromir sat up in his bed, the comforters pooling around his waist. His brother paced with restless energy before him, meandering across the floor in an agitated rhythm.

Back and forth.

“You never should have gone on that sail.” Faramir murmured. “Father never should have asked it of you—not with the waters getting more and more unpredictable by the day.”

Boromir sighed, tired of every version of this conversation that always seemed to come up no matter the circumstance. “Faramir, it is not his fault…”

The younger stopped his anxious steps and turned to look at Boromir. “Not his fault? You never should have been on that ship!”

“Yes, I should have. Keeping relations with neighboring territories is important. I had to be there.”

Faramir shook his head. “No, father should have gone himself if it was that important.”

“Faramir…” Boromir chided, emotionally exhausted and weary to the bone. “Please, let it rest. I cannot bear the arguing. Not now.”

The younger man let out a sigh, offering a nod of compliance. He settled himself on the edge of the bed, his kind blue eyes—that mirrored his brother’s—resting gently upon the fatigued figure. “I am sorry. I fear losing you to an ill fate, especially one so unnecessary.”

The Captain of the Guard offered a gentle smile. "Fear not, little brother. I managed to escape such a dire fate. The gods did not intend it for me, at least not now. I was saved."

Faramir arched an eyebrow, taken aback by his brother's particular wording. "Saved?"

Boromir inclined his head, his expression displaying a hint of reluctance. After a brief pause, he spoke once more. “Yes. Someone, well, someone rescued me.”

“What? Who? How do you know?”

A chuckle escaped Boromir, tinged with a touch of dark bitterness that resonated in his voice. "I was in a state of unconsciousness. I was drowning. There was no way I could have reached the shore, or even surfaced, on my own. Not in the state I was in."

“You don't think the tides brought you in?”

He shook his head. “Nay. The waters were too rough. They pushed me under and to the depths.”

Faramir huffed, trying to make sense of his brother's words. “Well,” he began, standing and patting his brother’s leg. “We must thank whichever crew member yanked you up and—”

“Faramir,” The Captain interrupted. “It was a woman.”

“—drug you to–to—a woman?” he questioned.

Boromir inhaled slowly. “Yes. It wasn't a crew member. It was a woman.”

“How do you know? Did you see her?”

“Just–just glimpses of colors and shapes.”

“Boromir–” he started.

With a bit of aggression, the Captain’s voice snapped. “I heard her!” He paused, regretting his tone and collecting his emotions before speaking firmly. “I heard her. She—she sang to me. She spoke to me.”

Faramir crossed his arms, his doubt evident. “She spoke to you? What did she say then?”

He looked up at his brother, focusing his gaze intently. “Survive and live. She said to survive and live.”

“You narrowly escaped death, Boromir. That was just your mind playing tricks on you as minds do to many who have a brush with such darkness. You, a soldier, know this.” He huffed. “Get some rest.”

With that, Faramir parted from Boromir’s bedchambers—leaving the stubborn man behind.

Boromir let out a weary sigh. Frustration, confusion, and restlessness weighing heavily on his heart. He had been confined to his bed for a day and a half, and the need to move, to be free, to live—it grew stronger within him.

Therefore, the Captain drew back the blankets and rose from the soft mattress that had carefully held his form while he healed. His feet felt strange upon the cold stone floor. It felt quiet and empty. It felt lonely and still. Boromir exhaled slowly. These feelings—they haunted him ever since the shipwreck. It was as if a fragment of his soul had been chipped away and consumed by the sea. It felt as if something dear to him was missing. He worried that whatever that piece was it lay at the bottom of the dark abyss.

He turned to look at the sunset beyond the glass of the window, shedding its soft gaze upon the waters that had threatened to claim his life. Driven to it, he moved near it, allowing that melody to echo in his mind once more.

That woman was out there….somewhere….and Boromir felt a pull to find her.

The Captain of the Guard shook his head at these thoughts.

Maybe Faramir was right?

Maybe there was no woman?

Maybe the tides had somehow rolled his body to land?

Maybe his mind was just plagued by the ghost of death that had reached for his soul?

Deciding that dwelling on such matters after two days of being bedridden was not going to help, he opted for a night out in his city. It would do him good—to see his people, his friends, his home. Therefore, Boromir was quick to dress and exit the castle of Minas Tirith, making haste towards his favorite tavern.

As soon as his footsteps passed the familiar threshold, his friends—sailors and soldiers—cheered his name and beckoned him further inside. With a radiant smile adorning his weary face, the Gondor Captain complied. His feet moved his form towards their table, glad for the welcome. The aroma of freshly baked bread and frothing ales mingled with the lively chatter of his companions, creating a relaxing ambiance of recognition. Food and drink were quickly passed to his empty hands, and he gratefully accepted. The nourishment, both physical and spiritual, infused him with renewed strength. The burdens of the past were momentarily lifted, replaced by a shared sense of joy and belonging.

However, as the ale flowed and lips ran loose, conversation soon turned towards the shipwreck—the biggest talk of the city.

“Man, I thought ya were a goner!” Heimir stated. “I watched as that beam ran right into ya and down ya went! By Eru, I swear the water came up to grab ya! There was no way ya could’ve survived that, I said. No way.”

Boromir shrugged, lifting his ale to his lips, unease regarding the direction of the conversation settling. “The gods must have been looking out for me,” he tried to dismiss.

The other dark-haired sailor, Stinar, shook his head. “And I’d be glad of it. Elidon was nearly in tears when the ship Cap’n said we had to leave ya behind!”

Boromir smiled softly. “He has a pure heart. Though I don't think there was a way that any of you could have saved me if you stayed. The Captain was right. I agree with his decision.”

Rollo, a soldier in Boromir’s guard, interjected. “See! This is why I stick to the sword! You'll never catch me on a ship. Hell, no.”

Laughter bubbled up at that comment, lightening the mood momentarily.

However, an older sailor, Iwar, leaned forward. “How’d ye do it then, lad?”

“Do what?” Boromir inquired.

“Ye know what I mean—” the old man grabbed him by the shoulder. “—survive, live, breathe for fucks sake!”

Boromir’s gaze cast down upon the table, just for a moment. There were those words again: survive, live. Feeling the ale run heavy in his blood and the despair that seemed to be chasing him surface, he looked up. Choosing to speak of his uncertainty, in hopes of comfort, he opened his lips. “Faramir says it must’ve been the tides.”

Heimir frowned at his friend’s doubtful tone, taking a swig. “Ya think it wasn't?”

Boromir shifted uncomfortably. “Unsure. I—I was unconscious. I don't remember anything until I was on the shore.”

“The sand told ya nothin then?” Stinar laughed out, clearly making jest.

Though, in the midst of Boromir's contemplative silence, a subtle shift in the atmosphere enveloped the group. Their collective intuition picked up on this unease, hinting at the darkness that followed their friend.

It was Iwar that spoke in a hushed whisper first. “Ye saw one of em,’ didn’t ya?”

All eyes drifted, unsure, to the old man.

“What do you mean?” Boromir questioned, his tone wavering.

A distant expression clouded the man's eyes, as if he had lost a part of his very soul to the depths of the ocean. “They wear the bones of our fallen kin. All strung up upon their necks like jewelry. We are spoils for them—spoils for them to take and do as they please.”

Stinar’s smile slowly dripped from his face. “Uh, what, uh, who?”

Iwar looked at Boromir, his green eyes bright and vibrant with the remembrance of fear. “The women of the sea,” he hissed.

At this, Heimir snorted and took a drink from his cup. “Women of the sea? Now look who’s had too many pints!”

Though, the tension only intensified, spreading outward like ripples on water, as Boromir averted his gaze.

“Boromir, tell em’ that he’s crazy! There be none of these sea women!” Heimir persisted, anxiety now stirring through his bones.

However, the silence lingered. It was strong and still—oppressive even. It magnified the odors of the stale ale, tavern piss, and sticky sweat that clung to the unwashed bodies that frequented such a joint.

“S-she sang to me,” Boromir whispered, for the second time that day.

Heimir and Stinar froze, their pints stiff and unmoving before their lips.

Iwar's weathered hand clamped tightly around the Captain of the Minas Tirith Guard's arm, his grip desperate and tinged with panic. “Did ye see it? The jewelry of bone? The slimy tail as hard as stone? They will sing to lure ye into their trap. Then they will devour ye in their nests of coral! Ye saw one of em,’ didn’t yer?”

Boromir's brows knitted together in disbelief. It seemed utterly preposterous, a mere fabrication spun from the ramblings of an old, intoxicated mind. There couldn't possibly be sea-dwelling women hunting them down. It was a nonsensical tale. With a dismissive gesture, he reached for his cup of ale, freeing his arm from the old man's grasp. "I have no idea what you're talking about. There was only a woman—a human woman."

Heimir grinned, laughing loudly and obnoxiously, as he slapped the Captain of the Guard's shoulder. “AYE! No sea tits to lure ya away from us! LET’S DRINK!”

…..

(Y/N) form twisted and turned as she moved with the current. She easily slipped above the corals and the reefs, through the sand dunes and the seagrass meadows, beyond the underwater canyons and the abyssal trenches. As she moved further, her iridescent scales—green, blue, purple, pink, orange—shimmered in the sunlight that had made it through the thick water, casting a mesmerizing display of colors. With each flick of her tail, she effortlessly propelled herself forward, closer to the realm of the merfolk.

As she came across one of the ship graveyards, she could not resist slipping through the ruins. Her keen eyes scanned her surroundings, curious and watchful, as she navigated the underwater cemetery. While she swam, her gaze drifted over all the little trinkets and forgotten treasures that the humans were forced to leave behind. Things she knew and things she did not. Books, maps, chests, and clothes—all scattered and heavy at the bottom of the sea. All forgotten. All forbidden.

As she came upon one of the men’s skeletons her brows pulled together and her hand reached for her necklace. The soft whispers of the sea echoed, as if it was trying to convince her to do what she desired. She knew she shouldn't. She knew she shouldn't make something for a human. It was a custom of the sea folk—not something to be shared with the land-dwellers. However, an insistent voice within the watery depths urged her on. (Y/N) cast a cautious glance in both directions, torn between her instincts and the weight of tradition. Succumbing to the persistent salty murmurings in her ear, she yielded to temptation. Seizing hold of one of the bones—the femur—she forcefully dislodged it from its resting place.

(Y/N) had initially intended to return directly to her father's castle, concealed beneath the shifting vallying dunes. However, something else tugged at her mind. If she were to proceed, she needed to acquire knowledge. With a sharp twist of her tail, she pushed herself back towards the ship that held the maps and artifacts. Her delicate hands sifted through each item, seeking the one she sought. Eventually, she stumbled upon a relatively intact parchment, its ink only slightly drifting. It contained a comprehensive depiction of the land, with all the locations meticulously scrawled. Every river and pond was carefully marked, and the paths upon the land were intricately detailed. It held the very information she needed.

With the map firmly grasped in one hand and the bone held carefully in the other, (Y/N) swam swiftly back home. It didn't take long for her to locate a secluded crevice where she could settle herself. There, she devoted hours upon hours to examine the parchment depicting the lands of the surface dwellers, tracing her finger along the various routes and pathways. When she exhausted such things, her attention turned to the femur that she had securely stowed in her bag. With quick movements, she continued to rummage through her satchel until her fingers found the familiar shape of a knife. (Y/N) then embarked on her task, delicately scraping the blade against the bone's surface, etching the carving she had planned.

It was only when her sister Anahita's voice reached her ears that (Y/N) finally lifted her gaze from her endeavors. “(Y/N)! There you are! Father has been oh so worried!”

Nerida echoed her sentiments. “Where have you been?!”

Amidst their inquiries, a mischievous gasp escaped from Una's lips, her tone playful, “By the shipwrecks, I see!”

‘The shipwrecks? What is your purpose there? You know the sharks like to linger,” Anahita persisted.

Slightly flustered by their sudden appearance and interrogation, (Y/N) swiftly concealed the bone, which was slowly taking the form of a whale, behind her tail. "What? No! Certainly not!" she responded, attempting to dismiss any notion of her activities near the shipwrecks.

Una swam towards her, giggling, before she snatched the femur from under her sister’s tale. “A bone from the human graves. Someone is in love!!!!!” she sang out.

“Shut up, Una! No, I am not!” (Y/N) retorted, her voice tinged with embarrassment and denial.

Plucking the half finished craving from Una, Nerdia joined in the teasing. “OoOo! A whale! Compassion. Care. Benevolence. Given to the protectors of the weak.”

Anahita grinned. “So who is it? Someone in the Sea’s Royal Guard?”

Una gasped. “Perhaps, Tamesis?! Oh, or Kai! Kai was always sweet on you!”

With an assertive glare, (Y/N) snatched the makeshift whale back into her possession. “It is not Tamesis or Kai!”

“Oh, so there is someone!”

An instant coral color flushed (Y/N)'s cheeks, her embarrassment evident. "Eat a pufferfish" she exclaimed, her angry words accompanied by the playful giggles of her sisters.

As the hours slipped away, (Y/N) put the finishing touches on her bone carving and made the necessary preparations for her secret expedition. She gathered the essential supplies: the map, her knife, a handful of oysters, and, of course, the delicately crafted whale.

As dusk settled and the sun's rays no longer reached the depths of the merfolk's domain, (Y/N) set out on her journey. Her sisters slumbered peacefully, unaware of her departure, while the guards remained oblivious to the existence of the hidden entrance she had been using for years. With determined swishes of her fins, she swam swiftly through the sea, her heart pulsating with anticipation. Eventually, she came upon the beach where she had left Boromir. Breaking the surface—a forbidden action that now lost the fear attached to it—she was not surprised to find the sand absent of his presence. He was likely up with the other people of the land, doing land-people things.

(Y/N) swiveled her head and contorted her graceful form until she located the mouth of the Anduin River. It would serve as her conduit to the grand city, her navigation, her concealment. It would lead her to the place where she would find him. She recalled how the men from the shipwreck had addressed him with the title of ‘sir.’ He had to be important. The important ones were always addressed as ‘sir’ and they always lived in the big cities.

The mermaid inhaled sharply, reconsidering her mission. This would be it. Once she did this, there was no taking it back. It was the moment of no return. She bit her lip. Consequences be damned. Fuck the forbidden.

So, (Y/N) gracefully glided through the currents. Her silky fins steered her through the Anduin, the gentle ebb and flow of the river guiding her way. As she swam, the distant echoes of voices reached her ears, growing louder with each passing moment. They were voices filled with excitement and joy, resonating with laughter, cheers, and animated conversations. Curiosity danced in her eyes as she neared the surface, her head emerging from the water like a whale coming up for air. With her gaze fixed on the scene before her, she observed intently, taking in the lively spectacle unfolding beyond the riverbank.

The first thing she noticed, after the sounds of life that had traveled through the water, were the smells. Thousands of different scents drifted through the air—ones that she could not identify other than the instinctual fragrances of smoke and flavor: food, she guessed. Spices and sweets filtered through her nostrils, captivating her attention. She wondered what they tasted like. The next thing that piqued her interest was the colors and action. It appeared that she had surfaced next to a social market, a sort of eatery, or a…something. Men sat upon benches drinking, eating, and speaking. There seemed to be more so inside the building, but some flowed out, stumbling and dizzy. The sloshing of the liquid in their cups appeared to be the culprit as they moved with sloppy ease. Inebriated. They were inebriated. The merfolk could get like that if they ate too much Sarpa Salpa—the dreamfish of the sea bream, they called it. Though how the men fumbled was a bit different to how the merfolk did. The humans had legs…not tails, after all.

(Y/N) with wide eyes and parted lips could not stop seeing it all—a simple little tavern, yet it was bursting with passion and life. By Ulmo! It was beautifully, terrifyingly, strangely exciting.

Though that excitement turned into a nervous thrill. A fluttering sensation rose from the depths of her stomach, coursed through her heart, and finally settled like a bubble in her throat. It was a strange wave of emotions, a mismatched concoction of hope and uncertainty, as a figure emerged from the establishment before her. In that moment, disbelief clouded her thoughts. No, it couldn't be. The eagerness she felt at the possibility of finding him oh so easily was restrained by a nagging doubt, a flicker of skepticism whispered in the corners of her mind. Could it truly be him? Could this chance meeting be the end of her quest? Though, that waving dark sandy hair that ran across his forehead and the stubble beard that matched did not lie. She had carried that man through the rapids and held his face in her palms. It indeed was him—Boromir.

(Y/N) was quick to duck behind a large rock, peering beside it with those cautious and curious eyes of her. She watched as he moved to look out up the river, seemingly contemplating his thoughts. His face was stern and still, almost emotionless. But his eyes—they betrayed him. They pooled with uncertainty and confusion, a lingering level of sadness hiding underneath a lack of understanding. He seemed….lonely.

(Y/N)’s fingers gripped at the rock as she leaned forward with fascination; however, she wasn't paying much mind to her hold, for it slipped and her hand fell into the water with a splash.

Guided by instinct, Boromir’s head snapped in her direction.

She was quick to duck behind the rock, her sleek skin and iridescent scales melding against the cool surface of the stone, ensuring her presence remained hidden.

“Is someone out there?” his voice called.

(Y/N) held her breath, but he made no move to search further. Instead, she heard his footsteps retreating.

She scoped out his motions quietly, following his form with her chasing eyes. She had just found him. She didn't want to lose sight of him—not when she didn't know where to find him again! Having only a second to make a decision, (Y/N) dunked under the water. Her eyesight angled upwards as she swam deep in the river alongside him. He paused, every one and a while, glancing at the stream, and everytime he did, the mermaid would push herself deeper and deeper into the depths.

It was a short endeavor. A fifteen minute swim—though it would have been faster if she wasn't going at such a slow pace to match Boromir’s strides—before he went where she could not follow: The Minas Tirith Castle. He parted from the way of the river and began the ascending path towards the brilliant white castle. (Y/N) had been correct in her assumption: he was indeed someone of importance. As he disappeared from sight, she surfaced above the waterline, her gaze fixed on the spot where he had vanished. She would see him again. She had to. (Y/N) turned her attention to her surroundings, taking in the scenery for her return. The water stretched ahead, extending towards the north, but another path curved around the castle. Driven by curiosity, she followed that bend, gracefully swimming amidst the swaying seagrass, startling small fish with her playful movements in the late hour. Before long, she reached an opening where the river flowed into a steady pond.

The mermaid's grin widened as she glided through the water, relishing the caress of the cool night air against her skin. Tilting her head back, she gazed up at the towering castle that loomed above her. Its grandeur and intricacy surpassed anything she had ever seen in her underwater kingdom. It boasted multiple tiers, labyrinthine pathways, countless rooms, and majestic balconies. It was a sight to behold, captivating her with its magnificence. However, her gaze abruptly froze, and an audible gasp escaped her lips.

Standing there, on one of the balconies, was Boromir.

By Ulmo—her luck was getting ridiculous now.

His bare torso shimmered with a gentle sheen under the soft moonlight, accentuating the sculpted contours of his obviously strong body. Leaning casually against the sturdy balcony railing, his arms extended, showcasing his muscled biceps. Though, a hint of vulnerability bleed through his physical appearance, manifesting as a pensive expression etched with longing and uncertainty.

If only he cast his gaze downward, he would have seen a face that reflected that same yearning.

…..

(Y/N)’s tail swished as she ducked into the dining area of her father’s palace. As expected, she found she was not the sole presence in the room. Instead, she was greeted by the disapproving gazes of her six sisters. Their eyes bore a mixture of reproach and inquiry, silently questioning her tardiness. Though Una didn't hold that silence long.

“Where have you been?”

(Y/N) blew bubbles from her nose, trying to mask the lie with a coy reply. “Just a morning swim.”

“Ah” Nerida commented. “A morning swim.”

“Yes,” (Y/N) persisted, maintaining her charade. "The coral was absolutely enchanting in the morning light. You should experience it sometime—if only you possessed the skill to rise early.”

“Oy!” she snapped back, clearly irritated by her sister's teasing.

However, just as the sisters' playful banter was to escalate, their father gracefully entered the room. His presence commanded immediate attention. Warm greetings were exchanged, and the atmosphere shifted to one of familial harmony. It was during one of these conversations that the shipwreck, that had occurred only days prior, was brought up. Here, (Y/N)’s gaze snapped up.

"Why do you think they keep getting on ships if they keep getting caught in storms?" Rana questioned, her voice filled with genuine curiosity. "You would think they would learn from their mistakes, wouldn't they?"

Anahita nodded in agreement, her expression contemplative. "They say insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, and expecting different results."

Mareena chimed in, her tone tinged with a hint of bitterness. "They are quite disgusting, aren't they? Killing us for sport, and yet they willingly put themselves in harm's way for the same reasons."

However, (Y/N) decided to offer a different perspective, breaking the momentary silence that followed. "Well, actually," she began, her voice confident yet cautious. "They use ships to trade supplies with other land-dwellers."

All eyes shifted to (Y/N) with suspicion.

“Isn't that right, father?’ she quickly tacked on.

The tension in the room immediately dissipated as their father nodded in agreement. "Yes, that is true. They have established numerous trade routes, and ships are their means of transportation. It's a very different way of life compared to ours, and unfortunately, it has also led to numerous conflicts and wars between them. The desire for variety and resources has come at a great cost. They traded it for death.”

“How–how do you know all this father?” (Y/N) questioned timidly. “You say it as if you have spent time with them.”

The older merman let out a weary sigh, placing his shell filled with food down on the table. "I have," he admitted, his gaze filled with distant memories.

Instantly, the room fell into a stunned silence as all eyes fixated on their father, their expressions a mix of shock and disbelief.

“I have walked among them before and it was my greatest mistake.”

“You-you what?” Seria gapped.

“Among them?” Una blurted.

“But why would you want to do such a thing?!” Anahita inquired.

Their father's gaze turned solemn as he recounted his past. "Long before any of you were born, during the War of the Riptide, my father sent me to infiltrate the land-dwellers' realm. I lived among them, observing their ways, gathering their secrets. But it was a treacherous undertaking that nearly cost me my life.” He paused, tacking on an additional mumbling sentence: “Those eel fuckers."

A heavy silence enveloped the room, the weight of their father's revelation sinking in. Only the sound of their hearts pounding in their chests broke the stillness, each of them grappling with the newfound knowledge of their father's past—even more dangerous than they were led to believe.

“H–how did you walk among them, father? How did you get legs?” (Y/N) probed, though she knew she shouldn't have.

Their father's gaze turned dark and filled with years of pent-up anger and regret as he locked eyes with her. For a moment, she feared he wouldn't reveal the answer. However, he finally spoke, his voice carrying a hint of bitterness. "Some of us possess a rare gift. When our bodies are completely dry, void of any water upon our skin or tails, we have the ability to transform into a legged form."

Instantly, gasps and chatter sounded.

“My daughters–” he addressed, though they did not listen. “QUIET!!!”

Startled, the mermaid sisters fell silent, their wide-eyed gazes fixed on their father.

“It is a very rare gift—one that is almost never seen—and only passed by blood if the gods wish to curse you with it. It is the most dangerous gift to have. One drop of water on your skin when you have legs has your tail growing back in seconds. And then you are killed by those humans that bore witness.”

Shock dripped from the daughters of the king of the sea.

"But fear not," their father reassured them, his voice softening. "None of you possess this gift. I tested each of you when you were born."

Expressions of worry, relief, and confusion danced across their faces, but (Y/N) couldn't help but notice a peculiar look in their father's eyes—a gaze that lingered strangely upon her.

……

The following day brimmed with a mix of excitement and trepidation as (Y/N) patiently awaited Boromir's arrival at the entrance of Minas Tirith. Rising before the sun, she positioned herself by the riverside, her heart fluttering with anticipation.

To her surprise, Boromir emerged on a horse, his form clad steel. Silver plates of armor adorned his muscular frame, providing a formidable shield for his vital organs. His attire was decorated further with weapons forged from the finest metals, poised and ready to be unsheathed at the slightest hint of danger. She knew he was important.

Though, this newfound knowledge began to stir dread into her soul. Boromir was a soldier—not a sailor. He trained in the art of warfare and killing. If he had been born centuries earlier, he might have been among those who waged war against her kind. He could have one of the hunters who pursued her father. One of those…eel fuckers…as he had put it. Yet, (Y/N) reassured herself that Boromir was different. He valued life. He couldn't be like his ancestors.

(Y/N) followed him, along the river (as much as she could) as the hours stretched on. She watched as he navigated the city as if he knew every turn and every crevice. She observed as he conversed with the people, each one eager to speak to him. She perceived as he stood guard at the entrance of the city, until the sun had set and his shift was taken over by another. And she peered up at him as he ended his nights upon his balcony—only once hearing him speak to another, a brother she guessed, of a lingering feeling of being watched.

For three days, she partook in his routine.

For three days, she made it her own.

And, for three days, she learned all she could about him.

Yes, he was a soldier, but not just any soldier. He was the Captain of the Minas Tirith Guard. He was the son of the Steward, who was ruling in place of a king, for in these times of uncertainty, Boromir stepped forward to help his father protect and care for the city he held so dear. He bore the weight of leadership and responsibility, serving as a pillar of strength and guidance for his people. He was a good man—doing just as much work as the men he commanded.

It wasn't until the end of the third day, however, that Boromir deviated from his routine. Much to (Y/N)’s surprise, instead of going up the path towards the castle, he deviated to follow the river that went along the bend of the white palace wall.

(Y/N) swam deep below the surface beside him, slipping into the center of the pool as he went to the edge.

The Captain of the Guard sat down upon the sandy bank and began to untie his boots. The night was warmer than it had been, for winter had ended and spring was just beginning to break. So, she wasn't surprised, when he rolled up the bottoms of his trousers and stuck his feet in.

(Y/N)’s heart was pounding and her blood ran quickly, for she had never been so close to him since she held his unconscious, drowning form.

It was forbidden.

She watched for a while, as his face and body seemed to droop. The weight of his responsibilities and the burdens of his past seemed to bear down on him. The façade of strength and cheer that he wore for the world gradually faded away, revealing the vulnerability and weariness that lay beneath. Though it wasn't until a tear ran down his cheek that she truly began to worry. Was it the lingering aftermath of the shipwreck that haunted him? Did it have more of a permanent effect on him? It seemed as though the shadow of that dreadful event lingered deep within. She had urged him to embrace life—to survive. But this sadness…was it preventing him so?

Cautiously, she dug in her bag and pulled out the bone carving of the whale. Now was her chance. Maybe she could offer some comfort? Though, she knew she couldn't swim up and hand it to him, for he couldn't know that she was there—not yet, not now. She wouldn't risk her people being known to the land-folk. She wouldn’t endanger them. Her father would surely be furious at her if she did. Besides, if she were to rise now, she would give Boromir such a fright.

Therefore, taking a rock from the bottom of the pond, she positioned herself as close as she dared to Boromir. She ensured that she remained hidden beneath the water's surface, maintaining the delicate balance between proximity and secrecy. She then put her plan into action. She tossed the stone through the water, sending it up with a subtle splash, diverting Boromir's attention to the ripples created in its wake. As quick as a shark—if not quicker—(Y/N) flicked her tail hard. She rose close to the surface and lobbed the whale beside the man before plummeting down into the depths.

When Boromir’s head turned back, he noticed the little craving.

(Y/N) peered up as she watched his confused expression.

His brows pulled together and his lips parted. Cautiously, he picked it up. It fit in his palm quite nicely. Not too big, not too small. His fingers twisted around its delicate form with ease. He examined it, running the tip of his index finger along the length of the piece and his thumb brushing over the flippers. “Where did you come from?” he whispered with a smile.

Boromir stayed at the pond for nearly an hour, (Y/N) staying with him. His fingers aimlessly fiddling with the whale as he gazed up at the stars, taking time to breath—to live. And when he turned to leave, he took the whale with him.

…..

As the next two weeks passed on, (Y/N) adopted Boromir’s routine as a part of her own. Though not every day she could do as such, for her father and sisters began to notice her absence. So, in order to avoid their suspicion, there were stretches of time where she did not get to swim up to the Anduin River. Instead, she spent her hours wandering around her father’s palace, helping with mer-duties and daydreaming of the Captain of Gondor.

However, the days where she gilded upon the waters in Minas Tirith were the most exciting. Now that the weather was warm, the city truly came to life. Markets opened daily where food, drink, cloth, and trinkets were sold. If (Y/N) was lucky, one of such tents would open right beside the river. When no one was looking, she would reach a hand from the water and grab a thing or two. She had gotten to try some very interesting foods; however, she figured they would taste much better if she didn't plunge them into the salty river the second she got her hands on them. Alas, that was the cost of avoiding detection—a price she was willing to pay. (Y/N) also was able to snatch various little objects, but most of the time she didn't know what they were. She found herself wishing that she had received the gift that her father had—the gift of transformation to a legged form. She wanted to be where the land-folk were—where Boromir was.

The captain had begun to stay out later, going to the tavern with his friends here and there. On those nights, he would disappear inside, for hours, and (Y/N) would wait in the river for him to return—in whatever state he would be in. Some nights he would have smiles plastered across his face as he giddily stumbled home. Other nights it would be a solemn expression, a tear escaping here and there, as he swayed like the gentle tide. But the worst nights? Those were the ones that ended in screams from the balcony above the little pool. Nightmares now plagued Boromir’s mind, waking him up and coating him in fear—and sweat. The only relief would be the cold night’s air and the barely audible sound of (Y/N) voice. (Y/N) always knew when those nights had arrived, for they were the ones when his brother, Faramir, had to come to the tavern and get him. It was those nights when Boromir’s body folded and slumped against his brother’s, for Faramir would drape the captain’s arm over his shoulder and drag him back to the Minas Tirith castle. It was those nights when the man, that appeared so strong, would speak in sentences just as broken as he was. It was those nights when he spoke of the shipwreck, of the darkness, of the piece of his soul that went missing in the Black Sea. And just once—he whispered to his brother of her. The woman who saved him from the depths. Those nights—those hurt the most. Yet, despite all this, he carried the whale carving with him everywhere he went—on a string upon his neck.

But, now that the weather was warmer, Boromir came to the pond almost every night that he wasn’t at the tavern…and the nights at the tavern lessened. Here, he would contemplate the sadness and separation he seemed to now have, but it appeared that he had a sort of comfort by the little lake. This comfort may or may not have been another gift from (Y/N). When the captain would stick his feet into the water, the mermaid would hum to heal his heart. The vibrations, subtle they were, would filter through the lake and soak into his skin. As he was not immersed, he could not hear the beautiful sounds, but he would at least feel some of the rejuvenating property it held. It was something he had felt before upon the shore and something he continued to feel when the nightmares drove him to the balcony.

Today had proven to be an unusually scorching and grueling day for Boromir. The relentless sun beat down upon him, intensifying the already restless atmosphere among the people. Amidst the sweltering heat, he found himself engaged in a relentless pursuit of a thief who had attempted to snatch a coin pouch from the frail hands of an elderly woman. Luckily for the Captain, a little puddle of water mysteriously slithered out in-front of the thief, causing him to slip and allowing Boromir to arrest him.

Given that that activity, and more, took its toll upon the man of duty, Boromir found himself in the shelter of the tavern with the comfort of his friends. However, that appeared to not be enough, for that night Boromir left the tavern and wandered to the pond—(Y/N) slithering in the depths of the Anduin by his side.

Under the water on the lake, (Y/N) floated in the soft currant, her eyes closed and her humming drifting through the ripples. She was content and was hoping to bring some of that serenity to the man that was to put his feet in the pool. This, of course, explained why she was so startled when his entire body dove into the water. With eyes as wide as the full moon, (Y/N) twisted her form to stare in fear and alarm at the man that stripped to nothing but his undergarments and sunk only six feet across from her. But true terror did not hit her until Boromir’s eyes opened.

When those bright blue eyes met hers with just as much horror, if not more, he instantly scrambled backwards—her doing the same.

Maybe if they both had stopped to see just how scared the other was, they would have realized that they were not in danger; but instinct had taken over as they desperately tried to get away from each other.

Luckily enough, it appeared that they had not been alone. A large hand shot down from the surface and gripped upon Boromir’s arm. In seconds, he was pulled up and out of the water—gasping and fumbling upon the bank.

“What the hell, Boromir?!” the voice of Faramir sounded.

The Captain scrambled upon the sand and muddied land, backing away from the water frantically. “T-there w-was–down there, the water, Eru, d-down there—s-something. Mermaid.”

“Boromir, are you drunk?!” he snapped. “By the Valar—you are! Again?!”

“F-Faramir, there was-was a woman down there,” the captain murmured, struggling to stand.

His brother sighed in dismay as he grasped onto Boromir’s arm once more and helped him steady. “You have been having too many conversations with Iwar…and too many drinks.” He pulled upon the captain again. “Let’s get you in bed before you decide to go for another drunken swim.”

With that, Faramir helped dress his brother—just enough to get past the guards without embarrassing the intoxicated captain—and guided him home, trying to ignore the blubbering of the anxious mess he led.

(Y/N) stayed still at the bottom of the pond, shock baring her fins from any movement.

Well, damn. Fuck the Forbidden. It really bit her in the tail.

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megamindsecretlair · 5 months

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Aht aht aht. The vampire Tyrone said that the things he was gonna do to the reader was gonna make the devil jealous. I need details please, if you feel me!!!

A/N: Don't be quoting my fics back at me LOL. I'm gon take this lightly, but let's remember that I am not a smut machine. LOL

A Seduction at Midnight Chapter 3

Pairing: Vampire!Tyrone x Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. FILTH. Use of n-word. Reader is tied up with cuffs, fingering (fem receiving), oral (fem receiving), PIV (unprotected), cursing, AU Tyrone, Toxic Tyrone. Dark fic. Dirty talk. One mention of spanking. Possession kink, pet names. Mentions of stalking and manipulation. blood, over stimulation, Mean-ish reader.

Summary: A chance meeting at a club introduced you to the enigmatic Tyrone. He was interesting in ways that you weren't expecting. After inviting you to a exclusive party at his place, Tyrone promises a night of pure carnal delights.

Word Count: 4,172k

Midnight Sin Masterlist

A/N: Okay, let's see what these crazy kids get up to! I guess, this is kind of OC? Is it OC if I invented a tiny backstory? I'm still getting the hang of fic writing. Since this taglist is getting so big, please give me a headcount of who still wants to be tagged for Vamp Tyrone or who only wants normal Tyrone. I don't tag ageless blogs. Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! Ageless blogs get blocked.

Taglist: @planetblaque @dayjlovesromance @sevikasblackgf @melaninpov @amyhennessyhouse @henneseyhoe @honeyoriginalz @justheretostan @black-fairy3 @superhoeva @jarfulloftears @hereformiles @montysstuffs @westside-rot @blackerthings @blowmymbackout @euphoric05 @miyuhpapayuh @nicolexnight @8ttached @judymfmoody @notapradagurl7 @wakandas-vibranium @soft-persephone @justabovewater20 @mcotton0928 @soapjay @heyauntieeee @theyscreamsannii @mybonafidefeelings @eggnox @honeytoffee @thadelightfulone @tranquilfandomer @kindofaintrovert @l-auteuse @browngirldominion @sunkissedebony97 @lovedlover @issahyland @nerdieforpedro @umber-cinders @longpause-awkwardsmile

Mistakes were made. Your wrists were tied and suspended above you on a chain you did not see when you first walked in. You knelt on the bed in a growing puddle of your own arousal, knees spread wide. You felt how wet you were. It leaked out of you, trailing down your thighs.

You shook nearly in time with the grandfather clock. Each new chime was another hour passed while Tyrone played with you. Perhaps, you didn’t really know what you were signing up for.

Tears sprung from your eyes. You sniffled. It was too much sensation, too many nerves, too much pleasure. He had not stopped after your previous orgasms for the audience. No, he kept going. Pushing you past your limits.

“Still with me?” You turned to the sound of his voice but couldn’t see him. He had taken off your mask ages ago and replaced it with a blindfold. It was snug against your face, damp with your tears.

“Yes,” you whispered.

Tyrone trailed a feather against your skin and it was like he set you on fire. You hissed and jerked away from him, crying. The chain clinked loudly in your ear.

“Aw, don’t try to get away,” Tyrone said and chuckled. He leaned in and kissed your cheek. Even that shit was sensitive.

“P-please,” you whispered.

“Please what? Say it where I can hear you,” he said.

You leaned your head against your raised arms. They were starting to hurt, but the last time you asked him to lower the chain, he fingered you until you came two more times. You couldn’t possibly have another one to give.

The feather tickled your neck and you twisted, falling forward a bit. Tyrone caught you and righted you. But his grip was too much. You cried out and Tyrone shushed you.

“Shh, shh, where we at baby?” He asked.

“Y-yellow,” you said, cursing yourself. You should just end this. But you did not want this evening to end. For once, your brain shut off and Tyrone handled everything. The sounds he elicited from you were sinful. You didn’t know you could beg and scream and cry as often as you did tonight.

“Are you sure? You’re so messy,” he said slowly. His fingers grazed your pussy and you desperately clenched, needing to be filled. You moaned moving your hips forward, yearning for him to end your torment.

“Hmm, you’re so wet,” he purred in your ear. “I bet I would have to fight to stay inside, huh?” Tyrone licked your neck.

“No, no,” you said. If he’d just give you the dick, you would lock your legs around him and never let go. You licked your lips, still feeling a bit rubbed raw after the last time you sucked his dick.

Tyrone kissed down your neck, around your shoulders, towards your chest. He palmed your breasts, rubbing them slowly and running his thumbs across your nipples. Your whole body shivered.

You still felt his hands everywhere. Your body tingled from everything he had done to you tonight. Like phantom hands still massaged you, molded you, broke you in half like a pretzel.

His mouth replaced his thumb. He latched his mouth to your left nipple, swirling his tongue around it.

“S-shit,” you sniffled. You didn’t have enough air in your lungs to yell. He dipped his fingers into your pussy, pumping two long fingers in and out of you.

“Got another one for me?” He asked. His breath fanned across your wet nipple and you moaned.

“N-no,” you moaned. Hell, this couldn’t be real. You didn’t want to wake up if it wasn’t. He was ruining you for any other man. What human could compete with this level of stamina? Tyrone had sounded calm and collected all night. Except for when he was fucking your mouth. He never sounded more gorgeous than the few little “fucks” that kept escaping him.

He flicked his tongue lazily against your nipple. Once he got it into a tight nub, he moved on to the right nipple. He paid just as much attention to that one as he still pumped his fingers.

It was as if with every plunge, he was calling your orgasm to the surface. Dragging it from the depths of hell itself to make you cum. “Oh fuck, p-please,” you cried.

“C’mon and give it to me. I knew you had another one for me. With yo sexy ass. You’ve done so good for me tonight,” he whispered against your nipple. You cried out, nothing but the wisps of air you managed to keep escaping you.

Pleasure wrapped around you and held on for dear life. You shook and jerked. Feeling squeezed tight and not tight enough. Tiny earthquakes were set off inside of you, each with its own aftershock of pleasure. Tears trailed down your cheeks.

Tyrone lifted his head from your chest. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. He took his fingers out of your pussy and spread your arousal around your lips. He shoved his fingers in, making you taste yourself again. He licked your tears away, from both cheeks, humming in pleasure.

“You’re gonna have to tell me when to stop. I can’t get enough of you,” he said. He kissed your cheek. He held his lips there in a sustained kiss and breathed you in. You knew he didn’t have to breathe, not really. He did it anyway, committing you to memory. The thought made your pussy throb.

“I n-need…” You tried, but you couldn’t voice your thoughts. It had been too long since he entered you. Since he gave you what you wanted. What you truly wanted. You were trying to hold out but he was being incredibly stubborn about it.

Couldn’t vamps read minds? Weren’t they supposed to get super special powers to roll your mind, make you do things, or work some type of magic? You slunk down, wrenching your shoulders back too far, but you were close to passing out.

“Tell me what you need,” Tyrone said. His voice was clear, deep, and intentionally seductive. He knew fuck well what he was doing. You supposed after centuries of sex, he should know what he was doing. But you were a mere mortal. He had to have some kind of mercy.

“Please, fuck me,” you begged.

Tyrone chuckled and cupped your face. He kissed you. His tongue rolled against yours and you moaned, sitting up straighter. Your thighs were starting to burn from this position. The metal clanked overhead. The grandfather clock tick, tick, ticked. You’d never be able to look at another clock the same way again. The mu’fucka ruined clocks for you too.

He slotted his lips against yours, languid as a fat cat on a summer’s day. He explored your mouth as if he were kissing you for the first time. His soft lips were their own sweet torture.

“Hm, I need to taste you first. You made such a mess, I need to clean it up,” he said. You cried as he moved into position on his back. He pulled you closer, making you crawl on your knees. The chain rattled as it moved on the track, allowing you to push forward and sit on his face. You tried to stay on your knees, but he grabbed you by the thighs and pulled until you were seated.

He reminded you that he didn’t need to breathe as his tongue darted out to lick your pussy. You reared up but he pulled you back down. Your ass pushed against the heels of your feet.

His grip turned bruising as he crushed you to his face and ate you out again, moaning at the taste of you.

“So good,” you think he said. He sounded muffled. You bit your lip as your hips started to move of their own accord. Grinding down on his face. Oh, oh, yeah that felt so good. You moved your hips faster.

Tyrone stuck his tongue out and let you fuck yourself on it. You moaned as you rode him, taking your pleasure from him as if he were nothing but a toy. Nothing but a vibrator you were pleasuring yourself with. Your fingers tangled with the chains as you gripped them and rode his face harder. Fresh arousal leaked out of you, surely drowning him.

“Right there, right there, rightthererightthererightthere,” you cried, your voice tinny.

You were caught between wanting to go faster and pushing him off altogether. You could not survive another orgasm. And yet, you were grinding on him anyway. Your pussy clenched and throbbed as your orgasm built, tightening your belly. At its peak, it erupted.

You cried out as it swept through you. A volcano of pleasure that kept going and going, taking you to another plane of existence.

You slumped against his face as he licked up everything you gushed out. You spasmed. The smell of sex was so thick in the air, you could probably cut it with a knife. “Such a good little girl,” he said against your thighs. He moved you easily as if you were as light as the feather he used earlier.

The praise made your spirit soar, even as your body was too tired. He got to his knees behind you. A moment later, the chains were starting to lower and you whimpered in relief. He kissed your neck and back and started to massage your shoulders. He whispered nasty things in your ear as his hands rubbed the dull, burning ache.

“Better?” He asked.

“Unhuh,” you sighed.

“Where we at baby?” He asked.

You thought about it. If he teased you one more time, that was it, you were throwing in the towel. Stubbornly, you rallied the last remaining strength you had. “Yellow,” you said through clenched teeth.

“Stubborn little thing, ain’t you?” He asked.

“I was promised a night I’ll remember,” you said.

He chuckled and licked the shell of your ear. “Not enough for you? Complaining about my performance?” He asked.

“If I need to find someone else, let me know,” you said.

The sharp smack to your ass was unexpected and you gasped from the sheer force. The sting built in intensity until your ass was on fire.

“You can joke about a lot of things. That shit ain’t one of ‘em. Understand?” He asked.

Your head bobbled.

“Use your words,” he said.

“Yes, I’m sorry,” you squeaked.

Since your arms were now lowered, he pushed you forward. You leaned on your elbows and brought your ass up. You weren’t moving fast enough. Tyrone grabbed your hips and pulled you backwards.

He slammed inside of you. You were so wet that he slid in easily. You cried out as he fucked you with something to prove. Okay, you hit a fucking nerve.

Your wrists were still tied. You held them in front of you, to keep the chain from knocking into your face. He fucked into you with reckless abandon. His fingers dug into your hips, slamming you back on his dick.

You moaned and cried and whimpered as he finally gave you what you wanted. He filled you up. His thick dick was perfect, digging into your guts exactly in the way you needed.

“No one else gets to touch you,” he growled.

“Yes, Sir,” you said.

“No one,” he said. “No one.” It became a chant. Every thrust pushed you forward. Your ass slapped against his thighs. His balls tapped your clit.

Your nails scraped against the bedsheet as he rutted inside of you. He was animalistic. Grunting and groaning. In between chanting, he’d pepper in curses. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, squeeze that shit,” he moaned.

You pushed back against him, and he increased his thrusts. His moans turned you on. Hearing that deep voice moaning activated a different side of to you. You threw it back on him. He growled as he slammed back. Gasps and yips escaped you. You couldn’t take a full breath. He fucked the orgasm out of you, wringing a loud, keening yowl from you.

Your body jerked and twisted as your orgasm steamrolled you. Reality shifted and changed. You peeked into the fifth dimension, feeling at once above your body and in it. You pictured how you looked. Suppliant, on your knees, getting dicked down in the most primal way possible.

“Oh fuck, baby. So good,” you moaned.

As you floated back down, Tyrone roared and released a fat load inside of you. The hot spurts filled you up. He shuddered as he pushed forward to the hilt, moaning deep and low in his throat.

“So beautiful. So good,” he whispered. He leaned forward and kissed the base of your spine. You tensed, ready for his fangs to sink in. He rubbed one side against your ass and chuckled. “No more bites tonight, love,” he promised.

You pouted and whined. He placed another kiss there and slipped out of you when he softened. He untied the blindfold.

The sudden light seared your eyes and you blinked through new tears. You looked towards him, eyes blurry, and found him looking down at you with so much emotion. Such pride. Such admiration. You smiled lazily at him and yawned. You still shook from little tremors after that last orgasm.

He took the cuffs off of you, rubbing and massaging circulation back into your wrists. Warmth spread through your body as you stretched out, laying down fully on the bed. Sleep tugged heavily at you. You wanted to stay up and talk to him, but he kissed your forehead and told you to sleep. So sleep you did.

Tyrone

You were going to be the true death of him. You looked ruined. Your perfect body was curled on the bed, ass in the air and scrumptious enough to bite into. He almost did earlier, but it was your first time giving blood. He didn’t want to suck you dry.

Fuck, his dick twitched thinking of how good you tasted, in all aspects. Your blood was ambrosia. Straight from the heavens itself. It took every, single ounce of willpower to keep from killing you. And you poor thing. You had no clue.

He should feel horrible about it. You were so full of life. Interesting and unique. He loved listening to you talk and learning how your mind worked. He would hate it if you were snuffed from this life.

But you had no clue how fucking delicious your blood was. And then when he tasted that sweet honey between your thighs, it was enough to drive him insane with lust. Tyrone could not remember the last person who drove him so crazy. He’d had his share of lovers over the centuries. When his loneliness was so loud, he’d do anything to steal the warmth from his partner. He’d agree to anything, kill anybody, if it meant that someone would wrap their hands around him in love rather than fear.

He looked at you, staring at your rolls and curves. He could keep going. You made him want to keep going. He wanted to mesh your bodies together and never leave your embrace. He wanted to twist you any which way he could.

He needed a walk. Usually, he would kick out whoever he got done fucking. But you were different. He wanted to mold his body to yours and snuggle in close. But if he snuggled up with you right now, you wouldn’t ever be free to walk this earth again. This…possessiveness was starting to worry him. Slick Charles said as much as Tyrone spent nearly every night watching you in your house.

He left the room, towards the en suite bathroom and warmed up a washcloth for you. He cleaned you up, gentle, but you were deeply asleep. He heard the thump of your heart as you slept. You made little whimpering noises.

He was jealous of your dreams. For a while, you were lost to him. He wanted more of it. More of you. You were so cute and trusting, sleeping next to a monster. So, he threw on his briefs and left the room altogether. He needed to be away, where your scent wasn’t wreaking havoc on his senses.

Outside the room, the carnal sounds of fucking slammed into him. The smell of sex was potent. He walked down the hall where some people were fucking against the wall. He passed by people in various states of dress, masks on, dicks and pussies out. Some women were getting fucked, some men were getting pegged.

When he was younger, all of this still would’ve excited him. He still enjoyed watching sex, but his dick only stirred for you. He gritted his teeth as he passed through to one of the playrooms.

Four people were intertwined in a complicated dance on the large bed. Tyrone stopped for a moment, watching the foursome as everyone was getting off on someone else. Sex was fascinating to him. The way people contorted themselves into shapes just to get off. To reach that ultimate goal. Tyrone watched their faces. He watched how even though they selfishly sought their own pleasure, they were just as focused on their partner. On giving and taking.

Tyrone moved on, passing by the playrooms and ensuring that everyone minded the rules. At the end of the hall, a lone figure leaned against the wall. The figure was fully dressed in slacks and a shirt one size too big.

“Who are you?” Tyrone asked. He stopped walking forward. The figure was half in shadow. The figure turned his head, head dipping into one of the hall lights.

“Don’t you recognize your big brother?”

Tyrone sighed and rubbed his head. “The fuck are you doing here, Fontaine?”

Fontaine chuckled, his gold grills glinting in the light. Moans crescendoed all around but Tyrone tuned it out. Like turning down the sound on a stereo, the moans faded to the background.

Rage replaced his earlier calm at seeing Fontaine. Smug mu’fucka. Fontaine removed himself from the wall, stalking towards Tyrone. He put his hands in his pockets and looked Tyrone up and down.

“Shit, Tyrone. You finally fuck that stick out ya ass?” Fontaine chuckled. “Who is she? She still around?” Fontaine looked behind Tyrone as if the person would be coming up behind them. Tyrone clenched his fists but kept a mask of amused indifference.

“What are you doing here, ‘Taine?”

Fontaine’s smile slipped. He shrugged. “Can’t just be because I miss you?”

Tyrone reared back as if Fontaine had slapped him. It was uncanny, looking into the eyes of someone that fuckin’ looked like you. There was a disconnect between the mirror and this mirror-version of Tyrone. It was him but it wasn’t him.

“Fuck no. What do you want?” On the inside, Tyrone was worried. He still didn’t know what you were or why your blood smelled so divine. It was a big risk bringing you here tonight, knowing that your blood might draw the others. But nothing happened when that first drop touched air…still, he wasn’t going to gamble that Fontaine’s keen sense of smell would find you.

Tyrone barely held it together around you. Fontaine was a ripper, who enjoyed his food in all manners of ways. It would be nothing to snap your neck and drain you dry.

Fontaine laughed and nodded. “I got some business here,” he said.

“What business?” Tyrone asked.

“Mines, nigga,” Fontaine said. He laughed as he pushed past Tyrone, looking in and out of the playrooms. He stopped at one door and leaned on it, watching the couple as the man was getting spanked.

“Father banished you–”

“Father’s the one that called me back here,” Fontaine interrupted. He turned towards Tyrone and lifted an eyebrow. “Old man didn’t tell you?”

“Nigga don’t say shit but bark mu’fuckin’ orders.” Tyrone walked away from the playrooms. He went upstairs, heading towards his office. Here, the place felt slightly more like him. This wasn’t his main residence. He didn’t want to sleep in the same house that his people did depraved things.

Fontaine’s steps were quiet, but with his hearing, he knew Fontaine trailed behind him. The halls were painted light gray, soft wood underneath, and random sculptures and pieces of art along the end tables or on the walls. Paintings of himself were spread along the walls. He hated the idea. But Slick Charles told him that he needed to add some showmanship for the parties. Whatever.

He turned on the light to his office and walked inside. Fontaine slipped in behind him and closed the door. Tyrone flopped into his chair and rolled his neck. He just wanted to spend the night in between your legs. He knew the night was going too perfect.

His office was like his others, painted in his favorite color, gray, with complimentary furniture. He had a few personal items there like his watch or keys, or sunglasses. Fontaine flopped into the chair opposite the large desk. He sneered at the decorative plants and art.

“Corny ass mu’fucka,” Fontaine whispered.

“Why are you really here?”

Fontaine shrugged. “Pops gettin’ paranoid or some shit. Or he want something. I’ve been getting word that he’s been lookin’ into my business overseas. I’m just here to see why he broke the agreement,” Fontaine explained.

“Lookin’ into it how?” Tyrone asked.

Fontaine shrugged again. His gaze moved around the room. Tyrone watched him, looking at all the ways he changed in the hundred or so years since he last saw him.

Fontaine had a scruffy beard now, with kinked hair sticking up every which way. The grill was obviously new. The canines were elongated, perfectly hiding his real fangs. It was clever. He could move around more freely, not afraid to laugh or speak.

“Ion know yet. All I know is that he broke his side, so the terms is null. I’m taking myself off punishment, baby brother,” he said.

Tyrone chuckled. “That’s not the way that shit work,” he said.

“Does now. Look. I came here as a muthafuckin’ courtesy. No disrespect shit. I’m not going to make noise. I just want to see what Pops knows and then I’ll be gone,” Fontaine said.

Tyrone looked at him over the desk. There was so much history there. History of running around together, chasing girls in skirts, and fuckin’ them ‘till the morning came. Of all the arguments and yelling at each other. Fontaine moving to Europe was the best decision ever. They needed that continent in between them.

“How long?”

“Ion know,” Fontaine said.

“Not good enough,” Tyrone said.

“Make it good enough.”

Tyrone sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Dammit, ‘Taine. Don’t start that shit,” he said.

Fontaine suddenly sniffed and Tyrone whipped his head towards him. Fontaine’s head was tilted chasing the scent. Could he smell you on Tyrone?

“How long do you need?” Tyrone asked, trying to distract Fontaine. But Fontaine only took another deep breath.

“Damn, that almost smells like…Versailles,” he said.

The name triggered a distant memory, of remembering when Tyrone and Fontaine had walked the halls of the famous palace, had walked by a proper lady, and she had smelled so good, it made Tyrone and Fontaine whirl around.

Fontaine chuckled. “Must be all this pussy in the air. Anyway, I’m fo’ real. I just want to know how much he knows. I’ll be gone before you know it.”

Tyrone nodded. “Fine. Don’t start anything while you here. Get in, get out,” Tyrone said.

Fontaine smirked and shook his head. “Shit, baby brother. You really got something here,” Fontaine said.

“You don’t have to keep up the good older brother routine. I already said you could stay,” Tyrone said.

Fontaine laughed. “Man, whoever you fucked, go fuck ‘em again. Loosen up. All that frowning gon’ make you old,” Fontaine chuckled on his way out of the office.

Tyrone watched him go. He strained his hearing for Fontaine’s soft steps and followed the sound of his shoes out of the house. He hadn’t smelled you. Good. Tyrone left his office and headed back to you.

He couldn’t risk Fontaine knowing about you. He didn’t know what his brother would do around you. Especially if he was thinking of Versailles. Whatever that was supposed to mean. The centuries tended to blur after being alive so long. It was just fleeting from one activity to the next.

He’d have to look into it later. For now, he wanted to forget that Fontaine was here. He wanted to forget that there were others in the house. He wanted to wrap himself in your warmth and addicting scent and sleep the morning away.

You were still fast asleep. Tyrone lowered the lights and climbed into bed. He snuggled you from behind. You let out a soft sound. He wrapped his hand around your tummy and felt the approaching morning like a heavy blanket. He slipped off to sleep with your intoxicating scent tickling his nose.

&&&

Masterlist | Chapter 3

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sebsxphia · 1 year

Note

Hi!

I was wondering if it was possible for you to do a Natasha Trace/Pheonix x fem!reader where Nat and the reader are arguing about something and Nat raises her hand/arm to prove or exagruate her point but the reader flinches away? Thanks

sunrise and sunset.

natasha ‘phoenix’ trace x reader.

￫ c/w: angst, fluff, mentions of past abuse, implications of past abuse, crying and what you read in the ask is what it’s going to be.

￫ a/n: i loved this idea so much dear anon and it comforted me thinking about it with our sweet natasha. i hope you enjoy! <3 my main masterlist can be found here! 💌

You’ve had this conversation with Natasha many times before. You were leaning against your kitchen table with your arms folded tightly across your chest, Natasha mirroring your stance and leaning against the kitchen counter.

“I just worry, Nat. The uncertainty of it all, I mean… c’ mon. Can’t you see what this is like for me?”

It went like it always did. It was a stand off in your kitchen, late at night once Natasha was home and disclosed the possibility of another deployment and perhaps, a squadron mission. The weight of Natasha’s words never lulled and the blow to your gut never softened.

You wanted to be there for Nat, your Tash. You wanted to console her, ask how she was, ask what was next, but your deep fear of the unknown and being left alone in the world always bubbled to the surface first.

“For you? You don’t think I can’t see how this eats you up? You don’t think I care?” Natasha’s voice raised an octave higher. She would never shout at you, but her frustration was creeping through. “I will always care about you. I think about you every time I’m up in that sky.”

It was at this point that Natasha raised her arm to figuratively point towards the sky with her hand and you flinched away in a split second. Your body instinctively retreated into muscle memory and your brain went into auto drive. You turned away from her, feeling the tears sting the corners of your eyes.

A beat of deafening silence clouded your dimly lit kitchen. “Fuck-” Natasha breathed out, her eyes going wide, with panic clouding her normally bright and fiery gaze. “Baby? I’m so sorry, are you okay?” She reached out to place her hand on the table in your view, to tell you she was there but wouldn’t overstep anything if you didn’t want it right now. “I- I didn’t mean to. You know I would never.”

Natasha was aware of your past and she had done the most to help you. You know she didn’t mean it intentionally. “Just the heat of it all and you-” You motioned Natasha’s previous movements. “I’m sorry.”

You turned back to face her and Natasha could read your body language from years of learning you. She understood she could now bridge that gap and she gently placed her hands on your arms and gave them a light, reassuring squeeze.

“You never have to apologise. I am sorry.” She paused fleetingly as you met her eyes. “This whole situation is shit, but I never want you to think that I don’t think about you. Every time I see a sunset or sunrise when I’m flying, I always think of you. We’ll work this out, like we always do. Okay, my dove?”

You nodded. “Can we talk about this tomorrow, Tash? I’m so tired. I can’t think straight.”

“Of course, baby. Honestly, me neither. They got us flying the most God awful routes today. For the first time in five years I thought I was gon’ puke.”

You let out a small laugh with Natasha for the first time this evening. You leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips and she pulled you closer, smiling against you. “C’ mon. I want to kiss my sweet girl in bed.”

taglist: @beachbabey @tallrock35 @luckyladycreator2 @unmistakablyunknown @thedroneranger

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catnipaddictt · 25 days

Text

Work song

wc: 2.7k

series masterlist ⭑ co-creator @memoiich

Entering the office took years off your life. Not only were you tired you were now sweaty and flustered. Moving past the old lady at the front desk you made your way to the elevator. If your day couldn’t get any worse it just did. The elevator wouldn’t open when you pushed the button so you asked the lady at the front desk and she said in a monotone voice “the elevator doesn't work, miss”. You were ready to cry but held it together, went back to the hall and looked around until you saw a big mat green door with a sign “stairs'' so you ran up at 120 km an hour just to get to the office still 2 hours overdue ,swinging the door open completely.

Out of breath you were greeted with the secretary desk and the angry man standing in front of it. Mr Rex, your brain told you quickly. You recognised him from the flyer, he was wearing a blue suit with a matching tie and three gold clips, and well, his face was livid. Pure anger radiated from him “Do you know what this is?” he questioned gesturing to the desk behind it “this is the desk you should have been sitting at by 9 this morning“, “I'm so sorry sir I-“ “I don't need your excuses I need a explanation“ at this point more and more gazes fell on you, “My car broke down mid way, I had to walk the rest of the way here, it took me 30 min, i'm so sorry sir” he let a sign escape past his hardened facade and he spoke way calmer now “well why don't you get to work then, and if you have any questions ask someone other than me, do you understand?“, “yes sir.” The army would have been proud of you. “Just call me Rex” but Rex clearly wasn’t. He walked away from you back to his office and you settled behind your new desk.

You had come from a branch in your hometown so the work wasn’t hard to adjust to. Reading emails, forwarding emails, getting the planning in check. Rex was a busy guy and it was clear that he hadn’t had a secretary in a few weeks, So it took some time to get it all in check, at least an hour…or 3. It also was taking an extra long to finish because you were very very very tired. Your eyes were closing as if they were shutters, then open, then closed, until a hand waved in front of your face. The hand snapped you out of it pretty quickly and you finally heard a voice.

“Hello there, didn’t mean to intrude but you look …sleepy” you looked at the man. He had to be in his late 20’s dressed with a kind smile and matching gentle blue-greenish eyes. Your gaze must have stayed pretty long because he chuckled and handed you a cup. Taking the cup you looked back at him “don’t worry it's just coffee, my name's Obi wan Kenobi, I work over there” he pointed over his shoulder at the now empty desk in front of you. You must have been really tired because you would have noticed the handsome man not 3 metres in front of you. "I'm y/n, I work here now” you pointed at the desk below you “I noticed, you made quite an entrance” he said holding back a snort. “Well yeah, my car broke down and this arrogant mechanic left me at the side of the street and then I had to walk and it's like 50 min at least and then yesterday my neighbour just…” he cuts you off. “Do you have a ride home?” Obi wan asked you partly to stop the word flow. Not having thought that you answered “No, I don't”, “Well Qui Gon and I carpool” he pointed at an older friendly looking gentleman with well kept hair that reached his mid back at the left end of the office, who waved at the two of you. You waved back smiling “ If you wanted to we could give you a lift” he followed up. “I would love that”.

Rex's office door flung open. ”That's my sign to go!” Obi wan said while turning on his heel. Rex walked over to you “Do you have my plans for next week?”, “Yeah it's right here, I planned the meeting with HQ on Wednesday instead of Monday because bail organa is visiting Monday”. “Bail visits quite often so you don't have to worry about his meetings, just make sure to tell Obi wan ”, “Do you want me to move HQ back to Monday?”, “No, I don't need to see fives just yet”. “Okay then this is the final planning”, you say as you hand him the sheet of paper. “That’s perfect, you've been working for a few hours now, why don't you take a break” he said and walked straight back to his office.

Then it dawned on you that you definitely didn’t know the layout of this office at all. After the morning you kind of just sat down and did your job. You looked around confused when Obi wan raised his hand and pointed to a brown door with a little window. While walking to it you looked only to be greeted by the second shit-eating smirk of the day. It also looked strangely familiar. Weird...

You opened the small door and were greeted with the sight of 2 vending machines, a little kitchen and 4 tables that seated four. At one of those tables sat Mr. Jinn eating a fruit bowl and sipping a glass of jawa juice. He waved you over, though it was more of a swipe of the hand than a wave. Sitting in front of him you could now see that he must have been closer to his 40s than his 30s. ”You’re y/n aren't you?” he said, more of a statement rather than a question “Yeah that’s me”. Before you could question why he was so confident in his guess, He answered, “Obi wan told me you would carpool with us” he finished it off with a smile that made the crows feet beneath his eyes appear. “only if it's not a bother of course”, “It’s definitely not a bother, you look like a decent person plus even a indecent person wouldn’t be a bother if they need the help”. You weren’t used to your coworkers being ...well nice . At your last job there was an intern named Axel who couldn’t catch a hint if it gave him a head start. ”Thank you Mr Jinn''. “Just Qui Gon is fine”. Qui Gon had gone back to munching on his fruit bowl, so you had followed his example and started eating your late lunch. It was quite peaceful. Qui Gon was one of those rare people who understood and respected universal silence, without fidgeting under its pressure. But that beloved silence was broken when 3 men stumbled through the door.

One of them was Mr Kenobi but the other 2 you only noticed in the office. The first one sat across from Mr Kenobi. He was a Kiffar and had a golden line across his nose right under his eyes. He was doubled over laughing while holding on to the second man. And a green Nautolan who was laughing even louder than the last. The only one that wasn’t laughing was Mr.Kenobi. He was wearing a sour expression and a noticeable blush covering his face. “Wanna carpool” the Kiffar yelled and bumped his hip with Mr.Kenobi's.

You looked over to Qui Gon who had a ‘disappointed father’ look. He let out a fake cough “uh hum“ at the pure sound of it, the 3 of them looked your way. Fear was the only way to describe the look upon their faces. The Kiffar was the first to snap out of it, “Hey i’m Quinlan Vos and this is Kit Fisto” he pointed to the green Nautolan on his left. ”And this one you already know” he finishes while grabbing Mr.Kenobi by the shoulder. “It's nice to meet the both of you” they both shook your hand.” Mr kenobi i had to tell you that Monday Mr. Organa is visiting” you remembered “Yeah Mr. Kenobi you have a meeting Monday” Quinlan responded with a odd tone to his voice. Mr Kenobi was clearly flustered “I could possibly change the meeting if your nervous “ you said “oh no there is no need I just I'm not used to being called by my last name” he retorted “I thought it was company policy” you said. At your last job they were rather strict on this rule mainly because ‘you're obviously a secretary, you should have some respect’, so it became the norm. ”We generally are a bit more lax when it comes to the rules,” Qui Gon stated. Then Rex walked in looking stressed “Y/n I need you to help me with the meeting for tomorrow now” he said more agitated than angry. You packed up your stuff quite quickly and followed Rex out to his office.

”So what seems to be the problem” you asked as nicely as you could, “I got an email from headquarters and they want to move the meeting from Wednesday to as soon as possible”, “That shouldn’t be a problem, I could probably move it to Monday, as I said before, and move Mr. Organa to Wednesday”. You didn’t know if you should call Mr. Organa Bail. “Can we have the meeting tomorrow?” He retorted “I will have to check with Obi wan since he is currently still working on the deal”. Rex turned around and pushed some numbers into the hologram behind him. “Hello Obi wan , how far away are you with the lettering company deal?” he questioned. “About as far as I could be in 2 days” Obi wan responded. “Well I need it done by tomorrow morning, goodbye”, “wait rex i-” Rex hung up. “That went great ,didn't it?” He said to you while wearing a stressed smile. All you could do was stare at him befuddled.

There was a knock on the office door so you moved to open it. “There's no need to open that” Rex whispered. Another knock came from the door “Rex, I know you’re in there!” Obi wan 's voice came from the other side. “Y/n i'm going to hide behind the door, while you open it” Rex whispered to you in the seriousness of a war commander leading his troops. So you did as you were told. “Obi wan , how can I help you?” you opened the door. “Where is he?” He asked, looking at you. You pointed at the door while saying “Oh Rex isn't here “Obi wan was holding himself back from laughing “Then why don't you go to your desk?” he said while stepping to the side. "I will, good luck finding Rex” you said with a wink.

The rest of the day went quite smoothly. When the end of the day came around people started to leave the building. You were seated near the door so you said a polite goodbye to the people that left. Most people seemed to like it except this one zabrak who made a grunting noise while rolling his yellow eyes. Rude. In the end only Obi wan and Qui Gon were left. You approached Obi wan even though he looked to be focusing on his work. You didn't need to guess why. “Can I help you?”

“I don’t think so, I just need to plan this deal out with Ryloth lettering” he said looking rather desperate at his computer. “I'm a secretary, planning is my job” you answered with a self assured smile. Obi wan looked up from his computer and scooted over a nearby chair. You took the seat “so how may I help you?” You asked him in your secretary's voice. Obi wan gave you a look of panic as he answered, “I need to contact their office but my emails don't go through”. “Is the office still open?”, “I think so”, “okay wait”. You walk over to your desk and get the office holo out. “What's the number?” Obi wan gave you the number and you called it as quickly as you could. A man answered.

”Ryloth lettering, how can I help you this evening?” A monotone voice answered from the other side. “Hey i’m calling from Paper Force, we sadly have to move a meeting from wednesday to tomorrow morning” you told him. "May I ask with whom this supposed meeting is going to be?” Then it dawned on you that you hadn’t asked Obi wan about it so you did the good-old talking a bit away from the phone. “Who is the person for the meeting?” “Orn Free Taa” he whispered back. You told the man on the line his name and the hour for the meeting. “Okay Ms. L/n, the meeting has been moved forward, have a nice evening.” “You too and thanks again”

You closed the holo and Obi wan looked at you hopefully. ”So did it work?” he asked, tired and nervous. “Yes it worked, your meeting is tomorrow morning”. Obi Wan's face lit up immediately. “You’re a lifesaver Y/n” He almost yelled as he pulled you into a hug. “Are you two finally ready to go?” Qui Gon spoke, having walked in mere minutes ago.

Obi wan let go off you and you shifted a bit awkwardly around him to gather your stuff to go home. Obi wan did the same at his desk. You followed Qui Gon to the parking lot. “There she is,” he announced. As you looked past him you saw a half sage green half white Volkswagen minivan. Obi wan opened the door for you and you entered the velvet orange hippy dream that was Qui Gon 's car. “Do you like Radiohead Y/n.” Obi wan asked “I do, why?” “That's all you’re going to hear in this car" he said almost laughingly.

And right he was. 50 min and 1 entire album later you were finally back at the front door of the Alderaan apartments.

The door of ‘Shaggy’ closes with a slam. Shaggy was what Qui Gon called his wagon because “he has character” he stated. Obi wan agreed, the velvet seats had gone through quite a lot. Ever since Obi wan and Qui Gon had met back in college, Shaggy had been by their side. Qui Gon was only 2 years older but took Obi Wan under his wing pretty quickly. Because of this, Qui Gon was fine tuned to Obi Wan’s behaviour and so it began.

“So..” he let the o hang in the air as the music swirled around, “Y/n huh, quite an interesting person.” It might sound like a statement but he wanted an answer. “Yeah she's nice” he was going to talk himself out of this. It definitely wasn’t his fault that Qui Gon had walked in on that moment. He hadn’t even thought of it at the moment but yet here he was. “Do I need to just say it?” Qui Gon asked with a lilt to his voice. “I don’t know what you could be talking about my friend” Obi wan might have been known as ‘the negotiator’ of the office but whatever he was selling Qui Gon wasn't buying it. “Look, i'm not saying you did anything wrong but you know the rules, if you’re willing to break those, so be it” he stated rather gleefully as if he had just sipped the best jawa juice the world had to offer.

Obi wan knew the rules and their consequences. The office headquarters had installed them to make sure the workers would, well, work. The one Qui Gon was referring to was the ‘no work attachments' which was basically a ban on office relationships. “Oh come on Qui Gon , we both know a hug can’t be classified as a relationship” he huffed and mumbled “otherwise you may have had one” he pointed out Qui Gon ’s non-existent love life. Qui Gon burst out laughing “For your information, it's by choice” he said. He parked the car in front of the ‘for sale’ sign in Obi wan ’s front yard. “Now get out of my car, squirt.” “A nice evening to you too” Obi wan yelled back slamming the door. He watched Qui Gon leave with a wave.

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whatyadrawin · 5 months

Text

The Fruit After The Flesh 18+ -Chapter 3-

Minors DNI!

Masterlist

Approximately 2,682 words

Pairing: Thomas Hewitt(HeadCanon) x AFAB reader

This chapters Warnings: Strong language, use of derogatory terms, sexually suggestive language.

A/n: Two drawings took me so long, I feel very pathetic and unproductive but I am so happy to get the ball rolling. I can't wait to illustrate and submit chapter 4 because oooooh lord Tommy boy gon look good in it. I am also so excited to get writing the next few chapters, I have the fire in me and I don't want it to go out until I get a bunch of writing done lol. Please check the masterlist linked above for updates on progress.

Tag list: @fan-goddess

Chapter 3

The day begins with the sounds of birds happily chirping in the tree shading your backyard; a gentle breeze is washing over the land, cooling the heat away from the ground. You feel good today and decide it’s time for a cute yet practical outfit, so you grab some jean shorts, and a bright yellow tank top with a reliable pair of boots, you were ready to get things done. After eating some oatmeal purchased from Luda Mae’s store, you get your things ready to go drive to the next town and do some serious food shopping.

The car is packed with some water and a snack or two, but before you hit the road you take a trip down to see Dover the farmhand to try and appease him one more time. The morning seems to be the best time to catch him, and you can see him watching TV through a window so you knock on the door gently and hear a groan, he answers the door and when he sees you, he rolls his eyes and says rudely,

“Whadya want?”

You put on a sincere smile and reply “Good morning, I hope I didn’t interrupt anything?”

“Ya interrupted my peace, now what the hell d’ya want?” his tone is aggressive, but you continue,

“I just thought I might interest you in some new stuff for your home? I know you like how things are but I wanted to see if I could make it more comfortable, like a new T.V, or a new bed or whatever else.”

He throws his head back and sighs “Ya just don’ get it do ya? I don’ want yer fancy shit from the city, I don’ need nothin’ other’an this here orchard n’some peace! Why don’t ya just go play dress up with the Hewitts again, see if their retard son will play tea party with ya”

He slams the door on you. You feel sick with anger and knock again, this time more loudly.

Dover opens the door and screams “The fuck is yer problem?”

You try to keep your cool as you reply through gritted teeth “Why are you so mean to me? What did I ever do to you other than be kind and offer you help or nice things! You don’t even know my name!”

Dover’s eyebrows furl into and angry frown “This here land belongs t’me, stupid little girl. I worked fer years under that bitch Tilly, and the fact that she left everythin’ to some no-good kid who don’ deserve it, makes my skin crawl. If I had my way, this place’d be mine”

You look visibly confused “What is that supposed to mean?”

He then pauses and gets all flustered “Nothin’, nothin’ at all. You just let me do everythin’ here, soon ya gon’ realize ya don’t belong here and leave, if ya know what’s good fer ya. Now never come back to this house ever again or I’ll give ya somethin’ to cry ‘bout”

He slams the door again and you are shaking with rage, your eyes begin to well up with tears as you walk away back to your car. You set out on the drive to the next town and it feels like it lasts forever, the road is straight and flat, and the surroundings are just large swathes of yellow grass and wheat rushing past you as you speed up to shorten the distance. The sky is cloudless and the sun is blaring down on you causing your eyelids to weigh down, you decide to put on a playlist that only has bangers to energize you. Eventually you see the welcome sign for the next town and feel a sigh of relief.

The town is small but you are able to spot a large Costco in the distance -Oh hell yeah, I can really stock up now-. You find a parking spot close to the door and as you walk in you get blasted by the air conditioning which feels so nice after that long, hot drive. You take your time through the aisles grabbing as many bulk items as you can, finding preserved goods that won’t immediately go bad, and some produce that would be able to last a little longer than others. Once your cart is fully maxed out with goods you head to the cashier who looks at you funny due to the number of things you are buying. They greet you,

“Hi Ma’am, all this for you?”

You smile, feeling a bit embarrassed “Yeah, I don’t live nearby any stores, just stocking up.”

They smile back “Oh yeah? Where ya comin’ from?”

You reply “Fuller”

The cashier squints her eyes in curiosity “Fuller? Where’s that at?”

You are a little surprised by their response, but with how desolate the town is their response makes sense, you say,

“It’s a... um, well…a dead town near the Oklahoma border”

They tilt their head as they scan your Costco card “Must be real dead if I ain’t never heard of it.”

“Yeah, it is” you give a little chuckle and they continue,

“Well, alright then, I’ll get yer stuff boxed here and you can be back on yer way to the dead town.”

You finish paying and thank the cashier, then you start wheeling your cart back to the car when a very old man approaches you.

“You came from Fuller?” he says

You reply “Yeah, do you know it?”

He pauses, then says “I know it. That town used to have a lot people go missing after the businesses left. Why’re you out there?”

“I inherited an orchard” you say quietly

He places his hand on his chin “Oh? So, there’s still somethin’ left huh. Be careful ma’am, that town ain’t safe from what I know. The people ain’t right, if there’s any people left.”

You feel extremely confused “Ok, uh, thanks?”

You open the trunk and fill it with the bags wondering what he could possibly mean by people going missing, and the citizens being not right.

The drive back felt a lot faster; you were running what that old man had said through your head, -he must be talking about Dover, or maybe some urban legend-. You have experienced gossip and falsehoods about your own town back home before, so it didn’t seem so absurd to have a random stranger tell you something odd. You arrive back at the house by 1pm, happy to have been so productive today, you begin to unload the car and get everything into the house.

All the groceries get put away and you decide to start baking a batch of chocolate chip muffins for the Hewitts since they have been nothing but nice to you, and it’s the first time in a long while where you feel comfortable around other people; you are hopeful of making new long-term friends with the Hewitts. You bake 24 muffins since you assume that Tommy likely eats a lot and maybe hasn’t had a baked pastry in a while. When the muffins are done baking you take them out of the oven and put them in the little basket you brought the fruit over in, you cover the muffins with a cheesecloth and make your way over.

You walk up the driveway and look to the barn but don’t see Tommy there, just a group of chickens clucking around. You knock on the door which gets answered by Charlie who says,

“Well, well, well, what we got here? Bringin’ us somethin’ good sweetheart?”

You blush and reply “Yeah, I baked some muffins for all of you”

“Well, ain’t you sweet. Come in girlie, Luda’s gonna wanna say hi” he waves you in

You didn’t like how he stared at you but he seemed mostly harmless, he calls out into the house

“Luda! The neighbor girl is here!”

Luda Mae comes out from the kitchen drying her hands with a towel “Oh hi dear! What a welcome surprise to see you. What brings you by?”

You smile, Luda Mae is such a welcoming and kind person, you say “I baked some muffins for everyone, as a thank you for inviting me over the other day, and kindness you have all shown me”

“That is so thoughtful of you! I hope you know you’re welcome to come by anytime dear, you don’t need to bring gifts every visit, your company is enough” she says sincerely.

You feel very accepted among this strange small-town family you say “It was no big deal really, I went to the next town over to get groceries and picked up some ingredients to make sweet things to share”

Luda Mae tilts her head and smiles indicating how impressed she is by your kindness and generosity, she follows with “Well Tommy will just love these, I guess you must’ve known that he doesn’t get to eat baked goods often”

She calls out for him to come upstairs and you immediately get butterflies in your stomach, they make you feel nauseous and excited. You hear heavy, thudding footsteps and the house gently rattles as Tommy makes his way up to the living room from what you assume is the basement. He stops in his tracks the second he looks up and sees you; his eyes were shrouded in shadow from his hair and thick brows but despite the darkness, the brilliant blue looking back at you was vivid and bright; his long hair was roughly tousled and draped down to the nape of his neck in curly dark brown tendrils.

You finally got to see him even closer and you lose your breath with just how incredibly huge this giant of a man is compared to your own height, his chest is so wide it would enshroud your entire body if you hid behind it, his thick pectorals heaving with every breath under his worn-down short sleeve blouse. His legs were massive and covered by a pair of very worn and dirty jeans, they were hanging onto by a worn belt that had a large belt buckle, oxidized by time. You immediately felt a tinge of ancient animal fear from the obvious difference in power his body displayed, he could kill you in seconds if he wanted to but beneath his brutish exterior you could sense there was someone worth taking a chance on.

You wished to be able to see the rest of his face but it was hidden behind a dark leathery mask which was tactfully sewn together, there was only a small slit near his mouth for air to pass through, you wondered what he was hiding if he was already this impressive.

Luda Mae sighs and says,

“Thomas, don’t be shy, Y/N brought us some sweets, say thank you”

He holds his stare on you, he had never seen someone as breathtaking as yourself and your clothes did nothing to hide your robust, curvaceous figure, you didn’t look like someone who could easily break if he were to touch you but your height was barely a third of his own. He couldn’t help but find you simultaneously gorgeous and cute which was a perplexing and new feeling he welcomed. He suddenly snaps out of his trance when Luda Mae clears her throat, he then nods slowly as he shifts his eye contact from you and turns to leave quickly back down the stairs.

Luda Mae shakes her head “Excuse him, he takes a bit to warm up to people he likes”

“What about the people he doesn’t like?” You shocked yourself with your comment, it seemed to have just come out against your will.

Luda Mae looks at the floor and clenches the towel “Oh… haha well, don’t worry yourself about that hun. He likes you; one can tell that plain from the way he’s behavin’ ”

You let out a giggle and try to hide from the heat building up in your cheeks, Luda Mae notices this and smiles, Charlie sees this too and rudely barks in,

“Good thing y’got a crush on him because the people who don’t like him? Well, Girlie, you don’t wanna be them.”

Luda Mae drops her smile and snaps “YOU HUSH UP RIGHT THIS SECOND! THOMAS AIN’T DONE NOTHING WRONG!”

Charlie just laughs and wanders off, Luda Mae looks at you and says,

“I’m so sorry ‘bout him dear, he’s got such bad manners, does whatever he wants.” She places her hands on her hips and squints in the direction Charlie wandered off.

You reply “It’s alright. You know, Thomas seems to not want to be around me every time I come here. I hope I am not seeming like an intrusion to him.”

Luda Mae gets a worried look and says “Oh sweetheart, as his mama I can tell you with full certainty that he likes when you come over. He asked about you the other day, wondering who you are”

You try to suppress the smile forming on your lips, “I didn’t know he spoke. I would love to get to know him better” for some reason you kept saying bold statements despite your mind protesting the revealing honesty.

Luda Mae smiles at you “He speaks to the people he feels comfortable with, so far that’s only been me and sometimes Charlie. I think you may have to make an effort with Thomas dear, he is going to be like taming a wild animal, so you have your work cut out for you”

You continue a bit of small talk about the town you visited and then take your leave back down the drive way to home. The walk back makes you think of so many scenarios in which you would be able to speak with Tommy, he seemed like he would have a lot to say. The prospect of making Tommy trust you and having such a unique friend was overstimulating and got you so excited that you didn’t notice Dover come out of the bushes next to you, making you jump from being startled. He gives you a dirty look and says,

“Seems like yer makin’ friends with them Hewitt folk. What a stupid girl ya are. You know their sons a violent sort dontcha?”

You have had enough of Dover and his cruelty, you reply,

“I thought you wanted to be left alone? Besides, Thomas is really shy, he doesn’t seem violent”

Dover laughs “Ya really are dumber’n ya look! That retard would string ya up and eat ya alive if you don’t get the hell outta here”

You stop walking and face Dover “Why are you telling me this? It seems like you don’t care if I live or die so what would it matter to you if he DID eat me alive?”

He stops and looks at you “I DON’T CARE IF YA GET BURNED ALIVE!”

You stare at him, saying nothing, and he awkwardly looks around, expecting you to get mad, he follows

“Ya like that fool dontcha? Yer fixin’ to have him split yer birthin’ bits in two huh?”

You sneer at the crass statement “What is wrong with you? If you don’t need anything from me then please just go find the peace you claim to want, and let me live my life”

You continue walking away and he yells back after you “Those fuckers ate people ya know! Next theyr’ gon’ eat YOU! Have fun fuckin’ a cannibal man, ya dummy!”

You keep walking and make your way to the front door of your home, the words said to you by Dover were heinous but they did make you think, -He might be right, Luda Mae and her family say some really weird things a lot and seem to change the subject when things get too suspicious. At this point, I don’t care anymore… this is my only chance to have a normal life and have friends, maybe even family. I’m going to continue Tilly’s legacy, if not for her… then for all the people who seem to actually care about me-

#what ya writin #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x y/n #slasher community #thomas hewitt x afab reader #leatherface 2006 #texas chainsaw massacre #my art #the fruit after the flesh

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