#like women who look soft but can easily strangle me with one hand

[tinygayproductions]

yknow its p reasonable to assume under a lot of the squish, demeter is jacked as fuck in hades.

even moreso because she wielded the twin fists of malphon

#hades #hades game #tiny gay.txt #i mean #its a reasonable assumption #i also just #like women who look soft but can easily strangle me with one hand

[kkodzvken]

take the dive - sugawara koushi x milf!reader

tags/warnings: smut, 18+ ONLY! slight dubcon, infidelity, post timeskip (suga teaches reader’s kids). overstimulation and slight dumbification, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, semi-public (in an empty classroom)

a/n: this is my piece for @ultimate-astridwriting’s milf fuckers collab, which you can find here!! thank you for hosting this astrid, and thank u to everyone in the server for ur love and support as i worked on this <33. title cred: take the dive by jonghyun

wc: 3.9k

Amidst a faculty full of stuffy old dinosaurs and suits, Sugawara Koushi is a breath of fresh air. He’s a welcome distraction, a pretty face to focus on at dull PTA meetings and assemblies. And you knew that you weren’t the only one making heart eyes at him. Everywhere that he went, heads turned, and moms whispered. At the bus stop, on the sidelines of sports matches, in the waiting rooms outside dance classes.

It was just that, though -- just whispers. Little knowing glances and nudged shoulders, dreamy sighs and brief sinful indulgences. Nothing more than a brief escape from the monotony of your everyday lives. You’d lose yourselves in the fantasy for a few seconds, and then pull your heads down from the clouds and plant your feet on solid ground. You enjoyed your gossip with the other moms, and then you returned home, to your husband and children. To your family.

You love them, of course. Your children are your world, and your husband is a good man. He’s a good man, and that’s what made it so hard. He treats you well, keeps his words soft and never once put his hands on you. 

He may be good, but, God, was he boring. You can’t remember the last time that he’d even kissed you, let alone fucked you. He came home later and later each night, too tired from work to do anything but silently scarf down his dinner and plant himself on the couch in front of the television. He dragged himself into bed hours after you did. He tried to be quiet, he really did, but he woke you up every single night with his stomping and shuffling. When you snuggled closer to him, he pushed you off. My back hurts too bad, he’d say, voice tinged with regret. Remind me to book another appointment with the chiropractor. 

It was always some excuse or another. 

So, really, you couldn’t blame yourself for your wandering eye. You weren’t going to act on it, of course -- you weren’t a cheater -- but the young teacher was something to occupy yourself with. A pretty face to fill your thoughts as you wrangled your horde of screaming kids from swim lessons to dance practice to art classes. A pretty, pretty body to imagine as you fucked yourself with your fingers, teeth sinking into your bottom lip to muffle your moans. You couldn’t help but imagine that it was him, lithe body leaning over yours. No complaints of aching backs and sore muscles, none of the complications that came with age. 

You’d leave your husband catatonic on the couch, put the kids to sleep, and then go dream of their hot teacher. You should’ve been more ashamed, but there was a part of you that loved the thrill of it. You flushed whenever you saw Mr. Sugawara the next morning, memories of your illicit thoughts filling your mind, but it also made your body feel electric. 

Of course there was a part of you that longed to throw caution to the wind and jump the young man, but your conscience was much stronger than your weak, lustful thoughts. You were happy with the way things were now. As dull as your husband was, and as insufferable as the children could sometimes be, you were happy. 

This was all you had ever wanted. A house in the suburbs, a husband with a well-paying job, three kids and a dog. You’re living the fucking dream. You’re happy, you tell yourself.

So why the fuck are you so unsatisfied?

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

With a deep breath, you stare down the heavy glass doors at the school’s entrance. You want nothing more than to find the idiot architect who designed this building, and strangle him for installing pull doors. Your arms are already sore from carrying the giant tray of brownies from your car to the front of the school, and you worry that if you put the treats down to open the door, you wouldn’t be able to lift them up again. A quick glance at your watch tells you that you have two minutes left to reach the gym where the bake sale is being held. The PTA president is notorious for hating latecomers, and you weren’t in the mood to get your head bit off.

You’re debating doing some gymnastics and using your foot to grab the handle, when you notice footsteps approaching from behind you. You open your mouth to ask for help, but they beat you to it. “Let me get the door,” says their syrupy, melodic voice.

Their familiar voice.

Your body practically freezes as a strong arm reaches over your shoulder. Long fingers – fingers that you’ve fantasized about too many times to count – twist the handle and push it open easily. You don’t know how you didn’t notice him approaching sooner, but now that he’s here, your senses are in overdrive. The sweet scent of his cologne, the sound of his breath, the warmth of his body – it’s all too much, and it makes your knees feel weak.

“Mr. Sugawara,” you say, voice coming out much breathier than you intended. This must be some kind of Pavlovian response from all your fantasizing, because there is no reason for your stomach to be twisting right now. “Thank you.”

He grins sheepishly and steps away, and you hate the way that your body screams at you to lean into him. “It’s no problem. Is that for the bake sale? Here, let me carry it for you.”

You try to protest, but there’s really no point. His long fingers are already pushing yours to the sides, and you swear you’ve been electrified as he pulls the tray out of your hands. It’s a shame, really, that he’s wearing a button-down. The sleeves are rolled up to his forearms, at least, but you would’ve loved to see his biceps flex as he carried that tray…

What am I doing? You dig your nails into your palm to snap yourself out of your thoughts, but it’s hard to stay lucid when he’s so beautiful. He carries the brownies with ease, using just one arm to support their weight as the other holds the door open for you. It should make you upset, that you’re so weak in comparison to him, but the thought just makes you feel even more breathless. He’s so strong, so young, and so unlike your husband.

“Thank you,” you say again as he steps into the building behind you. You reach for the tray, but he waves you off.

“Nonsense. I’ll walk you to the gym.”

“Oh, really, you don’t have to—”

“I insist. Anything for my favorite mom.”

His…favorite? His words leave you too stupefied to protest any further, and he takes your silence as compliance. Your body automatically follows in his footsteps as he paces down the hallways.

He looks over at you and smiles comfortingly. It lights up his entire face, but does little to ease your turbulent thoughts.

Your mind is still fixated on his words as you step onto the squeaky wood flooring of the gymnasium. Sugawara calmly walks over to the PTA president, who looks like she’s about to rip her hair out. She’s surrounded by a gaggle of other moms, all jabbering away with concern painted across their faces.

“Is something wrong, ladies?” he asks. His voice snaps them all out of their conversation, and their eyes widen as they take him in.

“Yes,” says the PTA president scornfully. “We were supposed to have the brownies here already! The sale starts in ten minutes, and if this keeps up, I won’t have enough time to inventory everything and make it presentable, and –”

“I have the brownies,” you cut in, resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

She blanches, and looks from you to the tray in Sugawara’s arms. An oh is all she can muster before grabbing the brownies and rushing off.

“Is everything okay?” one of the other moms asks, her voice laced with fake sweetness. “Oh, and you look so tired, dear. If you couldn’t manage your part, you should’ve just said so!”

“It would’ve been no trouble,” another woman says. “I’d have had no trouble whipping up a tray for you! Everyone always does love my baking.”

You grit your teeth and resist the urge to snap at them. It’s always like this – the other moms seem so in tune with their lives of domestic bliss, playing games of politics and constantly competing to be the best. Try as you might, you just can’t satisfy yourself with a life like theirs.

The material of Sugawara’s shirt brushes against you, and you start. He doesn’t pull away as you flinch, instead gently resting his hand on the small of your back. “Sorry to interrupt, but can I steal her away? Mrs. (L/N), I have your son’s science fair project sitting in my classroom. He keeps forgetting to bring it home. Would you like to go collect it now?”

You nod, relieved at the excuse to escape these women and their sickening artificial sweetness. Sugawara gently guides you with the hand on your back. You can’t help but internally smirk at the thinly-veiled jealousy on the faces of the other mothers.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.  

“This is why you’re my favorite,” Sugawara says, once you’re safely out of earshot. “All these PTA moms are so fake. But you’re not like that, are you?”

You nod, still a bit convinced that this is all a dream. He doesn’t remove his hand from your back as you walk down the hallways, and only pulls away when you reach the door to his classroom. He fishes through his pocket and pulls out a ring of keys, before insert one into the knob and pushing the door open. He gestures for you to enter first, and so you do, blinking at the harsh sudden brightness of the automatic lights.

You awkwardly glance around the room. You’ve been here plenty of times before, but that was all during the daytime, when it was packed full of energetic children. It feels…strange, to be alone in a classroom as an adult. Or, well, alone, except for the stupidly attractive teacher that you’ve been lusting over.

“Where’s the project?” you ask, trying to diffuse some of the tension building in your stomach. “I should head home soon.”

Sugawara leans his back against the door and cocks his head. “You know, I know what you say about me.”

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb.” His eyes rove across your body, lingering on your chest for far longer than they should. “I’m not deaf, you know. I hear all the things you say about me. You’re just like all the other moms.” He pushes off the door, stalking closer to you. You instinctively take a step back. “Only difference is, you might actually have the guts to do something about it.”

Your heart thuds in your chest, so hard that you think your ribs might bruise. “I…I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Sugawara. I-”

You take another step back, and another, and suddenly your back collides with concrete. Your body jolts, and you yelp at the sudden pain.

Sugawara leans closer. One of his hands braces against the board behind your head, and the other one comes up to cradle your face. His long fingers hook under your chin and press, forcing you to tilt your head up and meet his gaze. His thumb brushes against your lip, and you can’t deny how the sensation makes your body feel like jelly.

Every rational thought in your mind is screaming at you to run, to leave, to get away from him and go back to your husband, but God, it’s been so long since you’ve felt like this. It’s been so long since someone’s made your heart race and your breaths quicken, since someone’s made you blush like a schoolgirl over a simple touch.

“What was that you said?” he asks, his voice dripping with honey. “You don’t know what I’m talking about?”

You swallow and bite the inside of your cheek. The pain does nothing to clear the fog inside your mind. “I-I don’t, I-”

“You do,” he interrupts, his thumb still toying with your lip. “You’re so fucking obvious. I bet you’re wet already, aren’t you?”

“Mr. Sugawara!” His lewd words make you gasp, but more than anything, you hate the fact that he’s right. Your body has a mind of its own, and it wants nothing more than to wrap your lips around his thumb and pull him closer. It wants to feel his arms wrapped around you, feel his body towering over you.

But you can’t. As much as you want to, you can’t, because you have a husband at home who’s waiting for you. Sure, he isn’t home right now, because he’s putting in extra hours at the office. And sure, he hasn’t touched you or made you feel desired in weeks. Hell, you haven’t had a genuine conversation in weeks. But he’s still your husband! You try and remind yourself of that. You roll the thought around in your head, hoping that it’ll push your thoughts of Sugawara away.

But the young teacher is persistent, and there’s a glimmer in his eye that makes your chest tighten. “Call me Koushi, princess.”

“Don’t call me princess –”

“What, you’re going to pretend that it didn’t make you wetter? Going to pretend that you aren’t clenching your thighs together right now?” He leans in even closer, so that his breath brushes against your ear as he whispers. “Your body doesn’t lie, baby.”

A whine slips past your lips at his words, and then you gasp, mortified with yourself. But the grin that covers his face makes your transgression worth it, because God, he’s handsome. His hand squeezes your chin even tighter, and then trails down to your neck. Your breath catches in your chest. You’re hyperaware of his every movement, of his fingers trailing across your skin, his touch feather-light. It leaves you aching for more.

You instinctively whine again, and he lets out a noise of surprised delight. “Whining like this, and you’re still denying that you want me? What’s got you so embarrassed?”

“I have a husband,” you hiss – or, at least, you try to hiss. It comes out more like a whimper than anything else.

Sugawara looks at you for a beat – and then throws his head back and laughs. It catches you off guard, and you furrow your brow. “Why the fuck are you laughing?”

He collects himself, but his eyes are still gleaming when he looks back at you. “Sure, you have a husband. But that doesn’t stop you from thinking about me, does it? Tell me, when’s the last time that your husband took care of you? When’s the last time that he touched you, or fucked you, or made you feel good?”

“Mr. Sugawara, this is inappropriate–”

“Stop lying to yourself.” His voice suddenly drops, his stare forceful and deadly serious. “Say the word, and I’ll go. We can pretend this never happened. But anyone with eyes can tell that you’re unsatisfied.”

“I…I don’t…” Your thoughts feel like a wave, building higher and higher. They bounce around your head, reverberating against your skull, so loud that you can’t even think.

“Why are you settling?”

“Mr. Sugawara, please, I–”

“Why are you settling, when you know you want more?”

The wave crests.

You don’t know who moves first, but somehow, your fingers are tangled in his hair, and his lips are slotted against yours. It’s not soft, or sweet – it’s a mess of teeth and tongues and feverish breaths. His hands are everywhere. They trail over your skin, explore the curves of your chest and your stomach, grip tightly at your waist to pull you closer.

“Mr. Sugawara,” you pant against his lips. Your lungs scream for oxygen, but you can’t bear to drag yourself away from him for even a second. He kisses so well. It may be rushed, and messy, but there’s so much hunger behind his actions that it makes your head spin. It’s like his lips are a live wire, and every second that they touch yours, they send a thousand volts of electricity arcing through your body.

“Koushi,” he breathes. “Call me Koushi, please.” You nod, and then hurriedly undo the buttons of his shirt, popping a few off in the process. Neither of you care. His hands finally dip beneath the hem of your dress, and he wastes no time in unceremoniously tugging it off your body.

Your hands instinctively go to cover yourself. Age and childbirth have changed your body, and you know that Mr. Sugawara – no, Koushi – is probably used to beautiful young women. You still don’t understand why his eye landed on you. He surely has dozens of girls his age fawning over him, with flat stomachs and perky tits. Why you?

He grips your wrists and pries your hands away from your body. “Don’t do that,” he says, so gentle in contrast to the fire from just moments ago. “Don’t cover yourself up. You’re beautiful.”

Oh.

You can’t remember the last time that someone called you beautiful. You can’t remember the last time that you felt beautiful.

But right now, with Koushi staring at you, eyes blown out with lust… you feel it.

He sinks onto his knees, lips already pressing little kisses against your hips and upper thighs. You try and protest – really, Koushi, you don’t have to – but he shushes you instantly. He hooks one of your thighs over his shoulder and dives in without hesitation. Even through the fabric of your panties, you’re in fucking heaven. His tongue laves against your clit, focusing so much attention onto the swollen bead that you can’t help but let out a moan.

You slap your hand over your mouth to silence yourself. You’re in an elementary school, for God’s sake. The bake sale is at the other side of the large building, but you’re terrified of someone walking past and catching you. Guilt swirls around your heart, but it’s quick to dissipate when Koushi tugs your panties off and throws them over his shoulder. He buries himself into your cunt again, and it’s even better without the barrier. The coil in your stomach is tightening embarrassingly fast, but you can’t seem to find it in yourself to care. His tongue laps at your folds, slurping lewdly.

The pleasure is overwhelming. Your body moves of its own accord. Your hips grind against Koushi’s face, and he moans right into your cunt. His lips move up to your clit again, alternating between licking and sucking. You’re so focused on his mouth that you barely notice his fingers, so long and pretty, collecting your wetness.

You do notice when he fucks two of those pretty fingers into you. He immediately starts scissoring his fingers to stretch you out, before hooking them against that spot inside of you that makes your head spin. Your entire body is shaking with euphoria, so much that you can’t handle it.

“Close,” you cry out, trying to keep yourself upright. “Close, close, please, don’t stop!”

He moans into you again when you tug at his hair. It’s the push that you need to finally fall over the edge. You bite into your palm to keep from screaming as you gush all over him, chest heaving and eyes tearing up.

He keeps curling his fingers, keeps lapping at your clit, until you tug on his hair and cry that the overstimulation is too much. As he lets your leg down and stands up, he makes a show of licking your cum off his fingers, slurping on them loudly. It would make you embarrassed, but you’re too focused on his other hand as it dips down to his belt. The muscles of his stomach flex as he undoes the buckle. You take the opportunity to rake your eyes over his toned torso. He seems so slender when he’s dressed, but his shoulders are surprisingly broad.

He looks up at you with a little smirk. “Caught you staring,” he teases. You blush as he pulls his pants and boxers down in one go, freeing his cock. It’s already hard, and so pretty, just like him. His tip is red and dripping with precum. You want so badly to get a taste, but Koushi has other plans. He spins you by your shoulders, and then presses at the small of your back to make you lay across his desk.

You groan when you feel him slap his cock against your ass a few times, before running it through your folds to collect your wetness. “Please,” you gasp. “No teasing, please.”

“Just came, and you’re already needy?” he chuckles. “That husband of yours must really not be satisfying you.”

You’re spared from having to think of a retort by him sinking into you. A cry leaves your lips, but it’s too good for you to even care about the sound. He feels like heaven as he sinks into you. His cock stretches you out deliciously.

You’re already feeling delirious as he starts to shallowly thrust and work his way in. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he mutters under his breath, more to himself than to you. “So – fuck…”

You can’t do anything but moan and scratch at the table as he starts to fuck into you in earnest. His cock is perfectly curved to hit your spot every time, and soon you’re reduced to a mess underneath him. His balls slap against your ass with every thrust. It hurts, it’s all too much, but it’s so fucking good. You don’t think you’ve ever felt pleasure like this – mind numbing and all consuming, so powerful that it makes your eyes roll back.

“Fuck,” he groans again, bending down so that he can loom over you and leave little bites all over your back and shoulders. “Not gonna last if you keep squeezing me like that, shit!”

“Faster, please,” you beg, and he obliges. He sets an absolutely brutal pace, somehow managing to fuck you hard, fast, and at the perfect angle all at once. Moans and cries spill freely out of your open mouth. When he reaches forward to toy with your clit, it’s all too much, and it sends you over the edge again. Your body practically spasms as he fucks you through your second orgasm. He shows you no mercy, gives you no time to come down. You don’t know if you’re coming again, or if you just never stopped. Your mind is hazy with pleasure and overstimulation.

You’re a twitching mess by the time that he pulls out, but you still whine at the loss. You’re far too fucked out to turn around and look at him, but in the corner of your consciousness, you can hear him panting and stroking himself furiously. His moans are so beautiful. Within a few short seconds, he’s coming all over your ass, painting your pretty skin white with his seed.

You don’t know how long you’re laying there before he taps your cheek to get your attention. “C’mon now,” he says, a tired smile on his face. “Let’s get you cleaned up. We wouldn’t want your husband finding out, would we?”

#sugawara x reader #sugawara x reader smut #sugawara smut #haikyuu x reader smut #haikyu x reader smut #haikyu x reader #haikyuu x reader #sugawara koshi x reader #koushi sugawara #sugawara #haikyuu #haikyu #haikyuu smut #haikyuu imagines #haikyu smut #tw: dubcon #tw: infidelity #tw: overstimulation #tw: dumbification #suga x reader #🌘.collabs!!

[buckyownsmylife]

Somewhere only we know - Steve Rogers/Reader/Bucky Barnes smut

The one where your married best friends ask you for an anniversary gift: for you to sleep with them.

Warnings: poliamory, squirting, p in v, p in a, threesome, anal fingering, oral (f, m, performed by m and f), dirty talk, curse words.

A/N: Prompts for today were Double penetration + squirting. I really, really loved creating this universe where Bucky and Steve were married and I loved this reader, so I think I might be adding more fics about their relationship in the future.

Bucky’s P.O.V.

I could see that she was nervous. Even if I wasn’t one of her bestfriends (or a trained killing machine), it was pretty obvious by the way she was biting on her lower lip and avoiding both mine and Steve’s eyes.

She’d never been timid around us before. In fact, I couldn’t even remember a single time I’d seen this spitfire of a woman silent, much less uncomfortable. She just had this way about her, this confidence about who she was and of her own worth that stopped anyone who might try to treat her like something simple. She really was anything but.

Which is why the way she was behaving, so out of character for both herself and our relationship, brought a heavy weight to my heart.

“Sweetheart,” I called out, approaching where she was sitting on mine and Steve’s bed before stroking her cheek softly, silently asking her to look me in the eyes again. “You know you can say no, right? We don’t want to do anything you’re uncomfortable with. You’re way more important to us than our attraction to you and this silly fantasy that we created.”

I watched as she blinked twice, and from the corner of my eye, I can see Steve approaching, suddenly catching onto the change of circumstances. Bless his heart, as much as he truly loved this girl, he really was an airhead when it came to women and their feelings, always needing Y/N to spell out what was going on in her life for him to understand that something was wrong. But what he suffered in distraction, he certainly compensated in his caring heart.

I knew better than anyone how my husband could be when he deeply loved someone, and I also knew just how deep both of our feelings ran for her.

“He’s right, Y/N.” The bed dipped as he sat on her other side, reaching for one of the hands on her lap to run his thumb over the back of it. “If you’re worried about finding us another anniversary gift, you can always relent and give me your brownie recipe.”

She snorted, and just that silly sound had the tension on my shoulders suddenly disappearing, a silly smile opening up as I realized that I just might have read her wrong in the midst of my own nervousness over what we were about to do.

“I don’t know what’s more stupid, the fact that you both think I don’t want this or that you actually believe I’d ever give you my family recipe, Stevie.” The words were said in her usual non-bullshit tone and just like that, we were all back to being bestfriends and not a couple about to fuck their closest friend. We laughed, and Steve and I took the opportunity to graze our eyes over her body, tonight clad in a little summer dress that really had no reason to be as tempting as it looked, but the truth was that anything she wore enticed me. 

God, how I wanted her.

She drew in a sharp breath before finally spilling out, “I'm just nervous, that’s all. And maybe a little bit confused. Like, what is this? Something to spice up your decades old relationship? How did you even come to decide on doing this with me? Don’t you think it’s going to ruin our friendship? What about…?”

Steve and I exchanged one of our significant looks before he swiftly covered her mouth with his palm, effectively silencing her. “Calm down, doll. Deep breaths. Of course it won’t ruin our friendship.”

I stopped then, opting to let my husband take the lead of the conversation. Y/N’s eyes followed mine, although her head was somewhat restricted by the weight of Steve’s hand, and she raised an eyebrow in curiosity when he opened his mouth only to close it a few times.

“This isn’t just an… exotic experience to us,” he started, and I nodded in agreement. “We’ve actually been thinking about opening our relationship to embrace one other person for sometime now.”

Her eyes grew huge, the weight of our words clearly surprising her. It was silent in the room for a while when she didn’t immediately offer any response, until my stupid boy realized he still had his hand over her lips, obstructing her speech.

“Sorry,” he sheepishly smiled, making her roll her eyes but smile back at him with fondness. God, how I loved them. My heart pounded desperately against my chest, terrified of her reaction, fiercely hopeful to have her as mine too.

“For how long?” Was her question when she finally was free to speak, and I chuckled lowly, my eyes never straying from hers.

“Ever since we met.”

Y/N’s P.O.V.

My breath hitched as I felt like my heart stopped beating for a few seconds, Bucky’s words barely processing in my swirling brain. I didn’t know what to say, which was never a good thing when it came to me, but how could one so simply deal with the fact that her married best friends who she had secretly longed for had been interested in her all this time? 

So all it came out of my mouth was, “You’re telling me we’ve all been crushing on each other for three fucking years and you only now got the courage to talk to me about it? And using sex as an excuse?” I scoffed, crossing my arms while fake pouting. “I expected more from the both of you, seriously.”

Their roars of laughter were just breathy enough for me to know that they had been nervously anticipating my reaction, which was understandable. For all the hard time I was giving them, I knew how… peculiar this entire situation was, and I couldn’t really say I’d behave any differently if I was in their shoes.

“Well, you know…” One of Steve’s fingers trailed down my jaw before turning my head to face him, and I fucking shivered at how the stupidly simple touch ignited fire in my veins. “It is a decades-long marriage. We couldn’t just very well open it to someone who we didn’t really know and love, just because we were attracted to her.”

“And believe me, sweetheart…” This time, it was Bucky’s voice talking by my ear and Bucky’s fingers tracing over my exposed collarbones, before he leaned down to place a sweet kiss between them. “We’ve been dreaming about fucking you senseless ever since we met.”

A beat as I let their words rush simmer the arousal built inside of me. “Well, don’t you fellas know just how to get a woman going?” Another pair of breathless chuckles, this time for a completely different reason, and I felt Steve squeeze the hand he still held in his.

“Can we kiss you, sweetheart?” He asked, and I found myself swooning - not for the first time - under the blue of his eyes, a soft smile on my lips before I licked them in preparation, quickly nodding.

“Yes,” I breathed out, my gaze falling down to his beautifully pink lips. “Please,” I urged, ignoring the cheshire cat grin that took over his entire face when he realized just how desperate I was for them.

Kissing Steve was everything I thought it would be, except reality felt nicer than even my most realistic dreams. His lips were soft against mine, slowly taking control of our movements before prying them open to accept his tongue.

He tasted like the wine we had shared and I was hooked already. But then a rough beard tickled my neck as Bucky nuzzled his face against it, and I turned around to grant him the same treatment, excited to know how he tasted too.

He was more eager, his hand quickly pulling me by my nape to meet his mouth as mine cradled his face. Instinctively, I knew that despite his rough ways, he liked to be touched softly, and that only became more obvious when I let my own hands fall to the back of his neck, scratching the skin there with care.

Steve’s P.O.V.

I watched with fascination as my husband fell apart in Y/N’s soft hands, my pants growing more uncomfortable each second. A strangled moan escaped Bucky’s lips and I knew he had his tongue inside her mouth now, exploring her sweet taste just like I’d been doing just minutes before.

By the way he easily pulled her to sit on his lap, it was clear that he enjoyed it, just like I did. She was straddling him now, and it didn’t take much longer on their makeout session for her to start unconsciously rubbing herself over his crotch.

My mouth watered at the thought of him being half as hard as I was. Automatically, my hand went over the bulge on my jeans, palming it, feeling it without any urge to take care of myself whatsoever. I knew there was a long night of exploration ahead of us and I wanted it to be the best any of us had ever had.

So I started by massaging Y/N’s scalp, a reminder for her to pull away and breathe, because I was desperate to have a taste of my husband. “Do you mind scooting over, darling? I want to show you something.”

She went without resistance, resuming her previous spot in our bed while I sank down to my knees in front of Bucky, who looked at me with lust-filled eyes and reddened lips that I briefly kissed before my hands made quick work of the fly on his jeans.

“Stand back and watch the show,” I whispered, winking at her when she gasped as Bucky’s cock became visible and I immediately went to work, my lips stretching to accommodate his thickness even after so many years on my knees for him. Even only half-hard, he was still impressive, and it only took a few bobs of my head for him to grow to his complete size.

“Fuck.” I let go of Bucky’s cock with a pop to look at Y/N, who had made herself comfortable by our headboard and now had her fingers under the skirt of her dress, her eyes going from my mouth to the member I still held in my close fist.

“Now, we didn’t say you could touch yourself, did we, pretty girl?” I smacked my lips as I crawled on top of the bed to kiss her before making my way back, Bucky and I exchanging a few loving glances as we undressed in front of her. Then, he beckoned her to the edge of the bed before signaling for her to raise her arms before taking off her dress, leaving her in just her panties.

My eyes were immediately attracted to her breasts, admiring the weight, the aureolas. I itched to suck on one of her nipples, maybe while Bucky did the same on the other, but for now, I knew he had other pressing needs, so I just knelt once more, taking her underwear with me until she was completely bare in front of us.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I saw Bucky exchange another silent conversation with Steve before his husband nodded, climbing on the other side of the bed while the brunette man came to stand by the foot of it. “Lay down,” he ordered, already wrapping a hand around my ankle and tugging, forcing me to do as he said. “Spread those legs.”

Man, I liked this dominant Bucky.

He noticed my staring, suddenly realizing the reason for my fascination, but instead of apologizing, he just smirked. “I’ve been dying to taste that pussy,” was his admission, and suddenly there was no more air in my lungs. Steve’s chuckle right by my ear made me realize that they both could see right through me, and so I surrendered, opening my legs and exposing just how wet this situation had made me. 

“How long has it been since you’ve eaten pussy?” I blurted out, honestly curious and so fucking horny I couldn’t even find it in myself to be embarrassed. I was expecting a few laughs, but to my surprise, the response I got was a very serious, “For how much I enjoyed it, too fucking long. Come here.”

Once again, he didn’t give me a chance to obey him, instead pulling me even further down so his face was just inches away from my glistening cunt, and the feeling of his hot breath over it had me panting in anticipation.

But of course, I should have known that Bucky Barnes would be a fucking tease. 

“You smell so sweet,” he murmured against the soft skin on the inside of my thighs, where he kissed and licked and sucked while Steve deposited sweet, wet kisses over my chest before finally wrapping his beautiful lips on one of my nipples.

“Ste-Steve…” I moaned, buring my fingers on his locks so I could pull them while chasing away his teeth when he released one of my breasts in search of the other. “Fuck, then why are you teasing me so much?” I asked Bucky, trying to get him to come closer to where I was dripping for him, but he only looked up at me with those mischievous fucking eyes.

“It’s called building anticipation, darling.” 

I honestly didn’t care for it.

“If you touch me right fucking now, I’ll let you do anything to me. Both of you.” That caught their attention. I watched Bucky lift his head to meet his husband’s gaze, another silent conversation between them before his eyes returned to me.

“Anything?” he confirmed, and my body shuddered in expectation.

“Anything.” He didn’t hesitate any longer after that, immediately diving in to taste my pussy with a hunger I had never witnessed in any of my past lovers. Or even in porn, actually. He moaned at the first taste of my wetness, and my thighs already trembled from the reverberations of that simple sound.

“So sweet,” he whispered, and then he was lapping me eagerly, and my moans were echoing around their bedroom before Steve pulled me to kiss him again. He liked to make out, I realized, starting to file my little discoveries for future reference.

Bucky’s P.O.V.

Fuck. I’d always liked to eat a girl out, I could remember that, but I swear, no one had ever tasted as good as the beauty I had sprawled out in front of me. Dipping my tongue in her hole one more, I hummed before lifting it to play with her little nub before repeating the process, making sure to nudge her clit with my nose when I was fucking her with my tongue.

A symphony of moans reached my ears, male and female intertwined, prompting me to open my eyes and trail them up Y/N’s body to find her and Steve kissing deeply. The sight made my heart grow twice its size, and I smiled against her cunt as I watched them make out while Steve slowly teased his own cock.

Of course, Y/N wouldn’t have it. Oh, no. The second she realized where his hand was, she wrapped hers over it, assuming the control over his movements until he allowed her to do as she pleased, letting his hand fall back on the bed.

“Actually, you know what?” She suddenly asked, sitting up before waving me off of her. I was about to complain, not ready to separate myself from her taste just yet, but that was until she flipped around and crawled between my husband’s legs, wrapping her hand on his boner before taking it into her mouth.

I was so completely taken away by how hot the whole image was - her on all fours, Steve with his head thrown back as the slurping sounds of her sloppy blowjob surrounded us - that I almost missed the fact that she was shaking her fantastic ass at me, presenting her pussy for me to feast upon again.

Guess I was doing something right, then. I buried my face in her cunt again, licking her from behind and rejoicing in this opportunity that I dreamed about for so long. I couldn’t even remember how many times both Steve and I had made each other cum just talking about what we would do if we ever got the chance to have her in bed with us, and now here we all were. Together.

Trailing my fingers up her thighs, I finally pushed two of them inside, swirling them around in an effort to find her sweet spot. I didn’t manage to locate it that easily, but I figured, we had time. For now, I had other plans in mind.

I collected some of her wetness with two of my fingers before raising them to circle her puckered hole, and she moaned in response to the new touch. Good. I wanted her to desire this as much as we did.

I slowly pushed a single finger in her ass, relishing in the way she thrust back against it, crying out around Steve’s cock. “That’s a good girl, taking my finger so easily inside this pretty little ass.” I had to slap one of her cheeks, I itched to see it bounce. She continued to move against my finger, so I figured it was safe to do the same.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

The second I felt Bucky’s finger inside my ass, I knew what the last silent conversation between him and the man whose cock was currently between my lips was about. And I couldn’t wait for it.

“Bucky, please���” I released Steve’s beautiful cock momentarily, too overcome with desire to be able to suck on it properly. “Please, give me another.” Abruptly, his lips left mine, and I looked over my shoulder to find him staring at me with wide eyes.“Oh, fuck, I wanna hear you moan my name again.”

“Put another finger in my ass and I will.” He didn’t wait another minute before doing just so, and I fucking cried out at the feeling of being stretched open, already yearning for the feeling of one of their cocks replacing Bucky’s fingers.

“Fuck, Y/N, I had no idea you were so into this. I love the way you look with my fingers deep inside your ass.” Fucking hell, Bucky’s mouth was just sinful. And he got his wish, because as I fucked myself back into his fingers, all I could say were versions of his name, under Steve’s watchful gaze. His cock throbbed in his fist, and that’s when I took it upon myself to stop Bucky’s actions.

“Okay, okay. Fuck, I need you inside of me right now. Both of you.” Steve reached out to pull me over his lap, so I was straddling him, and I took the opportunity to once again substitute his hand with mine, lightly jerking him off as I heard Bucky look around for some lube.

“Are you sure you can take us?” I cocked an eyebrow at the blond man underneath me, a true work of art. I wanted to play it off as irritated, but I could only find giddiness inside of me over everything that was happening, so I leaned down and captured his lips with mine, releasing his cock to rub myself against it.

“Just get inside of me, will ya?” I rubbed the mushroom head against my clit before slowly sinking down on him, biting my lip at the beautiful moan Steve released upon feeling my walls clamping on him. And then I braced myself for Bucky’s cock.

Ironically enough, as I gasped from the feeling of being so amazingly filled, they both hissed, four hands pressing down on me in a clear sign that they were already dangerously close to coming. I inhaled sharply, taking sick pleasure on the burn of being so stretched out as I waited for them to start moving. And when they did, I simply let myself go, allowing them to use my body as they thought best.

“Fuck, darling, do you know how fucking great it fells to be inside of you?” Steve asked, his hands cradling my face to pull me into another breathtaking kiss. “You’ve been teasing us like hell all those years, we were going crazy.”

Steve’s P.O.V.

“He’s right, baby girl.” Bucky couldn’t take his eyes away from mine as he continued, “Do you know how many times I fucked Steve in this very bed, pretending you were here too?” The sounds that were escaping her were better than any music, and it was getting harder and harder to focus on not bursting inside of her tight, wet pussy.

Both Bucky and I had been wanting her for so long, the need to worship every inch of her body was strong inside of us, but hopefully, we’d have other opportunities to take our time. For now, I knew we needed her to cum, and soon.

I pressed her clit as Bucky’s hands went to graze her nipples before harshly pulling on them, and she sobbed as her hands covered ours. “Please don’t stop, please.” Fuck. Hearing her beg was torture, but the sweetest one possible.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Cum around our cocks like a good girl. Don’t you want to be our good girl?” The fact that those words were the ones who did it for her brought us excitement like nothing else. So much so that when she finally relaxed, falling against my chest, it only took a little incentive for us to meet our highs, too.

“Do you like that, doll? Do you like the idea of being ours? Our sweet, pretty girl?” Bucky was brushing her hair away from her face so we could get a better look of her, but all we got was another sob as she trembled in my arms. 

“Please be ours, sweetheart,” I urged, holding her face so she’d look me in the eyes. “Say you’ll be ours.”

“Fuck, yes, I’m yours, I’m yours.” As both of our cocks twitched inside of her, an explosion of wetness started to drip on the duvet underneath our bodies, all the while Y/N’s body kept trembling.

“Did you just… squirt?” My husband’s face was priceless, and I didn’t need to look down to know that his cock still hadn’t softened, despite the strengths of our orgasms.

“There’s a lot you still don’t know about me,” she yawned, adjusting her head on my chest, my cock still throbbing inside of her warm heaven. “Classes start in twenty minutes. The professor just needs a quick nap for now.”

➡ click here to read about the progression of their relationship

#my fics #kinktober #kinktober 2020 #steve rogers smut #smut #bucky barnes smut #steve rogers #bucky barnes #avengers smut #marvel smut #steve rogers reader #bucky barnes reader #steve rogers fics #steve rogers fic #bucky barnes fics #bucky barnes fic

[mermaidxatxheart]

Better Together Chapter 6

ok, I know it's been a while. I'm sorry for the long time in between posts. I'm working on several stories at once, or at least trying to, while also trying to get accustomed to a promotion and new job responsibilities at work. Thanks to everyone who's stuck with me. I really appreciate you all. My work is no to be reposted anywhere without my permission.

Pairing: Poe Dameron X Reader

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings: Violence, panic, Poe being soft, Bryce being a dick. I think we can just assume that will be a permanent tag.

Series Master List

Chapter Five

You try to sit up with a strangled scream, but you end up bouncing your head off the plastic dome monitoring your vitals.

“Hey, it’s okay.” A voice to your left says. The voice is… familiar, but it’s not the one you really wanted to hear. But at the same time, you’re grateful you don’t hear that voice.

You roll your head to see Bryce, your boyfriend. He’s your boyfriend. He won’t hurt you. You can relax.

Why aren’t you relaxing?

“You’re safe now. Back home where you belong.” He says gently, reaching for your hand. You flinch away and he frowns, pausing.

“S-sorry.” You rasp, closing your eyes.

“It’s cool.” He lifts the dome and moves to get your clothes at the foot of the table. “Come on. Get dressed, we’ll get you something to eat.” He says, setting them next to you.

You try to speak again, but your voice is just as rough, only this time you don’t know if it’s from being quiet for so long, or the raw emotions destroying you. You clear your throat painfully. “H-how’s Poe?” You ask, nearly stuttering over his name.

“Dameron is fine. Been annoying all the women ever since he got back.” Bryce rolls his eyes. He doesn’t catch the way you shrink in on yourself as you sit up.

So, Poe doesn’t...want to...see you. The words struggle in your mind. He’s… he’s probably trying to forget what you did to him. No wonder he doesn’t want to see you.

“Can you step outside so I can get dressed?” You ask quietly.

“Babe, it’s not like I haven’t seen it before.” He says and you lower your head. “Fine. Just, don’t take too long. I’m starving.” He says, walking out and shutting the door loudly behind you. You jump at the sudden snap of it and squeeze your eyes shut.

You can’t handle the commissary right now. It’s always packed full of people, loud, claustrophobic. You carefully get dressed, trying not to notice all the new marks on your body. You’re careful of the fresh stitches covering your arms, legs, stomach, and back. Careful not to pull the bandages holding you together.

You’re dressed faster than you want to be, stepping carefully out of the room. It still doesn’t feel safe, it feels like you should be hiding. You tug the long sleeves down further, wishing you had more to cover you.

“Come on.” He slings his arm around your shoulders and you tense as the weight settles on you. “I missed you.” He says softly, but you don’t feel comforted by his words. They turn to ice in your veins. He practically has to drag you along, your nerves stretching and spiking with each step, with every noise.

“I-I’m not hungry.” You protest, trying to dig your heels in. You can hear the loud room from here.

“Y/N, you have to eat.” He says firmly.

“N-n—“ you stammer, trying to push away from him. He sighs and scoops you up over his shoulder, carrying you along easily. Pain flares through you as your stitches pull. He’s not careful with you. Either he doesn’t know, or he doesn’t care. You try to struggle, you don’t care if he drops you. At least then you could get away.

“Y/N, I swear to the Maker, stop struggling. These are your friends. They want to know you’re okay.”

“What if I’m not?” You snap, the fear boiling over. You want to go to your room. You want to hide. You want to be alone. You want Poe.

He stops and considers for a minute before continuing on. “You can’t hide forever, Y/N.”

“Bryce, please, please!”

He walks inside and sets you down none too gently in a chair at a table full of people. “Look who’s finally awake.” He says loudly. Your teeth jar, biting down on your tongue from the abrupt impact.

There are five whole heartbeats where everyone is just staring at you. Something claws its way up your throat in the eerie silence, and then everything just explodes.

Voices, chairs moving, hands touching you, patting you on the shoulder, or touching your leg. The lights get too bright, you can’t see anything. You feel like they’re all climbing on top of you, too much weight. You can’t breathe. You try to suck in a breath, but it’s like your lungs won’t expand.

You bolt.

You’re not proud of it, but you shove through all the people and fly for the door. Blind twists and turns down hallways you don’t remember seeing, and couldn’t remember in the moment. You can barely hear your name being shouted behind you, but you can’t stop, can’t look back. You just know you’ve ripped stitches in your thighs, and stomach. You don’t care. Your only thought is escape. Hyper flight mode.

A hand grabs you from the darkness, pulling you in and pinning you against the wall. You fight, slapping and hitting against your assailant as you sob, gasping raggedly.

“Y/N! It’s me, stop it!!” Poe shouts, grabbing your wrists. “It’s Poe, it’s me. Stop.” He says, holding your hands against his chest until you stop fighting him.

You think you gasp his name, your legs give out on you and you sink to your knees in front of him, sobbing. He doesn’t let go of your wrists, just loosens his grip. Relief washes through you as you realize who it is.

“Breathe. Just breathe. Big, slow breaths for me, sweetheart.” He whispers, slowly kneeling in front of you.

“P-Poe—“

“I know. Sh, it’s okay. I’m right here.” He wraps his arms around you tightly, hugging you to him.

He shouldn’t be doing this for you, not after everything you put him through. Guilt roils through you, choking off your air. You start to pull away but he doesn’t let go. His fingers braid in your disheveled hair and you can’t help but sink into him a little more.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there when you woke up. I wanted to be.” He exhales in a rush, burying his face in your hair.

“Why—why would you want that?” You hiccup, keeping your face away from him.

“Because you’re my best friend? Why would you think I wouldn’t want to be there?”

“B-because,” you try taking a deep breath.

He seems to realize that you’re shivering on the cold ground. “Let’s get out of here. Do you wanna go back to medbay or your room?” He asks, easing you out of his arms and standing up.

You hesitate, suddenly not knowing how to ask him to stay. It’s selfish, you know it is, after everything you’ve put him through, to want him to suffer even longer.

“I don’t think I was actually discharged.” You mumble, pulling yourself to your feet on your own. It’s a massive effort.

He makes a noise in the back of his throat and steps to the door. He looks up and down the hallway before looking back at you. “It’s all clear.”

“I don’t even know what part of the complex I’m in.” You admit, dropping your head back. In the forest, you knew exactly where to go. But on a planet you’ve called home for how long? You’re lost.

Useless.

“Okay. Come on.” He holds out his hand and you’re so tempted to take it. But you don’t. Instead, you walk to the door with him and carefully slip out without touching him. You’ve done enough damage.

He follows after a small minute and leads you down the hallway. “You never answered my question.” He starts suddenly and you look up at him. His face has too many cuts, a deep bruise under his eye, a split lip. It hurts you to look at him. More guilt.

It’s your fault.

You could pretend to be ignorant. Not remember the question to stall for time. Claim sudden hearing loss. But you never could lie to him, and you don’t want to start now. You know exactly what question.

“I didn’t think you would want to be there. Not when this whole thing is my fa-fault.” You mumble, your voice cracking on the last word. You hate yourself for putting him through this. You hate yourself for feeling like a damsel in distress and not being able to fight back the way you should have.

He stops walking and stares at you. His forehead crinkled in confusion.

“You think—“ he starts, his voice incredulous, but is promptly cut off by a medical droid beeping angrily at you.

“Yeah, got it. Back to bed.” You mumble, taking one last look at a stunned Poe before following the droid the rest of the way.

The droid gets you back into a medical bed, looking almost as if it wants to restrain you to keep you there. You clutch your hands to your chest, not wanting to be restrained.

“I won’t go anywhere.” You promise. The droid beeps and rolls away, the door sliding shut behind it. You cross your legs and lay back, wincing at the pull in your ribs. On the list of things that hurt, the ribs are kind of low. But they’re drawing the most attention at the moment. The droid comes back after a moment, making quick work of fixing your stitches, hopefully for the last time. It rolls away and you’re left in agonizing silence. You stare at the ceiling, counting the cracks.

The door opens again and Leia walks in. You freeze, wondering what she could possibly want from you. Poe’s words flash through your mind. Do you think Leia is sobbing uncontrollably right now? She certainly looks tired, but not necessarily like she was heartbroken that you were gone for… for… you can’t remember how long you were in that place. You break out into a sweat. What else have you forgotten?

“Y/N,” she starts solemnly. “I’m so glad you’re back with us and awake.” She sits on the edge of your bed and you don’t know if this is protocol or not. Is it normal? You don’t say anything, you simply wait for her to continue, she’ll get to her point eventually. “Poe told me about what happened, I’d like your report as well, whenever you feel up to it. I know you must still be exhausted.” She says.

So, all business.

She probably didn’t even notice you weren’t there.

You nod once. You can be all business, too. “I’ll have it for you by tomorrow.” You say and she blinks.

“I didn’t mean—“

“You need it. You’ll have it.”

“Poe told me you were incredibly brave.” She says, watching your face as she speaks. She’s clearly looking for something.

“He—“ you cut off. You had been about to say that he exaggerates, or was lying. But then she would think that she can’t trust her most loyal commander. She slowly arches an eyebrow as you struggle to think. “He’s too kind. I was terrified. Did more harm than good.”

“Hmm. Well, in any case. I know you’re still healing. Bacta is useful, but it can’t heal everything overnight. Get some rest.” She stands up. “And,” she pauses and turns back to you. “If you need to talk, about anything at all, I’m here to listen.” She says pointedly. You nod once and she heads for the door, stopping only long enough for it to hiss open.

You slump back against the pillows, gritting your teeth against the sudden pain. It’s odd how sometimes you don’t feel it at all, and other times it’s all you can feel. You feel like you’ve been going nonstop for days and days. You need to think, to rest. You need to stand up to Bryce next time. You’re not just a scientist, you’re a damn good pilot-only second to Poe, and you’re one of the best shots on base. He can’t just push you around like he did.

You need to think, sort out what was real and what was panic. You close your eyes and try to hold as still as possible. The faces are the faces of your friends, this isn’t some First Order trick. They aren’t trying to hurt you.

But… then… Why was Poe shouting when he got off the ship? Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. Maybe you really are losing your mind.

The door hisses open and you jerk upright, instantly grabbing your side. Bryce tosses his jacket onto the chair next to your bed and crosses his arms, turning slowly to glare at you.

“Was that fun for you? You made me look like an idiot out there.” He snaps and you want to hurl something heavy at his head.

“I don’t want to talk to you right now. I’m tired.” You say, wishing there was a more final way to say that, like shutting a door in his face.

“You just slept for three days!” He shouts, throwing his hands up.

“Get. Out!” You shove yourself off your bed, ignoring the screaming pain in your ribs and back. “Get the fucking fuck out! I told you I wasn’t kriffing ready but you didn’t fucking listen. You never fucking listen! I just want some peace. Maker!” You shove him backwards through the door, bouncing it off its track. You feel the pop in your wrist, burning hot pain flares up your arm. “For once in your life, try to see things from someone else’s perspective.” You snap, going back into your room.

“Whoa, hey. I’m sorry, okay?”

You pick up the heavy decoration on the side table and throw it as hard as you can. If he hadn’t moved his stupidly perfect head, it would have hit him right in the face. Unfortunately, he does move and it crashes into the floor behind him, breaking into pieces. Good, more ammo for next time.

“I don’t want to hear your apologies! I want. To be. Alone!”

He holds up his hands and backs down the hallway. You walk around to the other side of the bed, sinking to the floor so that no one will see you. Your hands are trembling as you try to breathe. Your sides begin to ache for another reason altogether, and you realize you aren’t even breathing because you’re trying not to cry.

You let out a ragged gasp, covering your face in humiliation. Rocking forward, you rest your face on the ground, letting yourself hurt with every silent sob. You deserve all the pain. A curious beep reaches your ears and you cover your mouth, forcing yourself to keep quiet. You know, somewhere in the back of your mind, you need to get your new injuries checked out. You definitely did damage to your wrist. You feel a droid roll to a stop next to you, but you're not under control yet.

They beep softly again and nudge you with their big round base. You lift your head to see the familiar orange and white pattern of Poe’s droid, BB8. He rotates his lens up to look at you, and somehow, despite being metal and made of parts, he shows sympathy, worry, concern. He wants to know if you’re okay, if his friend is okay. Your vision goes blurry as your eyes flood with tears all over and he rolls forward, nestling right against your chest. You grip his headpiece, lowering your forehead against it and resting there, shoulders shaking and stomach cramping from the uncomfortable position. But you can’t bring yourself to move just yet.

***

Your head slips to the side and you jerk up, hitting your head against the edge of your bed. BB8 looks up at you, bless his circuit board. He would have stayed there with you for hours if you hadn’t woken yourself up. You wipe your tears and drool off his head.

“Sorry, buddy.” You whisper, voice not wanting to go higher than that. “You should get back to Poe. I’m sure he’s looking for you.”

His head tilts, question unasked in the quiet air.

“I’ll be okay. Thank you, for checking on me, I mean.”

He beeps a rapid-fire and rolls away in search of his master, or is friend a better description at this point? You twist, pulling yourself up and seeing Bryce sitting on the floor in the hallway. His eyes are closed as he rests his head against the wall.

With a sigh, you page for a med droid to come in and check on you. You lay back on your bed, closing your eyes while you wait. You didn’t mean to fall asleep on the poor droid.

Your wrist is checked out and bound. Already on the edge of breaking, shoving your stupid boyfriend pushed it over the edge. The droid tsks about not getting it taken care of right away before wheeling away.

“Can I come in now?” Bryce asks from the hallway.

“No. I’m still mad.” You reply, rolling over. It’s cool in here, settling in your bones in an unfamiliar way. You reach towards the end of the bed for a blanket before you realize there isn’t one there. With a huff, you get up and look around for one with no success.

“What are you looking for?” He asks, pushing himself up with a quiet grunt.

“A blanket. I’m freezing.” You reply, digging through the supply locker in the room.

“I’ll go get you one.” He turns around and disappears, leaving you to settle back down. You can hear those familiar beeps coming down the hallway and that voice you’ve come to depend on since you were taken follows it.

“Yeah, buddy, I know. Always rubbing it in.” Poe sighs.

Bryce comes back, spreading a heavy blanket over you before stepping back awkwardly. “Thanks. I’m sure you have something you need to be doing, Bryce. I’ll be here.” You say, more gently this time and he presses a tender kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll come see you after my shift. We’ll talk then and you can yell at me all you want, okay?” He promises.

You nod, laying your head down on the pillow as he leaves. You can see his shoulders tense as he sees Poe coming towards him. You can hear the little droid beeping in outrage but Poe shushes him.

“Is she awake?” He asks.

“She’s resting. You shouldn’t be here, anyway. Haven’t you done enough, Dameron?” Bryce snaps.

What? No. He’s not to blame! You are!

“Bryce. Go to work.” You call and he looks over his shoulder at you, unable to get rid of the coldness completely before he turns on his heel and storms off.

Poe waits until he can’t see him anymore before coming into your room. “Hi.” He says after a minute and your lips twitch.

“Hi.”

“Have a good nap?” He asks as BB8 chirps next to him.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to keep him here for so long.” You mumble.

Poe snorts. “He’s not sorry, bragged about it for at least ten minutes.” He rolls his eyes and you scoot over on the bed carefully. He eases himself down and takes your newly bandaged hand. “What happened?” He asks with a frown.

“I wasn’t careful. Typical me.” You scoff derisively.

He’s quiet for a long time, his handsome face going through a wide range of emotions as he traces the outline of your fingers. The feeling of it is relaxing, soothing you. Everything about him is comforting, just like he’s always been. Even though you don’t deserve his compassion, his forgiveness.

“Poe,” you start, capturing his hand, even though you could conceivably let him keep doing that forever.

“I have so many things I want to say to you.” He starts, his voice crumpled.

You take a deep breath and nod, steeling yourself for the inevitable. It’s going to hurt, it will break your heart, but he should say it. Tell you he hates you for kissing him, for distracting him, for getting him caught, and all the terrible things that came after it.

“You sa-said before that this is all your fault.” He starts, his eyes very firmly on your hands wrapped around his.

“Because it is.” You answer and his beautiful brown eyes squeeze shut.

“How can you even think that?” His voice cracks and you’ve never seen him so close to tears before. This is the man that’s perpetually in a good mood, everything is an opportunity to make you laugh. Even in the face of certain harm, he’s making jokes.

“Poe, I distracted you. I—“ you glance at the door to look for potential eavesdroppers. “In the river, I ki—“

He covers your mouth softly. You could easily pull his hand away, but you don’t. “We were on a planet where the most dangerous thing was supposed to be a giant butterfly. There was no way to know, no indication of anyone else being on the planet. You didn’t do anything wrong, sweetheart.” He says. You can hear the sincerity in his voice, but you can’t stop the feeling that he’s wrong. You did everything wrong. “And… we don’t have to… to talk about that thing in the river… if you don’t want to.” He stammers, scratching at the back of his neck.

You want to. You want to do it again. But you can’t. Your fingers flex in his before pulling them back against your torso, cutting off all touch with his warm body.

“Leia came to see me earlier.” You change the subject without giving him an answer. You’re not ready to close the book yet, but you can’t open it yet, either.

“Yeah. I gave my debrief.” He says, sounding a little deflated.

“You lied.” You correct and his head snaps up.

“What?”

“You told her I was brave. That was a big, fat lie.” You say and he rolls his eyes.

“You’re impossible.” He takes your hand again. His touch is feather-light, soft, and delicate as he strokes the back of your hand, following the length of your fingers.

“I don’t think she cried.” You say suddenly and he looks up at you.

“Come again?”

“You asked if I thought Leia sobbed uncontrollably while we were gone. I don’t think she even got a stuffy nose.” Your voice turns dark, your secret angry thought slipping out before you can stop it.

“You think she didn’t care?” Poe asks.

“Did you find out how long we were gone?”

“Yeah. Three weeks.” He says, practically choking on it.

“Two weeks over what we were supposed to be gone. You don’t think that’s odd? She didn’t send anyone after her best pilot?”

“Y/N, she has a lot of different responsibilities, to more than just us. We had no contact with anyone prior. How would they have found us? They didn’t have our information yet. They would have been just as lost as we were.” He reasons.

“Ground exploration on a new planet should have more than two people. No matter how good one of them is.” You pull your hand back, angry now.

You don’t want to be angry, not with Poe, of all people. But you can’t stop yourself. He’s rolling over and playing lapdog for his perfect princess, same as he always does. Your cheeks burn with anger.

Hurt crosses his face, his hands suspended where they were. “Both. She sent two of her best people. She sent you, and me because we work so well together. Because we could get it done much faster, quieter, better than anyone else on this base.” He says and your heart wavers.

You don’t want to cause him any more pain. You take a shaky breath. “I’m sorry, I think I just need sleep.” The words sound stiff, forced.

“Do you want me to stay?” He asks, but you shake your head.

“No. I’m just gonna catch a few hours and then get to work on the report for Leia.”

“No, I already did that.” He corrects.

“She asked me for one.”

“I debriefed so you wouldn’t have to go through it again.” He clenches his hands. “I’ll take care of it.” He promises.

“I don’t mind. It might give her a better idea of what a rotten liar you are.” You say, trying to joke.

“I didn’t lie.” He huffs, leaning down and pressing the softest kiss to your forehead. “I’ll leave BB8 with you if you need anything. Come find me when you wake up?”

“Promise.” Your voice cracks at just the wrong moment and he stills, looking down at you.

“I can stay. Just like in the cave.” He offers.

“Go away.”

He gives your hand a gentle squeeze and stands up. “What happened to the door?” He asks.

“I shoved Bryce through it.” You admit and he breaks out into a grin.

“That’s my girl.” He praises before walking through it.

You have to stop yourself from calling him back, from begging him to stay with you. It’s not that you don’t trust anyone else here, they are your friends. But, Poe would understand. He knows what you went through, he understands what it was like. He won’t judge you for being upset. When you lost your temper with him just now, he didn’t get mad, he talked you down.

No, Poe Dameron understands better than anyone what emotions you’re going through right now. He goes through them on a daily basis and has for a long time.

***

You can’t look at him. Every time you do, another wave of guilt threatens to drown you. You kissed him. You kissed him. You have a boyfriend back home, missing you and you went and kissed your best friend. And worse, got said best friend captured by the enemy.

Now, he’s furious with you. Hasn’t said a word in hours. You can’t remember the last thing he said. Did he shush you? Was it your name? You can’t remember. Tears blur your vision as you try to twist your face away from him.

“Shit. Y/N,” he starts. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay. I’ll get us out of this.” He promises.

And just the fact that he thinks that’s what you’re upset about is blindingly frustrating. And that he feels the need to fix your fuck up.

“Why don’t they just kill us?” You ask, forcing the tears not to fall.

“They probably want information on the Resistance.” He clenches his jaw. “Y/N, I never wanted to have to say this to you, but no matter what they do to you, you can’t talk. You can’t tell them anything.” He pleads.

You nod. “Okay. I won’t say anything.” You promise weakly. The idea of being tortured is so out of your realm, you don’t know what to expect. But Poe seems to know something at the very least.

He curses again and you look back at his face. “I promise. I promise I’ll get us out of this.” He thrashes against the metal restraints on the upright table and you worry he’s going to hurt himself.

“I’ll be okay, Poe.” You whisper, but he squeezes his eyes shut.

The door behind you opens and a StormTrooper walks in. You can’t tell if it’s one of the same ones from the forest, but it doesn’t matter. This one is carrying a tray with a cloth covering it.

“Ready to begin?” He asks, voice modulated to fit your nightmares. “Where is your base of rebel scum?” He asks, slowly removing the cloth and picking up a thin blade. He turns towards Poe, sliding the knife under the silver chain around your partner’s neck. His mother’s ring, beautiful as it glints in the light, slowly rotates into view. Poe struggles slightly, giving his restraints another hard yank, but he gets nowhere. The stormtrooper curls his fingers around it, tugging and popping the chain free. He tosses it into the dank corner and it disappears from view. Poe snarls until the trooper lifts the glittering knife again and turns his helmet towards you. You can feel him studying you, sizing you up.

“I said, where is your base of rebel scum?”

Poe looks over at you, and you can see the worry in his eyes. Will he start with you? Or with Poe? When neither of you answers, he turns and slashes out at your best friend. You cry out, thinking he cut his throat, but instead, there’s a small cut on his cheekbone.

“I haven’t got anywhere to be. Let’s begin again.” He says evenly and your stomach clenches uncomfortably.

***

You sit up with a ragged gasp, clutching at your face. Blindly, you find the medical droid and sign yourself out, grabbing the blanket and heading through the halls for the one person you want to see. BB8 rolls after you, chirping quietly. You feel for the chain in your pocket, the weight of it is comforting.

You knock quietly on the door. It’s so late, you shouldn’t be here. The door slides open and he's there in front of you, exhausted and very much alive. He holds out his arms and you step easily into them, heartbeat finally settling.

Poe.

He walks you back inside and lays down on his bed without a single word. No teasing, no jokes. Just him being there for you like always. You wait until he’s comfortable before crawling into bed next to him and laying down, your head resting against his chest.

“I’m sorry.” You mumble.

“Sh. Go to sleep. I’m here.” He says gently, his big, warm hands rubbing your back.

Chapter 7

Everything Tag List:

@everythingisoverrated @psyched2b @shreddedparchment @bitsandbobsandstuff @after-avenging-hours @alexblrus @thinkingsofamadwoman @i-dont-want-to-be-called @thefridgeismybestie @fortheloveofallthatsholy @crazychaotic @pleasureoftheguiltiestvariety @redstarstan @justreadingfics @themistsofmyavalon @sebastianstanslefteyebrow @wkemeup @thiccbinch @glide-thru @elliee1497 @ellaenchanted91 @part-time-patronus @janeyboo @scarlettwitcher @thirstybitchqueen @stuckonjbbarnes @barnesandco @geeksareunique @nicoleplacee @lexshead @gambitsqueen @lokisironthrone @imanuglywombat @also-fangirlinsweden @ravenesque @murdermornings @countryrockmama @starbuckie @kato-ptris @mandos-crest

Star Wars Tag List:

@bookishofalder @doctor-warthrop @acrossthesestars @waterpancakeao3 @generousrunawaydonut @eclipsedplanet @general-latino @marvelobsessiononastick @itsdameron @mads-weasley

#star wars angst #star wars fanfiction #starwars #star wars #fan fiction #poe fanfiction #poe dameron #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron angst #poe dameron fic #poe dameron fluff #poe dameron x reader #poe x you #poe x reader #reader insert #reader fanfiction #poe x y/n #mermaidxatxheart-writes #better together

[narrators-journal]

The final step

This is it boys! The final part! After this, I have no other fic to post, so I’ll probably return to original work or silence lol. But! I’ll try to post what I can to feed ya’ll content!

cw: descriptions of murder, Hint o’ Hisoka, reader’s pregnant

Previous part: here

First part: here

Illumi spent a while helping you pack before the butlers he'd requested showed up, than he returned to his home across the street to pack up as well. After all, with you now on the track to marry him, he would no longer need the home. Though, maybe we could keep it, and use it as something of a vacation spot to escape mother's unrelenting nagging. He mused.

While he was shoving his clothes into his bag and mulling over that option, he spoke to said mother, or, more-so half listened to Kikyo squeal and giggle in pure delight at the news of your pregnancy.        "Mother, please refrain from shrieking in my ear," he said when his excitable mother had to stop for breath,         "I'm sorry dear, but this is such good news! Your father and I were hoping this woman would prove to be a good wife, and while I will say it's a little soon for a baby, this is good news nonetheless!" She squealed, making the assassin huff,        "I know, I should've waited until after I'd married her to consummate," Kikyo about blew a raspberry at his words, making him blink,        "Illumi, we don't care if you decide to have sex before you get married. My only concern is that this woman isn't the right one for you." she said, "Your father would prefer that you choose a woman a bit more suited for our line of work, but if she's really as submissive as you described, I'm sure she'll be a fine addition to the family. Oh! And I'm sure your child will be absolutely adorable! I can't wait to put little booties on them, and absolutely dote on them like you no longer let me do-"          "Mother," Illumi said, though his mother knew despite his monotone voice that he was annoyed.          "Well, you don't." she sniffed before changing the subject. "Anyway, when are you bringing her home? I want to meet her already!" she said, going into a bit of a rant over his failure to even show Kikyo a picture of you, but her son was no longer listening. Instead, Illumi's attention was turned to his surroundings, his senses on high alert from the waves of malicious intent he felt so suddenly from the direction of your home.         "Mother, was Hisoka released?" Illumi asked, his mother's voice dying at the palpable tension coming through the phone,         "I believe so? Your grandfather was apparently sick of the creep, so he had him thrown out." she offered a second before Illumi hung up. In a flash, the assassin was across the street at your home, his needles at the ready. As soon as he set foot in the house, the assassin was greeted with the familiar scent of blood hanging in the air like a heavy blanket and a silence that ate at his nerves. Your home was quiet. too quiet. It about drove the assassin insane with the possible reasons behind the lack of life. Of course, the butlers that were tasked with helping you pack your clothes were dead, so that helped to explain the stifling quiet, but the sight of the help mercilessly slaughtered didn't justify the way Illumi's heart raced and a strange feeling gripped at his throat until he felt he couldn't breathe. The only time that feeling seemed to finally leave, only to be replaced with wrath, was when the casually dressed assassin slipped into your bathroom, his needles poised to be thrown, and he was met with the one person he didn't want to see inside of your home.         "Hisoka." he hissed, his dark eyes narrowing and his aura reflecting the heated rage that boiled his blood at the sight of the brightly colored magician, who turned to look at him lazily, frowning as if the soulless man was as equally unwanted as the pink haired man was,         "Before you maul me and get no answers, I didn't hurt your precious (y/n)." He assured, plucking one of his signature playing cards and licking the blood of a butler from it before continuing "I believe she crawled out of the bathroom window. So, I suggest you go get her back before you focus on me. Don't want her to get too far away now, do we?" The magician pouted, knowing damned well Illumi wouldn't bother with him after that news, which meant Illumi wouldn't be fighting him, yet. The assassin did, in fact, leave the magician at your house, going out instead to find you. If the help wasn't so fucking incompetent this would be a lot easier. He thought as he forced his wrathful aura into zetsu while he coldly rushed by the corpses and returned outside to prowl down the chilly streets of town, turning that edgy, strangling, anxiety feeling in his throat into energy to fuel his possessive hunt for his wife, his property. On the bright side of the situation though, you were nothing compared to the dark-haired predator, so he had that to cool his unhinged emotions before running into you. You were a recluse, you likely didn't know your way around town that well, so your trail was pretty obvious. In times of life threatening danger, people, more-so women, usually went to crowded areas after all, and you didn't know of many places that would offer help, so you were likely going to head to your grocery store. Knowing that, Illumi was able to get ahead of you, scooping you up before you could slow from a mad dash fuelled by mortal terror to a speed at which you could avoid slamming into the hunter's chest.        "(y/n)," he growled, shaking you once, firmly, to put a stop to your flailing and squirming, "I am this close to jamming one of my needles into your brain. STOP IT." He ordered, the force of slightly panicked rage in his words making you freeze and stare up in terror at him with your wide (e/c) eyes. For a few seconds you stared at one another, your form squished to his in an inescapable grip while his soulless eyes glared down at you until you finally burst into tears.       "Please! Just let me go!" You plead, your voice quivering with barely restrained sobs, so he took a deep breath and ran his thumb down your already tear-stained cheek,       "Why would I do that? I'm only trying to keep you and our baby safe." he reminded you, but you shook your head vigorously, making bits of your (h/l), (h/c) hair stick to your face,        "You're scaring me! Please let me go, I'm begging you Illumi." you cried, trying to shake his comforting hug off,        "I thought you loved me," he said, not releasing you even when your upset tantrum stuttered to a stop. For a moment, you seemed conflicted, but than closed your eyes and tried to kick him to no avail,         "I...I don't know anymore. You've...become so scary recently, I have to p-put my own well being ahead of any shallow attraction." you sniffled, digging your nails into his t-shirt. He brushed a strand of hair from your (s/c) face as you shook against him          "(y/n), I would never do anything to harm you or our baby unless you force me to. Just behave and act like you did before figuring out you were pregnant, everything will be okay." he assured, making his voice as comforting, soft, and loving as he could manage to try and sooth you. Thankfully, he could see the fear and rebellion in your (e/c) eyes dim, returning to their usual, gorgeously submissive state. After that, you only gave one final attempt at escaping his arms before finally giving up. "Good girl, (y/n). Now, let's go home. My mother is about to implode in her excitement to meet you." After that, Illumi returned to the house he had bought for his bag of clothes, then made a beeline for the Zoldyck estate. On the trip there, the long haired assassin tried to make you happy, providing you food, comfortable places to sleep when need-be, and finding you little gifts related to your hobbies to try and entertain and make you smile. He could tell that you were still uncomfortable with him, but you slowly began to warm back up to him when your human need for companionship demanded it. However, the one thing he couldn't save you from or prepare you for, was Kikyo. The woman about tackled Illumi when he pushed open the testing gates, but as soon as you were through and safely on Zoldyck land with your husband protectively at your side, his mother began her fussing.       "She looks so ill! Illumi, did you make sure she's physically healthy?"       "She's not much to look at, maybe if she tried more make-up and clothes that fit her better?"       "Illumi, where are her things? Did you just snatch her up off of the street while she was pregnant?!" The only thing that saved you and Illumi from his mother's judgements and chiding was a firm look from his father, Silva, who was making a rare appearance to greet you in a much calmer manner.       "To answer your questions, I will get the family doctor to look her over, and her things had to be left. A threat came up and I needed to bring her here before harm befell her, so I will need to buy her new clothes." The dead eyed assassin assured his mother, who obviously had more hen pecking to do, but she refrained under the stern look of her husband. After that, Illumi got you nicely settled in to his bedroom, and while you did put up some more of a fight over staying there, you mostly accepted your role as his wife-to-be and mother of his child rather easily. He knew you were simply acting out from your hormones and the stress of your situation, so he did his best to keep his temper with you.         "It'll be okay (y/n), once you get comfortable here, we'll be happy." Illumi soothed one night after one of your bouts of sobbing and fighting to escape while he sat, cross-legged with you in his lap and his hands rubbing your belly. You weren't showing much yet, but it still pleased him greatly to now have his wife and child safely at home. That's right, he thought, letting a rare smile spread across his usually unreadable face, you're home now, (y/n)...

#Illumi #yandere illumi x reader #x reader #yandere #hisoka #hxh #hunter x hunter #part 12 #quotev #fanfiction

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Omg, please let there be a part 4 to Saul x specialist!reader!! Please please! Your writing is amazing and it rips my heart to pieces 💔

Consequences // part two // part three 

Pairing: Saul Silva x specialist!reader

=================================

Emotional pain is subjective, a rather difficult sensation to describe. For Y/N, the sight of Saul Silva’s wounds felt as if she was slashed across her heart. It felt like every nerve in her body had been exposed, causing overwhelming hurt she didn’t know how to process.

Swallowing thickly, she had stepped away to allow professor Harvey to dress the wound once the bleeding was under control. She kept her gaze on Saul’s face, watching him gain conscience slowly. 

She noted every twitch of his lips caused by the pain, every grimace he had made when Harvey worked on cleaning the wound. She may have seemed calmer compared to when they first brought Saul, but she felt anything but calm. She’s praying for his ocean blue eyes to open, for the pain he’s in to stop.

“You can go”, Harvey tells her as if she could move at all. “I doubt he’ll wake soon and even if he does, he might not be the man you remember him to be.”

“I’m aware”, Y/N states through gritted teeth. She folds her arms across her chest, leaning back against a wall with a heaviness on her heart and soul. 

“Let her be”, Farah warns Harvey and the man nods, no longer pushing the subject.

“Thank you”, Y/N murmurs, but Farah picks up on it easily. 

“Why did you return?” Farah questions, curious as to why one of the most successful students would return to settle for a teaching profession. “Is it because of Saul?”

Y/N gives her a pointed look, pursing her lips. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

“It’s okay. Missing your past, the people you’ve let go”, Farah steps before her, a knowing look in her eyes. “It comes and goes in waves, but it will be okay.”

Shaking her head, Y/N chuckles dryly. “You don’t know anything”, she sinks her teeth deep into the soft flesh of her bottom lip, averting her gaze to Saul, checking if he’s awake yet. “I miss him all the time. I miss him. It’s not in waves, it’s constant.”

She’d never be able to say it out loud if he was awake, if his eyes were on her. She’s too proud, too stubborn to ever admit it. 

“It’s pathetic. He broke my heart and it’s been ten years since that night and I still look at him like he’s the only man who can stop time for me.” Closing her eyes, Y/N shakes her head as her tongue glides across her bottom lip to soothe it.

“It’s not pathetic”, Farah reassures her, an understanding smile upon her lips. “It’s admirable to love someone so purely for so long.”

Rolling her eyes, Y/N’s nostrils flare. “I do not love him.”

Raising an eyebrow, Farah presses her lips together before leaning in to whisper, “Could have fooled me.”

Holding her breath, Y/N holds the headmistress’ gaze firmly, refusing to budge. She cannot and will not admit to it. She doesn’t love Saul. The reason she came back is not Saul. What she misses is the way he once made her feel, but she doesn’t feel that way anymore. 

She misses the freedom of her youth, the carelessness and the endless amounts of friends she had made. She does not miss Saul Silva. She does not love Saul Silva. Not after everything. Not ten years after he had decided to walk in and out of her life without giving her a chance to choose.

A strangled gasp breaks the staring contest between the two women Saul holds in highest regards. His pained groan tugs at Y/N’s heartstrings and he sits up quickly, holding himself up with shaky hands pressed against the wooden bench he laid on moments ago.

“It’s alright, it’s alright”, Y/N rushes toward him, her hands on his shoulders firmly pushing down to keep him from standing up. “You’re safe, no one can hurt you now”, she promises, her eyes boring into his as his breathing slowly evens out and his eyes close. 

He did feel safe and sound as her voice had reached him and the words resonated with him. Her voice felt like a lullaby he’d hold onto when the darkness threatens to take root.

While Saul allowed himself to relax, Y/N felt as if her mind was on the brink of madness. The ocean blue eyes she longed to see were tainted, revealing the infection spreading through his blood. It had revealed that Saul is dying, losing this battle and she hated the very thought of losing him. She wasn’t done torturing him and the burned one had no right taking that from her. 

“Saul?” Farah’s voice forces his eyes to open once again, focusing on the headmistress and Sky who, just from a single glance, was obviously painfully scared to death of losing Saul.

Clearing her throat, Y/N stands back up and forces a small smile for Saul’s benefit. “I should go”, she takes a step back only for Saul to reach out, grinding his teeth in pain as his fingers curl ‘round her wrist, securing her in her place.

“Stay”, Saul pleads, his lips nearly quivering as her lips press together and she shakes her head.

“I can’t.”

Letting out a heavy sigh, Saul’s eyes narrow at her as he realizes the reason why she won’t stay has nothing to do with the hurt he caused her but the pain he’s in now.

“Don’t do anything stupid”, Saul warns her as she rips her hand out of his hold.

“Is that an order?” She asks, her voice cold but her eyes harden as if she’s challenging him to try and stop her.

“If it has to be”, Saul’s eyebrows furrow as her lips stretch into a rebellious smirk.

“Guess it’s a good thing you can’t stop me then.” She winks as she head to the door and Saul’s plea moves to an exasperated Farah.

“I’ll try but you and I both know nothing will stop her”, Farah taps his shoulder with a faint smile on her lips, “Especially when your life is at stake.”

Tags: @organabanks @kingunder221b 

PART 5 

#saul silva imagine #saul silva angst #saul silva x reader #saul silva #fate the winx saga #fate the winx saga fic #fate the winx saga fanfic

[fantasia-monogram]

Seven to twelve

♥️ Inseong x female reader (female anatomy); mentions of other SF9 members.

♥️  This is set in the As the clock strikes midnight universe, right after the epilogue! Read it before this one to get the context.

♥️ Smut (2.7k words); y/n is a professional Domme. Inseong is a bisexual sub. Mommy kink, degradation, spanking. Mentions of other BDSM practices.

♥️ Quality Department leader Kim Inseong has two secrets: first is his love for kink, second is a massive crush on a hot guy from HR department. Every Thursday, a trusted Domme helps him deal with frustration keeping those secrets causes.

♥️ Disclaimer: this is just for fun! I’m not claiming that’s how they are in real life, it’s just my imagination doing whatever it wants. Read at your own discretion.

As you stepped back into the dungeon, you admired the transformation the room had undergone while you were taking a shower. Your previous customer made a huge mess (still, not even comparable to the mess you've made of him). You weren't the best at cleaning - you've had other talents that got you through life, after all - so you couldn't help but be amazed at the work the cleaning staff did in such a short time. 

Gone were the wet stains on the floor, and a soiled rug had been replaced for a fresh, fluffy one. All the scary torture equipment was hidden behind partition that would automatically slide out of the nearest wall by a press of a button. Antique leather chair was switched to a cozy looking armchair with blankets laid out on the floor next to it. The mood of the otherwise pretty sterile space was warmed up thanks to pink tinted lighting. 

All of those were a tell-tale sign who your next customer would be. 

You opened the wardrobe and took a black satin-and-lace bodysuit out of it. Your usual tight corset and leather boots wouldn't be needed this time. After you put the garment on, you opted for classic shiny stilettos, and topped the outfit with a short flowy dressing gown.

Just to be sure everything was in place, you checked yourself out in the mirror on the inside of the wardrobe door: the look was a blend of a retro housewife and a pin-up girl, complete with vintage style lingerie, aggressive eyeliner and red lipstick. Just as he liked it. 

There were only minutes left to the appointment, so you stroke a couple more poses to see the outfit in different angles. Perfect. You crossed the floor in a few elegant strides, to finally take a seat on the armchair in the middle of the spacious room. 

You had a pretty chill end of the workday ahead of you. 

A soft, somewhat cautious knock on the door broke the silence. 

"Come in." 

There he was, entering hesitantly, and closing the door behind him in an awkward manner. Inseong - you had no interest in your customers' last names, it was something only the administration ladies kept for business purposes - was a tall, very tall man with broad shoulders, lanky limbs and a bit of a tummy; his face, though, was that of a teenage boy, with barely any wrinkles and nervous expression. From what he told you, he was some kind of a supervisor or a boss or something in the field of corporate banking. At that moment, however, with his black bangs covering his forehead, he was stripped out of all titles he might have held as a higher up.

Honestly, he looked pretty cute in a set of pink fleece pajamas with a print consisting of little yellow chicks. 

He stood there, big eyes looking at you anxiously. You knew he was waiting for your sign - his wish was to experience your different moods, so you always kept him uncertain for a bit. It was more fun this way. 

That night you decided to play nice, at least for a while. You put on your warmest smile, spreading your arms. 

"Come on, baby, come to Mommy!" 

Inseong didn't need to be told twice. He rushed from his place. In seconds, he sank onto his knees inbetween your spread legs. You sneaked your arms around his neck and harshly pulled him forward, only to let him plant his face right into your breasts. 

Right, he had a thing for boobs. And muscular body types. That's why he chose to pay for your services in the first place.

He stayed like this for a good minute or two, occasionally rubbing his face against your soft flesh. You kept gently patting his head this entire time, until you decided that was enough and yanked him away by a handful of hair. 

"Why don't you tell Mommy about your day, baby?" You cooed, still gripping his hair tightly. His eyes, looking even bigger, were all fired up already.

He was so easy to figure out. 

"Y-yes… Yes, Mommy, I will," he stuttered. You let go of him, so he could sink back to the floor and lie his head on your lap. 

You got back to combing your fingers through his black strands, just to keep the variety.

"There is this guy in the company…" Inseong started, his voice a bit hushed. "In another department. He's dreamy. But I don't think he's interested in me. I don't think he's interested in guys at all. Or at least in pathetic guys like me." 

You uttered a soft mhmm to encourage him. Oh, so he came in to release the frustration. You already had a plan on how to help him with that, but that required waiting for a good moment to start the actual scene. 

"I can't believe anybody would be able to resist my pretty baby," you sighed, staying in character. 

"Thank you, Mommy…" Inseong replied shyly; he knew how to behave, or rather, how to reply to your compliments. "Actually, he spends so much time with that… I can never remember her name… She's a monster. Five and barely a half feet of a goddamn monster. I've heard they want to promote her to a leadership position soon. And she's so old! I can't believe Jaeyoonie is into older women."

Your eyes went wide at the name. No way. Glad Inseong couldn't see your face right now, you quickly calmed yourself down.

"Some guys are into milfs, you know that, right, baby?" You snorted. The things you had to do just to pace the appointment right… 

"She's not a milf! She's only a year or two older than me," Inseong explained. 

Come to think of it, you had no idea how old he was, and it was hard to tell by his looks only. 

"Anyway, I'm sure he's fucking her. Or that awkward skinny boy always hanging out with them." Inseong started to sound pissed off at this point. "Now that I think of it, he could easily take them both! And that would mean he's into older women and younger guys. I don't fit into any of those demographics. What a nightmare."

"You never know," you concluded, although internally you were getting more and more suspicious of Jaeyoonie's identity. 

"But there's more…" Inseong's voice broke at the last word. "There was a company party earlier that week… I drank too much and he saw me throwing up in the bathroom… I can't believe I embarrassed myself like that…" 

That was the moment you were waiting for. You stopped your caresses immediately. 

"Wait a minute. When was that party, exactly?" 

You could feel Inseong tense up under your hand. 

"Wednesday night…" He mumbled. 

"Is that why you rescheduled from Thursday to Friday?" 

You gripped his shirt at the back of his neck. 

"Yes, Mommy… I was so hungover… I wouldn't be able to play with you…" Inseong started stumbling over his words. You slid your hand up, grasped a fistful of hair and pulled it back so he could face you in a very uncomfortable position. 

The panic that flashed through Inseong's eyes gave you a solid rush of adrenaline.

"Good boys don't drink more than they could handle," you stated in a dead serious tone. 

"B-but…" Inseong stuttered, "I have low tolerance. And everyone else was drinking…" 

You tightened the grip on his hair, eliciting a strangled whine out of him. 

"Then you shouldn't have drunk at all, you silly baby." You slowly stood up from your seat, dragging Inseong up on his knees, followed by a litany of pained whimpers. "You made Mommy sad. I've been waiting for you the entire day."

"Oh, no… I'm so sorry, Mommy…" Inseong babbled, on the verge of crying. 

Not wanting to overdo it with his emotions just yet, you let go of his hair. He barely managed to feel relief, when you forcibly grabbed his chin.

"You're Mommy's favorite boy, but you need to learn your lesson" you concluded, staring straight into his panicked eyes. "What should I do with you now?" 

Inseong went silent, nothing but anticipation pictured on his face.

"Oh, you look way too eager," you said, loosening the grip on Inseong's chin, "Go to the corner, hands on the wall." 

"No, please!" Inseong cried out, although you knew very well he was just playing along. "Not the corner!" 

"Should I make you go there on your fours?" 

The guy mumbled a barely audible I'm sorry and obediently walked to the nearest wall. He took the usual position: propped on his hands, head hanging low, his broad back facing you - obviously, with the round butt presented to you in a shameful way. 

To keep him waiting, you first took in the sight, unable to hold back a smirk. You knew soon he would be absolutely wrecked, his cheeks burning red with embarrassment and shining with tears.

Saying you loved your job would be an understatement. 

Satisfied, you approached him, clicking of your heels the only sound in the room.

"I guess I have to spank you." 

Inseong's head jerked up a little. 

"I'm going to do this through your pants, though, and I'm going to use my bare hand only."

Inseong whined, head leaning down to previous position. 

"One more complaint and I'm going to shove a plug into your hole and make you stand here for the rest of the night." 

"I'm sorry!" He apologized frantically.

It's not like you haven't done that punishment before - you smiled at the memory of him coming untouched - but he really seemed desperate for some action this time. 

You came closer and hovered your hand over the perfect curve of Inseong's butt. He trembled under your touch. So, so desperate. 

"It's gonna be thirty, because that's how many hours I had to wait between the time you rescheduled to this meeting," you announced, causing Inseong to whimper quietly.

"Can I count?" He asked shyly. 

"You're dumb enough to not know your limits, I think counting to thirty would be too much to ask." 

With that, you landed the first slap. 

You observed Inseong for a couple seconds before continuing. He didn't make a sound, but his arms shook, long fingers folding into fists against the wall. You wondered if he would even last the whole session.

Your predictions would soon turn out to be true: he started whimpering after each hit as soon as you landed the third one. When you approached the tenth, the whimpers turned into screams. Once you passed the first half, all he could do was to moan uncontrollably, his legs shaking so much you were wondering how could he even stand up at that point. 

He didn't use the safe word, not even a single word of protest escaped his mouth either, so you knew it was fine to continue. He was so close to breaking. You absolutely adored the feeling of this moment approaching.

Finally, as you were raising your hand to slap Inseong's ass for the twenty seventh time, his knees gave up. The guy sunk down to the floor, still leaning against the wall. That turned out to be too much for him, though - ultimately, he slid his hands down, too.

You looked at him intently: Inseong, resting on all fours, kept trembling, his breathing so loud you could hear it from above. What an absolute mess. You were so amused you decided to end the session on a sweet note; however, your understanding of sweet was very... specific. 

"What's that, baby? You can't take it anymore?" You cooed, approaching closer. Your shin brushed against his buttcheek.

"Mommy… I…" Inseong panted, visibly struggling to form a complete sentence. "Can I touch myself? I can't take it anymore…" 

You almost laughed at how pained his tone was. Led by curiosity, you kneeled right behind him and leaned to take a close look: indeed, he was tenting in his cute pajama pants. Pathetic.

"Mmm, I'm not sure," you mused. "I don't think you've earned the permission to touch yourself."

"Mommy, please, it hurts," Inseong pleaded. He regained the ability to speak, but his voice started breaking. 

"I want you to come, but I also want you to embarrass yourself even more, since you couldn't take your spanking like a good boy," you wondered aloud in an amused tone, "What should I do?" 

You knew exactly, but hearing Inseong hold in his breath was worth every second of suspense. 

"Anything… I'll do anything…"

Hearing that, you came to conclusion you've had enough of toying with him. You reached to ruffle his hair. He leaned into your touch like a cat.

"Dumb kittens like you don't deserve to be touched directly." 

You lodged your thigh inbetween his legs, making him moan loudly at the sudden contact. He felt hard and heavy against your skin through the fabric separating you two. 

"Work for it, baby," you commanded. 

Inseong didn't need to be told twice. Disregarding all dignity, he started grinding against your thigh, his thrusts becoming more and more furious with time, until he couldn't hold back grunts escaping his mouth. You could feel his cock getting heavier; years of having to keep your urges to yourself during sessions gave you incredible self control, but Inseong's eagerness was turning you on so much you had to think of something quick. To ground yourself, you grabbed onto his hips, helping him grind even harder. 

He looked so broken, though - with his head low on the floor, resting on his arms, and his ass high up, relying on you completely in his need for pleasure. The sounds coming out of him weren't making it any easier for you either. 

It didn't take him long to finish at this pace. He stilled, arching his back, and came with a delicious, drawn-out moan. You quickly retracted your thigh, as you felt the wetness on his pants coming in contact with your skin. 

You let him come down from his high. Once he was fine enough to sit up, you pulled him into a back hug. He sighed happily, leaning against your cleavage. 

For good measure, you planted a couple kisses on his cheek and the side of his neck, leaving bright lipstick marks all over; he giggled uncontrollably at your affectionate gesture. 

"Thank you, Mommy," Inseong purred, a smile adorning his pretty lips, "My head is so clear now. I feel so much better." 

You wondered how he could sound so innocent with a huge wet spot in the front of his pants, not to mention he probably could barely sit with his butt burning from the spanking. 

"I hope my baby has a good weekend." You kissed his cheek once again, this time letting your lips linger on his skin for a little longer. 

Inseong's legs turned out to be still too wobbly to support him, so you helped him stand up and walked him to the door. 

"You're gonna be fine in the shower?" you asked, a bit worried considering his weak state. 

"I wish Mommy would join me, but I'm a big boy. I'll manage," he assured you. 

To be honest, you wished for the same thing, but business was business, and Inseong was just your customer - no matter how much fun you had ruining him each time.

"Thank you, really. I needed that so much," he said, dropping the character. "See you next week." 

You stared at the door for a while after he left, pretty sure there was something that slipped your mind during the meeting.

At last, it hit you: Jaeyoon, probably matching Inseong's ideal buff type, working a 9-to-5 job in some corporation. Could he be your old acquaintance from the BDSM community you met at a self defense course? You wondered for a while at the possibility.

Opening the wardrobe, you briefly rested your eyes on the clock. Seven to twelve. No time to muse over the past; you hoped those two would get together eventually, because if Inseong was the supervisor Jaeyoon couldn't shut up about all those years ago, then… well, they had some catching up to do. 

#sf9 scenarios #sf9 imagine #sf9 smut #inseong smut #inseong thirst #inseong scenario #inseong imagine #inseong x reader #i was away for a while #contemplating shutting down this blog #tell me if you liked this one :(

[shera-dnd]

Had to split a simply colossal chapter into two smaller ones, so here is the first of those

Now featuring the faes’ true forms and an ungodly amount of simping

“I believed we had our winner when Lady Polendina got that perfect bullseye,” Weiss retold as she walked with her companions through the festival grounds, “but Lady Rose managed to, and I still cannot believe it, split her lover’s arrow with her own!”

“I’m certain there is an innuendo to be found there,” Ilia commented, earning her an offended scoff from the would-be-knight.

“Must you?” Weiss asked in exasperation.

“Believe me, Lady Gigas, she most certainly must.” Blake assured her, “but please continue. I’d love to hear more about our favorite couple.”

“Well, after they had finished utterly humiliating me in the shooting range,” she regaled, “they decided it was time to do so again in the sparring fields.”

“What is it with you knightly folk and sparring?” Ilia asked, seemingly annoyed, “is this your means of courtship? Were Lady Rose and Lady Polendina inviting you to join them in their tent?”

“It is a means to maintain our skills while coming to better understand each other!” Weiss countered, “and just because I now know where my preferences lie does not mean I’ll fall for the first woman to best me in combat!”

“Of course,” Ilia replied, though Weiss found no reassurance in her tone, “after all that honor would fall to Lady Blake, and we all know her preference is for women two times your size.”

“I have never claimed otherwise,” Blake replied with a shrug, “now would you mind procuring us some dinner, before you make our friend pop a blood vessel.”

“Very well,” Ilia sighed, as if she had been burdened with a terrible quest, “I shall meet you both back at camp. Please, do torment the Schnee in my absence.’

She offered them an over exaggerated bow and made her way deeper into the festival grounds, quickly disappearing amidst the crowd.

“You do know I could have just made us dinner, right?” Weiss asked, annoyance clear in her tone.

“And I’m certain it would have been delicious,” Blake replied, “but I’m not certain it would have been worth your sanity.”

“Of course.”

She hated to admit it, but she did not mind this at all. In fact she quite enjoyed the little trading of barbs that they partook in every day. It made for some interesting entertainment, and it allowed her to know Ilia a little better.

She was also quite enamored with the little laughs that would escape the fae whenever she got Weiss to make a fool of herself. No, she most definitely did not wish to question why she found Ilia’s laughter to be so endearing.

Definitely not.

Weiss decided then to archive those thoughts, and focus instead on the second most embarrassing topic in her mind.

“Thank you,” she muttered as they began making their way back to camp.

“No need to thank me,” Blake waved off, “wouldn’t want you two to strangle each other.”

“No, I meant…” Weiss sighed, “thank you for calling me a friend.”

Blake offered her a soft smile that only served to embarrass her further.

“I’m glad I got to call you that,” she replied, “and I’m sure Ilia thinks the same, even if she’ll never admit it.”

That got Weiss to smile back. Her life so far had been one of isolation, she had barely met anyone outside of the few select guests her father would allow into their manor, and had failed to find anyone who cared for her with the exception of Winter and Klein. But now she had been able to adventure beyond the walls of Atlas and find people who she could call friends.

Without Ilia with them to incite arguments and pester her, the rest of the walk back to camp was held in a comfortable silence. Though Weiss certainly missed the opportunity to get back at her friend for the earlier annoyance.

“If I may,” Blake began as soon as they arrived at their camp, “would you mind if I spent the night in my own skin for a change?”

It took Weiss’s mind a long moment to register what she meant by that request, but when it did she jumped to attention.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” She asked, looking around to make sure no one had heard that.

“Our camp is secluded enough,” she shrugged, “and no one ever comes here uninvited.”

“If you’re sure,” Weiss replied, “then I would not mind.”

Blake smiled at her in thanks and began undressing herself. Weiss promptly turned to look away, eyes focusing on anything but her naked companion. What followed was a series of noises that she would fail to describe, though they tempted Weiss to look back at her, if only to make sure that she’s okay.

After a moment of silence she heard the heavy thump of something heavy hitting the ground, followed by Blake’s familiar voice, “you may look again now.”

Where once stood the proud Black Knight of Vale now sat something else entirely. Her form had grown tremendously, now easily challenging that of Lady Xiao Long, and her body had grown completely covered in black fur, with a small white spot on her chest and two others on the back of her now clawed hands.

Her hair too had grown longer and wilder, and the face that hid behind it now took the features of a feline, especially her golden eyes which now reflected the bonfire’s light with an eerie glow. Behind her sway a long black tail, though mostly catlike it was adorned with thorns and purple flowers.

No, not adorned, that plant was as much a part of her body as her tail.

Stunned was perhaps not enough to describe the state in which Weiss found herself right now. She had been raised on stories of the terrifying and monstrous fae that hid in the forests beyond the walls of Atlas, and though Blake’s true form definitely fit that description, she still carried herself with the same grace and nobility that she did in her human skin.

She was still a knight, and she was still Lady Blake.

Unfortunately Blake seemed to take notice of all the staring, “if this causes you discomfort, I could change back.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Weiss assured her, “I was simply unprepared.”

Pleased with that response, Blake began to vigorously stretch herself as if she had spent many hours locked inside a tight space - a comparison that was perhaps too appropriate for her much smaller human form - and behind her her tail swayed happily.

“I haven’t been able to don this form since we arrived for the festival,” Blake informed, “it is good to feel like myself again.”

“It won’t be good for long if the local knights decide to take our hides,” the familiar and ever cheerful tone of Ilia’s voice called as she approached camp and unceremoniously dropping a basket between the two of them, “though do enjoy your dinner while you can.”

“Thank you, I certainly plan to,” Blake replied, seemingly unfazed by Ilia’s usual foul mood, “now come, sit, take off that damned glamour for once.”

Ilia stared at her, as if she was trying to will her fellow fae to stop with this nonsense.

It did not work.

“She will not give in, Lady Ilia,” Weiss said, “we’ll already be in plenty of trouble if we’re found in the presence of one fae, a second one won’t make a difference.”

Lady Ilia was unamused by Weiss’s commentary, “and what, pray tell, is your plan in case they do find you in the presence of not one, but two fae?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” She asked, standing up so she would be on the same level as her, “I’ll have a heroic last stand where I’ll fight off a dozen knights, before rescuing you on horseback.”

“Is that so?” Ilia asked, trying to keep her lips from twitching.

Weiss stepped closer.

“Oh yes, and then we’d ride off towards the sunrise and you’d…” she paused for a moment, trying to remember something, “what was it you said? Swoon and praise me for my strength and bravery.”

“Didn’t you say you held no attraction towards swooning maidens, Schnee?” Ilia teased, her smile slowly beginning to take hold.

“I’d be simply fulfilling my knightly duties, Lady Ilia,” Weiss insisted.

“You know what, Schnee?” Ilia began, with a smile on her face as she closed the ever shrinking gap between her and the Schnee, “I think I will doff this damned glamour, if only so I can watch you get skewered by those dozen knights while I flee on horseback by myself.”

“I’ll make sure to make it entertaining to you, my lady,” Weiss assured her, now face to face with the smiling fae.

A chuckle escaped Blake’s lips, earning her the most terrifying glare from Lady Ilia. The knight was, of course, unimpressed, seeming to consider a comment in her mind before reconsidering and letting it die without being voiced. A decision that Ilia greatly approved.

“Now will you please cast away that glamour of yours and relax for once,” she said instead.

“Very well,” Ilia surrendered with a sigh.

For a moment nothing seemed to happen, but then it was like the Ilia Weiss had known had shattered like glass, and what stood behind the illusion could only be described as breathtaking.

Eyes of light blue turned into pure glowing white, freckled skin turned to thousands of scales woven together into a tapestry of color. On her forehead now stood two large thorns, almost like a pair of horns, though they exuded the same regal air as a proper crown.

Lady Ilia then disposed of her - now much bleeker looking - dress to reveal a growth of leaves and vines covering her more...intimate places. Still it was not her crown nor her naked form that had Weiss in awe, it was her wings.

They were not unlike those of a butterfly, though no butterfly could ever hope to match their beauty. They were the light of her eyes fractured again and again into more colors than Weiss's mortal eyes could see, all of them weaved together in a pattern that could make even the stained glass of Atlas's grand cathedral look plain by comparison.

It took all of Weiss’s will not to fall to her knees in worship of the beauty she had been given the privilege to bask in. Though it didn’t seem she was able to completely hide her reaction, as when their eyes met she saw surprise in Lady Ilia’s face, and for a moment it was as if every fragment of color in her body had turned to the brightest of pinks.

“Should I give you both some space?” Blake asked, tail swaying slowly behind her.

“Absolutely not!” Lady Ilia shouted, sitting back down and refusing to look back at the still stunned wannabe knight.

It was now Weiss’s turn to shift through several shades of pink. She whispered a silent prayer that the gods would return to Remnant if only so the God of Destruction could completely remove her - and her shame - from the face of this world. This gave her some time to recover, at least enough that she could sit by the campfire with her companions again.

Unfortunately for the both of them that awkward tension lingered over the camp like a thick fog. It did not help that neither of them found it within themselves to look at or even address each other. They left it all to Blake to rescue them from their self imposed punishment.

“Ilia,” she called, “I believe you had questions for me.”

Lady Ilia seemed to take a few moments to recognize that she was being spoken to, but bolted up in attention as she understood the opportunity that was being given her.

“You’ve yet to tell me how you came to join the humans,” she reminded, “or why iron doesn’t burn you.”

That piqued Weiss’s interest as well. She knew Blake had to have some kind of magical trick to don her armor without burning herself alive, perhaps if she could share that secret they could use it to help those fae who wished to live among humans.

“This isn’t some trick you can replicate, Ilia,” Blake explained, killing Weiss’s plan on the spot, “this is not a weapon the unseelie can use.”

Ilia let out a sound not unlike a growl, showing that her teeth were much sharper than before.

“Not everything I do is out of spite for humanity!” She almost shouted, and her body shifted into bloody reds and harsh yellows. Though that display clearly failed to intimidate her fellow fae, earning herself only a raised brow, a reaction that caused her to change colors once more, this time to pinks and blues. “You left us. I want to know why.”

“But I have already--”

“No,” she interrupted, colors shifting over and over through her body, unable and unwilling to settle, “you don’t just change your mind like that for no reason. I want to know what happened.”

Blake sighed, tail wrapping around herself as she seemed to deflate, “this story is quite long, Ilia.”

“So is the night,” Ilia countered, “come, tell us.”

Blake looked at her, then at Weiss, who offered her her most reassuring look, “very well then.”

#rwby #prismatic ponytails #nuts and dolts #bumbleby #weiss schnee #ilia amitola #blake belladonna #medieval au #fanfic

[a-shakespearean-in-paris]

The Inquisitor’s Throne

I wrote this and realized it fits in with @14daysdalovers “Midnight Rendezvous” prompt. Cullen and Lydia Trevelyan, NSFW. Piece contains semi public sex, mild dirty talk, oral sex, and clothed sex all on a throne. Please enjoy! Also on A03

Dainty, delicate Inquisitor Lydia Trevelyan they call her. She can certainly play the part, look good in rich silks and swish her hand elegantly when she has to. It’s comes easy to charm a few nobles with carefully placed words, though she only does it if she must. Few deserve her sweet words, and one has them all.

Yet she had a cup, one she carries with her that no one else can see other than those closest to her. Sometimes it overfills. Sometimes it spills, and delicate, dainty Lydia can’t wear the carefully placed mask anymore. These are the times where all she wants is her lover to remind her she was more than some precious doll.

Maker. At Skyhold and past midnight, finally done with wearing the mask at this silly social, she wants him to claw at her, possess her, throw her on his desk of his and mark her. She wants him fucking hard.

Now.

Such primal parts of her sexuality used to frighten her. Tempered and tamed in recent years she found that primordial part of herself could bloom as easily as the part of her that loved with no reservation. Her lover, who inhabited his body like a lion cast spells of his own. He was a remnant of a time forgotten, roughhewn and forged with fire with scars to prove it. His fucking was a sweet restorative, and she craved it all throughout that dinner, all through Lord Farquar’s bitter speeches of fine women and the might of the Inquisition. Beautiful the Lord called her in her long red dress and pulled back hair, golden shoes on her feet. He eyed that silver Andraste at her collar and asked no questions mercifully. He demanded until she yielded, and she would not yield. She’d have no answers anyway. He wouldn’t deserve it if she did.

The great hall was filled earlier, yet now it’s midnight and quiet she slips inside the study Solas once used to frequent. Once Solas would have smirked at her, as he knew she took this route to her lover. Yet with him not there she makes the trip unnoticed, and she remains unnoticed when she opens the door to his office. His back toward her he’s out of his armor with a book in his hand. It’s one of those adventure novels he covets, one she’s picked up to read herself when she far away from him. When she’s away she relishes in the intimacy of reading the same words as he. Her heels click against the stone floor toward him before she wraps her arms around him, embraces him from behind as he dissolves against her, putting the book up on the shelves. She kisses the back of his neck before sinking her teeth there, laving the spot with her tongue. He moans before he turns around, cupping her face in his broad hands.

She looks beautiful, he says, tilting her chin up and kissing her. She certainly didn’t feel as such till he said it, till his arms are around her and she’s encased in his smell. He’s sweat and the sweetness of elderflower, earthy oakmoss and something distinctly man. She feels more woman when he grips her curves, when his stubble scratches her delicate skin.

 “Fuck me hard Cullen.”

His answer is a small “oh,” eyes wide. Maker he even blushes and she wants to laugh. He, whose taken her on his desk, who moved the mirror closer to their bed so he may watch her ride him. “Pick me up and take me upstairs,” she whispers as she kisses him once more, his cock growing harder against her. “Tell me I’m yours.”

“Rather take you to your room,” he says, kissing her neck. “Your mirror is there.”

“You’re so proud of how you fill me, aren’t you?” she asks, caressing his neck and lightly scratching her nails, her breath against his ear. “Then take me away.”

She leads him out of his office and into the empty great hall. It’s midnight and no one is about to watch the Commander take the Inquisitor into his arms and into a hot and searing kiss, a prelude to more. He tugs on the sleeve of her dress to pull it down, baring a part of her breast. His lips are warm against her skin as he cradles her back, pressing their bodies together. She hums, wrapping her arms around him, willing and wishing to dissolve.

“Turn around,” he whispers in her ear. She does so for him, wondering what he wants her to look at. All she sees is her large and expansive throne where she sits in judgement, silver moonlight casting blue and purple shadows against it. It is the seat of the high Enchanters’ gilded in gold and adorned with dragons along the side. A fine symbol for her role as Inquisitor, a seat only for her.

Yet she asks “Cullen?” as she strangely doesn’t understand, at least not at first. They’ve been brazen but this would be another matter entirely.

Still, he wraps his arms around her middle, presses his cheek next to hers. He says, “there,” and yes, he would be even more brazen.              

She gulps. He’ll rescind, she’s sure, but he nips at her neck and says he wants her spread open there, wants to taste her there. He can’t wait and he’d rather have her elegantly on her throne than in the hallway leading to her room or against the wall.  Judging by the way she leans against him, rubbing herself against his hardness, she can’t wait either.

“My dearest,” he says, his arms still around her, a warm hand slipping underneath her dress, touching her breast, and further pulling down the sleeve. It’s such a sweet endearment he says to contrast with such bawdiness. “Haven’t you ever thought of us there?”

“Yes,” she admits, gasping when he takes one of her pert nipples between his fingertips and squeezes gently. “But someone could see.”

“Has that ever mattered?

Fucking no, never. It is the final pull, because yes, she too can be brazen. Turning in his arms she lets him lead her to the throne. She sits there as she always does yet as an empress rather than Inquisitor, and he sinks to his knees, parts her thighs to sit between them. “That’s my girl,” he says as he kisses his way up her leg, Lydia gathering and pulling her red skirts up for him. She stares with unmasked, unashamed lust at his golden head, his scarred mouth open against her calf, moving upward to her knee and thigh. She helps him slide off her undergarment, crimson red like her dress, and when it falls to the ground next to them she makes a mental note to pick it up later lest someone see. She grabs his hair, twists the curls as her legs spread further apart. How many times has she sat on this spot, a crowd of people all staring at her and waiting for her to make a judgement or say something worthwhile. When she takes her lover’s mouth on her throne, his tongue lapping over her clit, she groans quietly, wishing it could be louder, wishing her cries of pleasure could echo through the room so loudly she’ll hear it again the next time she’s here and must remain nothing more than a pretty doll. She’s survived and lived and loved and fucked and it’s Cullen who she loves and fucks and makes her empress of lust, love, and want.

With one slow, sinful press he slides his forefinger inside, then another. She thrusts her hips closer to his face and he takes in her musky scent. She curses and thrashes as he builds on her growing frissons, compelling her to come on his face. With strangled breaths her thighs clamp around his cheeks, coming for him as he crooks his finger inside her. She reels in her residual waves, breathes and pants heavily as she comes back to earth. Hazy as she is however she’s still cognizant enough to push down his breeches and that tunic he’s wearing so’s bare in front of her on her throne. In the spilling moonlight he is baked marble from his time in the sun, silver from where his numerous scars have healed and dusted with golden hair on his chest and lower abdomen leading to his cock. All marble, gold, and silvered radiance, her hands grab his slim hips, her lips leaving kisses on his abdomen. Come take me fair knight, she thinks of saying as she strokes his cock, soft moans so sweet from his parted hips, but she has another idea.

Standing, skirts falling to her feet she throws her arms around his neck, kisses him and moves him over in front of her throne. She leads him down upon it and he smirks as if he’s some proud thane of a great hold. She sits astride him and he holds her ass, grabs it without shame and caresses underneath her cloths so the first thing anyone would see if they entered was the Commander’s hands on his Inquisitor on her throne. She hopes they know he touches her good. If she could she’d wear his love marks like tattoos.

She gathers up her skirts once more as he angles his cock toward her entrance. The skirts cover them as she holds his shoulders for balance, and he wraps his arms around her as she rises and falls and bounces on his cock, keeping her hands on his neck and keeping their eyes locked. He’s deep this way, full and warm and almost too much. But she can take him, take all of him. He never makes her cup spill or overflow.

“You feel good,” he says as his lips meet hers. “That’s my girl. You’re no one’s but mine.”

She told him earlier, tell me I’m yours. “Your mine,” she says in turn. “Cullen…”

“I know, I know…” She gasps as he sticks his hand underneath her cloths. “I love being yours.”

“You fill me up so fucking good…”

He chuckles as she moves, asks him if he ever thought she’d take him here of all places. “Maybe I dreamed of you here,” he says as he nips her neck. Someday they’ll leave this place and if the magic there is a strong as she has been told it is, the walls will imprint the memory of the Commander and Inquisitor fucking sweetly and adoringly, and a thousand years from now her words will still be etched in the stone, Cullen you fuck me so good…

He captures her in a kiss as she comes again on top of him with the beckoning of his fingers against her clit. A piercing cry would alert nearby guards, and as it is they’ve already had too much luck in this moment. They cling and he claws and they hold each other as the only thing that makes sense in the whole world. The way they lock and meet and join is what matters, not the show or the pomp or her mask as Inquisitor. This is real. Them.

He comes in her arms with her name sweetly on his lips. Her thighs ache from the movement, pleasant before yet not burning, and her are legs pressed against the hard stone of the throne. She chuckles when she thinks of how much his bare rear must hurt against it—it hurts her covered rear when she has to sit in judgement for long periods of time. Yet he keeps her in his arms when she tries to remove herself, burying his head in the crook of her neck. His lips are soft where his stubble is roughish, and it strikes her how even though he’s a strong man, a good man, and one that makes her feel safe, he too feels safe when she holds him. They dissolve into each other in their world together crafted in the great hall of the Inquisition.

They kiss when she cups his face in her hands, his lips moving down her neck and toward her exposed breast. He takes her sleeve and brings it back from where he pulled it down as she adjusts herself, removing her hips from him. His spend skims down her thigh and she can’t imagine the tailor in Val Royeux who sewed together such finery would have dared to imagine the Inquisitor using the long skirts it to wipe away her lover’s dripping seed. Reluctantly, she at last removes herself, Cullen hasty as he puts his clothes back on. They laugh and think they’ve won whatever game they decided to play on the way back to her quarters, laugh at their own place where they make the rules. They are unscathed. No one saw, as much as perhaps she wouldn’t have minded if anyone did…

At any rate, round two happens in her quarters, the bed softer on their bodies, their moans no longer stifled. Upon no throne, he makes her an empress still.

****

Cullen tells her the next day when she comes to him in his office that he got a note, blushing as he does. She reopens it at his prompting.

Dear Curly, Fire’s smalls are behind the throne. Might want to get them, though there is at least one Orlesian noble who thought it was kinky. PS: thanks for the inspiration. Shocked I didn’t think of it sooner for Swords and Shields.

“I…forgot my smalls,” she says as she scans the letter, her cheeks going how. “Marvelous.”

Though he blushes too, there is a smile that cracks on his face. “You know, maybe I’ll pick up Swords and Shields.”

“But you already have so many interesting ideas all on your own.”

He laughs before he takes her into his arms.

#smut #lemons #cullen rutherford #cullen x inquisitor #cullen x trevelyan #14dalovers #cullydia #shakeswriting

[gravelyhumerus]

“just like a folk song (our love will be passed on)”

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Relationship: Jemily

Summary: Pregnant? Off a one-night hookup that convinced her that the relationship wouldn’t go anywhere? Impossible. Improbable. Unlikely.

Word count: 3,086

Read it on AO3 

Chapter One, Chapter Two

Content warning: mentions of Emily’s abortion and discussions of some canon typical violence.

Sitting at the edge of Emily’s large, porcelain bathtub, JJ wrung her hands. She hadn’t planned to take the pregnancy test that morning, but she had barely slept the night before. Her anxious thoughts kept her tossing and turning, wondering if she was pregnant or not. 

What would she even do if she was pregnant? What would she say to Emily?

It was their first weekend off in over a month, and instead of relaxing with her girlfriend, JJ was more stressed than she was when she was actively chasing down the worst of humanity. An unsub holding a gun to her head was not nearly as terrifying as this moment, as JJ sat and waited for the little plus or minus to tell her whether she was going to have a baby. 

The test rested on the tub next to her. JJ kept her eyes away from it, watching the two minute timer tick down on her phone. 

Emily spoke from just outside of the bathroom: “Hey, are you struggling with the shower again? I know it’s annoying, I can turn it on for you.”

JJ stiffened, realizing that she hadn’t turned the water on yet. She had told Emily she was showering as a cover for taking the test, then she hadn’t done the one thing that would hide the truth. 

She hated keeping all of this from Emily. Even when they were just friends, JJ found herself telling Emily everything. But, she still wasn’t sure how on earth she would tell Emily about the situation, either way. 

The profiler knocked again and said: “JJ?”

JJ tried to speak but let out a strangled noise, her voice unexpectedly thick with emotion.

“Are you ok?” Emily asked. “Are you still not feeling well?” 

The door opened a crack.

“Can I come in?” Her voice was soft, caring. The sound of it felt like a hug. 

“Yeah,” JJ managed. 

Emily stood in the doorframe, taking in the scene in front of her, her eyes filled with concern. She looked JJ up and down, then flicked around the room until they rested on the pregnancy test. 

“Oh,” Emily said. 

JJ could see the thoughts racing through Emily’s mind. The brunette’s brow furrowed as she processed the information. Then, Emily seemed to make up her mind, walking towards JJ and sitting on the toilet seat lid. She took JJ’s hand in hers.

“Is it mine?” Emily asked as a hint of a smile pulled on her lips. 

JJ  let out a sigh of relief at how calm Emily was with being confronted by her maybe-pregnant girlfriend in her bathroom. 

The timer went off on her phone. Emily squeezed JJ’s hands tightly. It was time to look.

“I’m pregnant.” 

———

Three tests later JJ was very much pregnant, and Emily was not quite sure what to say. They had just started to date, and she had no idea what this meant for them. 

When Emily asked how this all came to be, JJ explained that she had only spent one night with Will, back when she and Emily had just been friends. It was a relief to hear, especially when fearing the worst, but it didn’t make the whole situation any less complicated. 

Emily was forcing herself to tuck all her feelings away to be there for JJ through this, even if only as a friend. She would be whatever JJ needed. 

As the frenzy of the tests subsided, the two women sat in silence eating the scrambled eggs that Emily had managed to make for lunch. She wasn’t a good cook, but she felt the need to keep busy and keep her whirlwind of a brain at bay. JJ had a panicked look in her eyes. She was almost vibrating with anxiety, so Emily tried to keep her calm if only with her presence.

But there was only so much she could do before the questions came tumbling out of her mouth. 

Emily decided to give JJ an out. A free, no hard feelings free pass out of the relationship. JJ was pregnant for God's sake, she wouldn’t want to stay with Emily. She just needed to let JJ go. Their relationship was new, barely started. It would be a clean break. 

“You should call him,” Emily said, her voice calm, measured. “Tell him about it.”

JJ’s eyes shot up, and she squinted at Emily in confusion.

“Why? I’d rather talk about what this means for us.”

“What do you mean by us?”

JJ set her fork down on her plate and reached across Emily’s wooden kitchen table. 

“You’re my girlfriend, Emily,” JJ said. 

Emily blinked. They weren’t over after all. 

“Oh my god, Emily, no,” JJ said, standing up and walking over to her. Her hands grasped Emily’s face to pull her into a kiss. “Did you think–”

“I thought that you wouldn’t want...” Emily gestured vaguely, “Me, I guess.”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” JJ said, kissing Emily’s forehead.

JJ pulled away, wrapping her arms around Emily’s neck. In exchange, Emily rested her hands on JJ’s hips. 

“I just,” JJ said, her voice almost a whisper, “I don't really know what to do. This is a lot. For me, for us.”

“Think about it,” Emily suggested. “You don’t need to make any decisions when the information is fresh. You’re probably still in shock.”

An unspoken understanding passed between them. Emily knew exactly what JJ was going through. But instead of being a struggling sixteen year old in Rome, she was a 27 year old FBI agent with a stable job, a home and a girlfriend. Still, Emily knew that fear and uncertainty intimately. No matter the circumstances, it was absolutely terrifying. 

 “You’re right,” JJ said. 

JJ pressed a soft kiss onto her girlfriend’s forehead. Emily’s eyes flickered closed as she leaned into the gesture. 

“Thank you for being you, Emily.”

———

That night, both agents lay awake late into the night. The only light came from the streetlights below them, illuminating the room in a dim warm glow. The familiar sounds of the busy Washington, DC streets were faintly audible. It was peaceful, yet the weight of the day’s events was heavy on their minds.  

JJ’s blonde hair tickled Emily’s nose as she buried her face in her golden locks. Her arms wrapped around her girlfriend's smaller frame, their bodies fit together perfectly. While JJ’s breath came evenly, Emily could tell that she was still awake. 

Emily’s fingers were intertwined with JJ’s, and the media liaison rubbed her thumb along the back of Emily’s hand. The gesture was subtle, but let her know that JJ wanted her there, wanted her to stay close. 

The whole day brought back memories for Emily. Hard memories. But it wasn’t about her, it was about JJ. She needed to keep it together. 

JJ wasn’t some lost teenager like Emily was. They would be okay, no matter what. At least, that was how Emily reassured herself. 

Emily didn’t regret her abortion at all. She was able to live her full life because of it. She wouldn’t have made it to where she was now, without her friend Matthew. When she closed her eyes, she could almost picture him with his floppy hair and earnest eyes, squeezing her hand, telling her it was all going to be okay. That was the beginning of the end of her drought relationship with religion, because she knew people like her weren’t welcome there. 

She knew JJ hadn’t grown up with the same religious upbringing that she had. Sure, the Jareaus went to church on Easter and Christmas, but Emily knew she wasn’t raised in the same strict Catholic environment like she experienced with Elizabeth Prentiss, especially when they lived in Rome. Not that that made the decision any easier, but at least the weight on JJ’s shoulders wouldn’t be as heavy. 

Maybe JJ would choose not to have the baby. It was an accident, after all. And with their relationship still in its infancy, there was a lot that could go wrong. That didn’t even factor in that they were FBI agents who fly across the country every few weeks. 

Keeping it was a whole other issue. Emily had thought of having children, had always wanted to. With every case involving an orphaned child or one in foster care, something inside of Emily yearned to just take the child in her arms and protect it from the world. 

“I think it's a good idea, though,” JJ had said to her on the jet.

“What's that?” Emily asked, looking across at the blonde.

“You. Kids. I can see it.”

The comment made something in Emily’s stomach flutter.

“Yeah?”

JJ nodded. Emily looked out the window, deep in thought. At the time, she wouldn’t let herself imagine that with JJ, it seemed so far fetched. So impossible. 

Now, with JJ in her arms. Emily could see it too.  

“Either way, no matter what,” Emily found herself whispering before she even planned what she was going to say. “Just know that I’m not going anywhere.”

Emily squeezed JJ tightly, kissing her shoulder and smiling. She meant it. There was something about their relationship, albeit newly established, that felt so right. 

JJ didn’t react at first, and for a moment, Emily wondered if she had fallen asleep. Then, she heard JJ swallow before speaking. 

“I’ve always wanted to be a mom,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. 

Emily pulled her closer.

#criminal minds #jemily #cm #criminal minds tv #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #prentiss x jj #jemily cm #emily prentiss x jennifer jareau #my post #my writing #gravelyhumerus cm baby au #fanfic #fanfiction #i promise my college au will get an update soon #the next chapters just a bit complicated #for now my baby wants to write soft baby fic idk

[thepeakyfckingblinders]

The Whore || John Shelby x reader

⤠ MASTERLIST⤟

Anon requested: “11&19 with John boy? cause I miss him “ (I miss him too, my poor heart aches)

Summary:  n.11 & 19 from prompt list: “Please, please, please” + “I’ll burn this fucking place down” Warnings: swearing, a lot of angst, prostitution, nudity, violence, mentions of abuse, mentions of rape, misogynistic talk, graphic description of signs of physical abuse

Author’s notes:

Behind each one of these works there are sleepless nights and something really close to multiple mental breakdowns, so, please, take a minute to send me a message about it, I need actual feedbacks to understand how to improve my skills and grow ♡

So, this request’s been in my mind for ages, and even though I’m not happy with its final part ‘cause it sucks, I’m literally obsessed with this idea, I love it so much that I’ll probably write a long fic about it, right after Contagio, but it will depend on you babes, because, first and froemost, I need to know what you think about this piece. ⤟ IMPORTANT

Please, if you’re a victim of any kind of abuse, talk to someone who can help you, nobody should go through something like that alone.⤟ IMPORTANT 

I edited the gif and added the text, it’s not an actual scene from the show, but I thought it could be a good idea, a small detail that could be added to my works. What do you think about it? Pls, let me hear your opinions babeees ⤟ 

I’m sorry for being this late, but I’ve been really busy in the past days and writing is never just easy, it demands concentration and effort, plus I don’t want you to be disappointed, so I’m always extra accurate while working. I hope this is worth the wait!

If you want to be added to my tag list, please, directly message me

I’m Italian, English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for every possible mistake I made. Also, please, help me improve my writing by telling me if there’s something wrong

ENJOY!

Birmingham was somehow silent that night, John noticed the unusually empty streets around him, as his feisty pace easily led him towards a well-known destination, his confident steps resounding in between the damp walls of those sordid blocks made of innumerable overcrowded flats. The unmistakable stench of stagnant urine viciously permeated his nostrils, soon causing a disgusted expression to taint his angelic face, while he avidly took the umpteenth drag of smoke from his Cuban cigar and finally stopped his unceasing walk in front of the most renowned brothel in the entire city. For about three years by then, day after day, his life had been perilously circling the drain: things had got totally out of hand, fate had pitilessly thrown him into profound despair, giving life to an apparently endless spiral of darkness and desolation, which was gradually corroding his fragile self, brutally strangling him, rapaciously plundering each of his already strained vital breaths. And, nevertheless, it was beyond hard to blame him for such catastrophic outcomes, after all, he’d scarcely survived the battlefield, only to find himself with a handful of nothing, left alone to deal with a dead wife and four children to raise on his own, while his guts crawled with excruciating grief and ravenous acrimony for the whole world, having him develop a tendency to self-destruction that was just as concerning as it was well concealed.  As a matter of fact, in spite of his private hell, he still remained a Shelby, and a Shelby wasn’t meant to be soft, nor weak, none of them could afford to succumb to their affliction, never, not for a moment. They had to be invulnerable. 

Or, at least, they had to look invulnerable, for truth was that John was scared, utterly frightened by all those unmerciful changes.  Deep inside he felt like a hopeless, undefended child, forsaken by God and discarded to wander that grim world without any destination other than death and misery, thus his blood boiled with virulence and venom, having his heart clench with blind wrath and his devastated young soul desperately long for sort of any distorted kind of unattached affection. That was basically the main reason why his bed was incessantly warm, or more accurately, warmer than it had always been before, because, needless to say, John Shelby had actually been an authentic ladies’ man since his first cry. His stunning beauty constantly teemed on everyone’s lips in Birmingham, there was not a single woman in the whole town who hadn’t dreamt of sleeping with him at least once in her life. Therefore, John was more than happy to please them all, literally, welcoming them with wide open arms, even during his past marriage; and, on those rare times when no girl went to knock on his door, he had now grown accustomed to seek relief into whorehouses, rather than sleep alone and become an easy prey for his ferocious demons.

So he eventually ended up dropping his smouldering cigar on the uneven asphalt of the most rundown place in Small Heath, “Le Belle Donne”, an Italian house of tolerance, quite dilapidated and about to fall to pieces, but which often happened to have his favourite prostitutes. Indeed, ever since the Peaky Blinders had defeated and subjugated Sabini’s clan, they’d occupied a prominent position among the country, to the point that several other Italian gangs on their territory, including the Changrettas who owned that brothel in particular, had finally given in to the Shelbys. As a direct consequence, to put it simply, John and all his brothers had, in a very real sense, earned the full right to abuse of whatever business the wops held.

“Hey, man!”  Johnny resonantly barked as he entered the hall, maintaining a pretty intimidating attitude and a menacing look on purpose, in order to strike even greater fear in his newest flunky. “C’mon, show me what you got” That rough order cunningly glided onto his lower lip, immediately followed by his hot tongue, while his famished gaze travelled around the room, examining the face of each harlot standing there with meticulous attention, without however finding something that could come anywhere close to seriously rapture him. Robert Turrini, the whoremaster, was a bizarre bloke, for his physical appearance could be probably described as both disturbing and amusing: his revortingly corpulent stomach wobbled and his short legs dangerously stumbled, when he made haste to stand up and accommodate his toughest client. “Mr. Shelby, what an honour and a pleasure to have you back!” Those sycophant words fled his moist and malodorous mouth, and nonetheless, his stubby fingers inexorably betrayed his true thoughts, since they were either nervously torturing each other or, as only alternative, convulsively running through his greasy, mangy bangs. “Please, sir, follow me, these are for yokels and boozers, nothing to do with gentlemen like yourself” Once again, Turrini’s shrill fawning tone relentlessly grated his ears, making clear reference to the bunch of second-rate whores who could be found at the entrance; thus the lame pimp quickly moved, his hand anxiously beckoning John to tread upon his heels, then headed towards an eerily narrow corridor, so scanty that it was almost impossible to cross, if not walking on the bias. The secret lounge was illuminated only in part by a squalid red light creating a gruesome atmosphere, a dull silence tyrannically reigned into that small space, although you were not alone, but practically glued to another girl; both sitting on a minuscle sofa, your elbows touching, still none of you dared emit a single sound. Everything felt like lead upon your papier-mâché ribcage, that horrible sensation forcing your traumatized brain to involuntarily keep counting the seconds until that heinous burden would’ve potentially staved in your sternum, definitively annihilating your splintered heart. As a result, when the ramshackle door opened and a high-pitched squeak scraped your skin, you really thought to be about to die. Your torturer made his entrance, and right after him, another man came in, yet you couldn’t spot his face, since the peak of his cap designedly casted a mysterious shadow on it. “These two right here, they're real young, real fresh” Robert flaunted his goods along with a nefarious grin, rubbing his soiled paws with evident greed. “Behold the finest offering of flesh and bone on the market” A sadistic snicker repugnantly accompanied his speech, instantly causing John to frown, visibly disgruntled with the way that man deliberately talked about human beings. Luckily, it was a known fact that the middle Shelby was used to treating his women with all due respect: whether he paid them or not, he always made sure they were comfortable with him and never shrank from giving them some good time as well; therefore, a vexed glare was shot in the direction of his gross interlocutor, before his crystalline eyes briefly fluttered around the place, then bumping into your elegant figure almost at once.

Your bloodstream seemed to benumb on the spot as the stranger’s confident stare entangled yours, his rawboned features being now fully displayed, for he had lifted his chin a little in order to properly look at you, and you only, despite Clarissa’s desperate and petulant attempts to get his attention with malicious smiles and ridiculous pet names. Even though your dazed mind had just been ruthlessly brutalized by the sudden, ablaze assault of his glacial irises, a few moments were enough for you to realize how profoundly different he was from all the low-down rats who usually came through that horrible place.

Each sharp, still somehow delicate, trait of his face was brimming with delicious youthfulness, a less keen eye might have even confounded his freshness with actual naivety, but not yours; you were far too clever to make such a coarse mistake. Furthermore, the midnight-blue posh fabric of the classy suit, remarkably folding his majestic body, left gaunt doubt that he was, in all likelihood, a considerably rich man, which was beyond disorientating you, since the price to pay for some tawdry delight in that brothel was outrageously derisory, to say the least. And ultimately, as much as it killed you to conceive it, he was without question one of the most enchanting men you had ever seen, to the point that you found yourself subconsciously wondering the possible reason why a heavenly creature of his kind would’ve needed to buy a miserable hour of dissembled love. 

“There she is” That malleable murmur, filled with longing and gratification, furtively sidled past John’s roseate mouth, as its corners seductively bent upwards and his gaze persevered in its praiseworthy commitment to scrupulously linger your finest shape in sheer adoration. Lace and organdy sublimely merged on the light crimson negligee you were wearing, your immaculate form appeared as a beguiling paradox into his dilated pupils, being your long legs lecherously left exposed, while every inch of your porcelain skin, from your lean neck to your groin, was painstakingly disguised by that unholy material, dark and inscrutable, albeit thin enough to allow him to glimpse the inviting turgidity of your nipples. His breath shuddered in awe when he went back to contemplate your aphrodisiac facial features, flushed cheeks and plump lips having him ache with desire, and then your doe eyes flooded by melancholy, strangling his soul with no mercy, entrenching into his brains the treacherous conviction that, at the end of the day, he would’ve gladly dilapidated his fortune, if only to venerate you from afar. “Oi, sweetheart!” His low voice finally rumbled within the walls of that small space, overwhelmingly vibrating into your abdomen, while you forced yourself to swallow the painful lump obstructing your throat and stand up, promptly responding to his command, aware as you had become that rebelling against your pitiable destiny would’ve served no purpose at all. Holding your client’s hand behind your back, but keeping your head down during the whole route, you silently guided him up the spiral staircase to the best room in the house, like you had previously been instructed by your pimp. His jacket and hat were quickly hung on the apposite coat-rack, leaving his muscular top covered with just his white shirt and blue vest, an alluring grin was flashed in your direction and you detected a libidinous sparkle in his irises, as he healed the rift between you at a slow pace. “What should I call you, sweetheart?” He knowingly used the same flattering pet name once more, whispering that barely audible question into your ear, for he was now behind you: his large hands laid around your waist, gently making your back and his vigorous chest fit together, while his skilled mouth brushed forthwith against your nape, drawing an ardent contrail of ephemeral pecks up until your jaw. “Just y/n” You gasped in response, the marked contrast between his warmth and your bitter cold body, along with crippling dread eating you alive, caused your scrambled stomach to squirm and your eyelids to distressingly shut into a frown. “Well, that’s a pretty good one, I’m John, by the way” A lovely, yet hinted giggle fleetingly filled your ears together with that little compliment; there was no record of mockery in his tone, though, it simply sounded like he wanted to be nice to you, without any aspiration of personal gain, and you almost blushed, caught off guard and no longer used to any form of kindness. Nevertheless, it was a matter of instants before another wet, long kiss was pressed on your jawline, making you startle with evident apprehension and, at a later time, definitively back away from him, as soon as you sensed his touch abandoning your hips only to climb your sides, till he reached for your nightgown’s collar and his fingers began to fiddle with its round buttons. “No, I’ll do it!” You curtly gave notice, as you temporarily lost control of both your speech and actions, placing your hands above his in order to shrug them off, then turning to face him with short breath, your open palms shielding you. “I got it” A noticeably softer voice supplanted your preceding rudeness once you gradually metabolised how much damage your incautious reaction could’ve done.

“Aye, aye, darling, as you wish” But John just chuckled, tenderly humouring you, while his forearms jokingly lift in surrender to your commands, although, truth be told, your strange behaviour had left him a bit bewildered, well-nigh confused. Carefully moving backwards, he cockily made himself comfortable on the edge of the double bed, sitting right in front of you with splayed legs, his yearning stare never deflecting from you, and started to unbutton his waistcoat along with his shirt and undershirt, until his statuesque torso was completely nude, in all its glory, as the moon transpired through the curtains and shed its faint rays on his every contour, superbly enhancing all of his muscles.

Without reprieve, he ogled up at you in pure adoration, devastatingly astonished afresh by your dazzling beauty, eager to feel your afire flesh around his, literally hanging on your every word or move, while a provocative smirk steadily rippled his lips. Still, he kept questioning why a seraphic vision like you was slowly withering away in that authentic hell on heart, adamantly squandering your blush of youth amidst that rabble of unrestrained putridity. It made absolutely no sense, and he couldn’t get rid of that pernicious thought haunting his mind ever since he had first seen you: you looked nervous, extremely defensive, almost paralyzed with fear; you seemed so different from all the whores he’d had before, hence his instincts, however obfuscated with cupidity, were screaming that something was wrong.  And when he watched you turn your back on him again, so to avoid his penetrating gaze as you reluctantly got undressed, it was enough for him to understand that his execrable hunch was right. Nevertheless, by the time his head managed to eventually reconnect to his mouth, it was already too late, the soft textile of your nightdress ineluctably fell to your feet, leaving you naked under his starving leer.

John choked on his own breath; for the very first time, he felt like a fledgling kid at his earliest experience, no matter if nothing could be further form the truth, in some turbid, cryptic way, you were able to make him vulnerable. His craw went hellishly dry while he continued to gape at you in awe, the sinuous curves of your flawless glutes, the meandering line of your superlatively arched back covered in part by your soft hair, your tensed shoulders and your refined legs, everything about you caused his mind to go entirely black, words stifling in his throat. Yet, as soon as you moved to face him and his sight was blessed with the full view of your voluptuous figure, something altered the light in his cerulean eyes, suddenly making it dark and gloomy. His jaw slightly dropped under the weight of that violent dismay: in conjunction, an obnoxious sense of nausea cruelly shot him in the gut and blind anger virulently assailed him, for your front bust was completely martyrized.

“What the hell...” That unmeant babble died in the gelid air, his shocked orbs demarcating the strokes of your damaged silhouette: your neck and collarbone were horridly plastered with several violet fingerprints, as if someone had mercilessly strangled you over and over, greenish bruises with the shape of full palms circled both your arms, there were conspicuous signs of ligature around your tiny wrists. Worse still, his eyelids had to squeeze a little in order to bring into focus the multiple oxblood dots stigmatizing your soft breasts, until he noticed in horror how those round specks were effectively cigarettes burns; all of the oxygen bluntly withdrew from his lungs, when he dwelled on the multiple blue and black marks barbarically desecrating the protuberances of your ribs. But what irremediably drove him over the edge were the two ghastly scars digging stretched grooves in your lower stomach, in parallel with your bulging pelvic bones and down almost to your livid groin.

Prey of that deleterious humiliation, you observed raw disgust contaminating his features and, with no apparent reason, the dormant hatred you had for yourself began to ferment inside your belly. “I-I’m sorry” you forced yourself to swallow your imminent tears, unexpectedly, the awareness of not being able to please him somehow inflicted more suffering on your mangled soul “If I’m not to your taste, y-you can...” The young man quickly stood up and, before you had the chance to finish your nonsensical sentence, he readily grabbed his shirt, approaching you with dispatch, his cold irises burning with an implausible mixture of fury and concern. “I don’t fucking care right now” His voice was unsteady, rolling down his tongue in fatigued panting, as his hands hastened to wrap his shirt around your shoulders, his trembling fingers struggling to put the buttons through the eyelets  “Who did this to you?” In truth, he was talking to himself rather than with you, noticeable impatience worsening his mad tone, yet you persistently steered clear of his inquiring look, more than determined to keep your mouth shut, forasmuch as your dizzy head was already helplessly spinning, along with your heart rabidly hammering against your sore ribcage. You were having a hard time figuring out what was going on, everything around you was so confused, you didn’t even know whether to trust him or not, you only wanted to close your eyes and forget about that lucid nightmare. “I’m not asking you, for fuck’s sake! Tell me who it was!”  That searing order tersely brought you back to reality and cleared how easily his rash temper could reemerge; indeed, all of a sudden, no trace was left of that kind, cheerful boy who earlier that night had succeeded in making you genuinely blush, on the contrary, when he cupped your cheeks and vehemently shook you, in a desperate effort to get your attention, his rough, authoritative command unbendingly hit you, and the sweet child within him ended up being thoroughly smothered by the scary, ruthless gangster that he truly was. That unforeseen contact had your feet automatically stagger backwards, your eyes fell to your tiptoes and your teeth started skewering your lower lip, while your exhausted brain resorted to its last ounce of strength, thereby obligating you to spit out a bit of your sorrow. “Three months ago, the man I once called father sold me to settle one of his debts with the Italians” Your thorax seemed to shrink to the point of absurdity once you became aware that it was essentially the first time you allowed yourself to say it all out loud. However, the presence of that compassionate stranger still represented for you a substantial barrier to surmount, leading your unquiet glance to franticly move from the grime on the floor, to the broken window on your left, anywhere, but never daring to meet his. “ I tried to run away, I swear I did, but they always caught me and-” 

A large knot callously plugged the bottom of your palate, causing you to hesitate for a minute, gently rubbing your own arms, in attempt to comfort yourself . “Robert has a short fuse, he g-gets pretty brutal when you don’t cooperate” Those disenchanted considerations carried an involuntary grin, it was nothing more than a spasm, but hid the unmistakable sign of an imminent cry, and John’s attentive irises certainly did not let it go unnoticed, yet he chose to stay quiet, because the last thing he would’ve wanted in that crucial moment was to scare you even more. “He beat me to death, each time harder than the time before, and then he let those men-... He-e kept me tied to that bed for days to teach me a lesson” Copious tears were now unremittingly streaming down your flushed face, your heart aching with raw affliction, preventing you from breathing properly, one of your palms instinctively went to cover the space between your breasts, in a vain whirl to ease that excruciating grief. “Oh, God” John simply sighed, he was precariously theetering on the verge of tears as well, thick veins untamedly pumped in the proximity of his temples, till his solid shape ruinously keeled over the longest side of the bed, his elbows piercing his own thighs, as he hid behind his clenched fists and finally permitted himself to indulge a couple of muffled sobs. Innumerable atrocities had clouded his eyes and soul during his brief life, he himself was capable of unspeakable acts of cruelty, still, that was absolutely intolerable, hearing your story was taking a terrible toll on him. Try as he might, he couldn’t conceive how somebody could have been so hopelessly evil, to abuse in such a heinous way a defenseless creature as pure as you were. That thought was irretrievably disturbing him, rancorously eroding his bowels, almost depriving him of his sanity.

“U-until I stopped fighting them”  Your last, indescribably anguished whisper struck the fatal blow, it unrelentingly plunged into his chest, sending an unbearable jolt of pain through his poisoned veins. For a brief instant, his expression, together with yours, harshly turned into a mask made of neat despair, as if your synapsis had been ravelled and both of you were enduring the exact same ache, at the exact same moment.

“I’ll fucking kill him!” Then, all at once, something apopletic inside him violently detonated, he berserkly stood up, roughly tripping over the beside table and everything placed on it. “Fucking kill that filthy bastard with my own two hands, bloody hell!” His hoarse yells made your bruised skin cringe and his furious steps covered the whole length of the room in the space of a scant minute; he was literally seething with murderous fits of rage, teeth grinding with irrepressible choler. “No!” your desperate voice erupted afresh and you hurried to reach for him, your hands unconsciously enveloping his cheekbones “Please, please, John, please, stop!” For the first time, his name slipped out of your aching throat in between those pathetic pleads, your wrists forced him to look at you, in attempt to dissuade him from his homicidal purposes; the mere thought of the potential disastrous consequences to his calamitous ire totally asphyxiated you, rampant panic assaulted your frail mind and, soon after, you found yourself hyperventilating and simultaneously rambling a bunch of incoherent words, your fingers gradually tightening their grip on him. “He’s gonna get so angry at me, he’s gonna- he-he’s...” “I’m a fucking Shelby, he does not draw a damn breath unless I say so” He firmly grabbed your chin with just two of his fingers, guiding your depleted pupils to entirely focus on his confident stare, and he growled that undisputable fact a span away from your nose. Petrified by that new awareness, you fell utterly silent, only gawking in his direction, while he put his undershirt back on with ease and rapidly grasped his cap. “Just stay here, do you hear me? Don’t move until I come back” An incandescent kiss was impulsively pressed to your forehead, no other words were spent, before he disappeared behind the door of your private hell. When your persecutor saw his special guest unyieldingly storming towards his desk with a truculent expression exuding fervent disappointment, he jumped on his feet, ready to find a solution to whatever problem had possibly arisen; one thing was sure, he never would’ve guessed what was about to happen. “Mr. Shelby, what’s wron-” John’s fist savagely collided with his jaw, nipping his cloying speech in the bud, without giving Turrini a second to process what was going on, another punch pitilessly smote him, and then another one, and then another, until hot, plenteous blood gushed from his multiple wounds. “You son of a bitch”   Animalistic groans left his rabid maws, sheer hate rushing through his brains, as he violently tossed him to the ground, immediately beginning to kick his torso with all of his brute force. “Mercy! I beg of you, sir, have mercy!” His victim’s prayers and harrowing screams barely titillated his ears, everything he could think about was your tragically marred body, hence an unbridled desire to give him a taste of his own medicine completely took over. “Where was your mercy when you were torturing her?”  Expertely holding his hat in the most efficient way, in a fury, John went down on his sacrificial lamb, promptly disfiguring just one side of his face, in order to take a quite theatrical pause from his wicked work.

“When she was imploring you to stop?”  Robert was now crying out loud, overwhelmed by that merciless agony, reduced to just invoke the glacial scynt of death, since nothing in his entire miserable existence had ever caused him more intense pain, than the coarse perception of a finely sharpened razorblade brutishly lacerating his flesh once more, inch by inch.

“Now bend your ear to this” despite his wrenching laments, John rudely lift him up by seizing the blood stained collar of his jacket “if anyone else but me goes near her fucking room again, I’ll burn this fucking place down!” And with that first, deadly threat the pimp’s head was brutally slammed into the wall, an umpteenth whine of contrition escaping his mouth filled with blood, nevertheless, no time was left for redemption.

“You lay a finger on her again” his skull was doggedly crashed into the bricks once again, a crimson spatter smeared the pale plaster covering them “I will break your neck” John’s knuckles clasped, having his red right hand effectively strenghten its hold on his neck, nearly killing him on the spot. However, fortunately for the whoremaster, Johnny would’ve not put an end to his sufferings, nor he could've simply taken you away, deep inside, he knew he needed to discuss it with his family, first and foremost, with Thomas, for the unstable equilibrium reached by the Peaky Blinder was far too fragile to start a new war against the Italians. Thus, with great difficulty, he forced himself to keep his mind clear and put a lid on his beastly instinct. “From now on, no one of you dirty swines is allowed to even look at her”  Throwing him to the floor, the middle Shelby delivered one last kick straight to his fat abdomen, and disrespectfully spit on him, marking with his salt slaver the end of his brutalized prey’s calvary. “By order of the Peaky Blinders”   As soon as the crackling door snapped open, your heart seemed to explode, your eyelids bolted with pure fear, whilst you pulled your knees closer to your clavicles, an ancient prayer lingering your lips together with heavy breaths, as you prepared for the worst. But the worst never came. “Y/n, hey, calm down. It’s all right” John’s husky voice echoed in your ears, and, you could’ve sworn it, that was, without the slightest doubt, the most beautiful sound you had ever heard. Your head abruptly tilted in his direction, an oxymoric mixture of fear and hope twinkling into your watery irises, deep pants still rocking your tiny self. “It’s me, it’s just me” Keeping his arms up to indicate his innocuous purpose, he carefully approached you. Almost immediately, you noticed the several scarlet handprints staining his pale top, eloquent sign that he had tried to wipe his palms on that ivory material as best as he could. Yet, you were so profoundly relieved to see his friendly face, that, to be honest, the sight of fresh blood didn’t upset you at all. It was like you had fallen into a fugue state, every single thing around you was so distant, your numb senses were only able to concentrate on John’s lean silhouette kneeling in front of you. “ No one will hurt you anymore, darling” his hands gently went to caress your thighs, while his worried gaze tirelessly sought yours and he spoke those soft, reassuring words “You need to trust me”. And you did want to put all of your faith in that young man. His delicate flair easily awakened you from that ostensible slumber, building a rousing fire inside your belly; without a thought about your unforeseen actions, you threw your arms around his strong neck, your knees producing a dry sound as they collided with the wooden pavement, still you didn’t care and you held him tight, letting out loud cries and drowning into his muscular chest, finally revelling in the feeling of that warm embrace. Soon, he entangled his callous fingers with your velvety locks, subconsciously narrowing his solid shoulders, as to shield your frangible figure from the outside world. “I'll get you out of here soon, I promise”

tag list: @spidey-pal​, @shadow-of-wonder​, @stassaurus​​, @peachlle​, @livvtheangel​, @myjbphase​, @namelesslosers, @crazyonesarethebest​, @vxxn128​, @keithseabrook27​, @spaghettirogers​​, @writingstudent​​, @hp-hogwartsexpress​​

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders headcanon #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x oc #peaky blinders one shot #peaky blinders smut #peaky blinders fic #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #john shelby #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby smut #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x oc #john shelby x reader #john shelby imagine #john shelby smut #arthur shelby #isaiah jesus #polly gray #tommy shelby fanfic #michael gray x reader #finn shelby x reader #alfie solomons imagine #ada shelby #peaky fookin blinders

[overclockedroulette]

this one’s for you squirrel xoxo ty for the writer’s block cure

not sure if I’ve ever talked about Tyrhzu on this blog? oh well, have this anyway.

mykie your space-themed naming conventions for pets has ruined me. also hope you don’t mind me using clover and indoril I NEEDED PET OWNERS ANd they run an animal sanctuary so. best option.

unnamed aubilon worker my beloved

~~~

Ten minutes.  That’s all his incompetent coworker was supposed to take - and, since when was he assigned work with other people anyway?  If he didn’t know any better, he’d assume Kirren was trying to get the kid killed (but if that were the case, he would have just been asked, like every other time).  He sighed and checked his watch.  Thirty minutes.  Half a fucking hour he’d had to spend in the porch of this dumb animal shelter, waiting for this idiot to pick up… whatever they had been asked to pick up (honestly, he hadn’t been listening; he didn’t particularly care), and having to deal with this… dumb dog.  

He wasn’t quite sure what breed it was (again, he didn’t care), or even what it was for, but the owners - these two elven women with matching tattoos, one of them clearly far more confident than the other - had assured him that it wasn’t dangerous.  Which he had laughed about.  Because the thing didn’t look dangerous: it looked stupid.  It just kept… trying to be around him, no matter how much he shooed it away or ignored it, with a clear disregard for its personal safety.  He muttered a few curses and shoved it away again, letting out a short laugh as it slumped down, dejected, at his feet.

“Fuck off, mutt,” he hissed, laughing internally about the familiar terminology coming from his end, this time.  But the dog seemed to take this as an invitation rather than a curse, and perked up as if its name had been called, standing up and wagging its tail emphatically just in front of the bench he was sat on.  He considered kicking it.  

“Luna,” he murmured, grabbing the thing’s collar and reading the name aloud.  And he laughed - audibly - at the irony of the whole thing.  “Fucking Luna.”

The dog - Luna - perked up again, resting its head on his lap and staring up at him with wide, excited eyes while he considered the pros and cons of impromptu canicide.  

“Piss off.”

It whined, nuzzling its head into his thighs.  Avarice groaned.  

“Really.  Go do… whatever it is you do.  Somewhere else.”

It didn’t move.  Just kept staring at him.  

“You’re annoying.”

Nothing.

“Move.”

Still nothing.  Just a long, mute pause and heavy eye contact, until Avarice finally sighed and relented, irritably moving one hand to ruffle the fur on the top of its head - because maybe that’d make it go away - and pointedly avoiding eye contact when it got excited.  

“Now will you leave me al-” and the dog was already in his lap.  He gave up fairly easily after that.  

He laughed quietly when Luna curled up on top of him, letting him absentmindedly stroke her fur as he spoke, with a soft kind of intonation that anybody who knew him would bolt at the first sound of.

“Persistent little darling, aren’t you?” he chuckled.  “Well, I hope you’re happy.  If you were a person, you’d probably have lost a limb by now.”  He laughed again, and then paused.  “But then, I suppose no person would have the guts to get close enough.  I respect it.”

And he paused again, contemplating.  And he laughed.

“It’s funny, actually.  I could break your bones with my bare hands, if I tried hard enough.  I probably wouldn’t hesitate,” and his voice started to waver, “I could cut you open and watch everything that keeps you alive spill onto the floor.  There’s every chance I’ll murder at least one of your owners, in the future.  I’d watch you bleed out and feel nothing.”

He was raking his nails across the skin of his left arm, now, bleeding from the mistaken incisions.  His breath hitched.  “I’d watch anyone bleed out and feel nothing.  I have.  And I do feel nothing, because I’m not a coward, I’m useful, I’m better, I’m not-”

And he suddenly started to realise how much his arm stung, and felt the blood dripping onto the poor dog’s coat, as Luna nuzzled the offending hand away from his bleeding arm and firmly back into her fur.  He laughed.  “Ah- my apologies for stopping, darling,” and continued running his hands smoothly down her back, letting her settle down again.  He’d have to clean his arm later.  

It was silent for a few more minutes, Avarice absently petting the excited ball of fur in his lap and trying not to think about his wounded upper arm, before he spoke again, more wondering aloud than anything else, not even bothering to look at the thing.

“Why aren’t you scared of me?”

Silence.

“I suppose it’s just stupidity.  Although, animals are supposed to be able to sense danger, aren’t they?  There’s no reason for you to be this close.  Especially to… to someone like- ah-” he paused: took a deep breath.  “To someone like me.  Oh- don’t look at me like that, you know what I mean.  I’m not exactly a good person, am I?  Or… particularly safe.  But I’ve gotten better!” he insisted.  “In terms of being safe, I mean.  I’m better than I was, aren’t I?  I don’t- except, I never did, because I’m not- because I didn’t- because I’m not him, I’m not, I can’t be-”

His words were choked out of him in a strangled, dry sob.  And everything was quiet while Avarice gathered his thoughts.  Thoughts that were his.  That came from him, and nobody else.  Because he was himself.  And never anything else.  And he buried his head in that stupid dog’s fur and tried his hardest not to cry, because he refused to, because he didn’t need to, because-

Because the last time he cried, he wasn’t him.  And he wouldn’t go back.

“Fuck, I miss Tyrhzu,” he whispered, barely audible, still buried in Luna’s coat.  And it was the first time he’d said that name in well over eight years, and it felt unnatural, wholly wrong.  And everything came back.  The laughing, the fights, the chatter, the comfort; the screaming; the feeling of a blade deep, deep in flesh; the raw, unadulterated grief that had consumed him so wholly for years; the feeling of reaching in the dark, screaming until his throat was hoarse for someone (for him) and grasping only silent air.  And he was sobbing, now: weeping into this dog’s fur, who just curled up closer to him and let him cry - or, rather, everything but, because he yelled and sobbed and the stinging in his throat became unbearable, and nothing came out but noise.  He was screaming.  Screaming eight years of repressed grief into the fur of a creature that hadn’t been scared of him.  And when he got up, he breathed in deeper than he had in months.  And he muttered a “thank you” to the dog as he continued stroking its silver-speckled fur.

-

When his coworker returned, along with the two elven women, he didn’t mention it.  He just shooed the dog off his lap and claimed it had “insisted.”  Which was true.  And he had sorted the problem of his injured arm by simply glaring violently at anyone who looked like they were going to bring it up.  The taller, red-haired elf seemed concerned about the dog’s condition - which was fair - although the smaller didn’t look worried at all.  She just smiled, reached down to pet the dog’s neck, and looked up at Avarice.

“Say, did you know that dogs can tell when their owners are upset?”

“Excuse me?”

She laughed.  “I didn’t mean it to be an accusation!  Just a fact.  Luna here-” she reached down to ruffle her fur again, “-has always been good at that.  Very good with people, too.” 

“Can you tell she plays favourites?” the taller elf murmured, nudging Avarice with her elbow and laughing at her partner’s affronted expression.  He echoed that laughter.

“Quite.  I… daresay I’d do the same.”  And he reached down to stroke her again, leaving his coworker dumbstruck as they began to set up their belongings to leave.  “Oh, and by the way?” 

The coworker nodded tentatively in acknowledgement.

“You make me wait that long for anything, ever again, and you’re dead.”

#tyrhzu my beloved #AVARICE my beloved #luna. my. beloved. #i swear to god i almost choked when i asked for the name of their dog #kinda funny #unnamed aubilon worker my beloved<3 #avarice kiriatta #i'll make a post about tyrhzu later #just for context #in the meantime. just. #guess <3 #hurt/comfort #tw self harm #oc #oc writing #oc hurt/comfort #tw grief

[author-morgan]

Title: A Truce

Pairing: Brasidas x fem!Reader

Rating: M

Summary: Brasidas is willing to risk a chance of peace to have something so sweet. 

THE DUSKY AIR is heavy with the scent of incense and wine. Talk of war permeates the silence —a meeting among generals of Athens and Sparta. Discussion had been civil since the meeting began, but after the mention of a treaty in favor of the Athenian forces it quickly turned into raised voices and red faces. Among those is your betrothed, an esteemed general for Athens with a hateful streak wider than the Boeotian lake. Only one manages to keep a calm demeanor about him —Brasidas of Sparta. 

War and politics are considered a man’s affair, but it does not stop you from lingering in the shadows and listening. You pass unseen by all but one in the gathering. Brasidas has barely taken his dark and intense eyes off of you since he first noticed you standing near a curtain dividing the war room from the villa courtyard. The Spartan General is handsome, especially in comparison to your promised —who already has silver hair and sagging jowls. A fifth wife for the old general as his others had died by spring fever or on the birthing bed. Brasidas though, there is not a silver hair to be found on his head or in his thick brown beard.

Brasidas speaks with passion and urges for diplomacy when it is his time to speak —uncharacteristic for a Spartan. The gathering looks amongst themselves, weighing what had been discussed, but time is needed before any decisions are made and any papers are signed. A recess is called, and you slip from the room and back up the stairs onto a balcony overlooking the dark Aegean Sea. It would not have boded well for you to be seen eavesdropping. 

A rush of air as the curtain of the balcony is drawn alerts you to the presence of another. Turning you are met by the kind and warm —if not curious— gaze of Brasidas. He had sought you out, curious to know more about the hostess of the meeting. “Does political talk not bore you, my lady?” Brasidas asks, even the women of Sparta grow weary of talk after the first hour passes. 

“No,” you respond, shifting your attention back to sea, “my father was a lieutenant. I grew up listening to the affairs of men.” As his only child, your father had done well to raise you as an equal —he had little choice after your mother died before you could even walk. You spent many nights crawling over his vessel and clinging to his leg during meetings. 

The general smiles. It is a rare thing to find a woman so acclimated to the discussion of war. Brasidas knows you heard all of what transpired in the first half of the meeting —you had been in the dark shadow of the room since it began. “And what do you think of the proposition made?” He inquires. Athens sought to rob Sparta of Skioni —a small island polis south of Makedonia and a valuable outpost for the Lakedaemonians. 

“Athens is trying to cheat Sparta,” you reply, it is not hard to see. The Athenians wanted to push the Spartans back and rid their growing sphere of influence of any Spartiate presence. After hearing Menexinos speak, you had not expected the Spartan generals to succumb so easily to a poorly worded and unenforceable truce. Brasidas steps up to your side, hands curling around the stone railing. 

You steal a glance at the general in the dying light of day —the setting sun bathes him in a golden light. “Do you not have a wife, Brasidas of Sparta?” You ask, surprised by your boldness, but for what other reason would he seek you out. 

“I do not,” he answers. The time for marriage was drawing nigh, but with the war, it was difficult to remain in Sparta for more than a day at a time when there were battles to fight and men to command. “And you do not yet have a husband,” he observes as you still wear a maiden’s veil covering your hair. 

His statement brings a wave of despair crashing over you like the waves on the rocks below. You have wished for Hades to claim your promised, even if it is wrong to do so. Hades has not answered nor has Hera. “Not yet,” you breathe, but that dreaded day draws sooner with each setting sun. The general feels a pang of misery rise in his chest for ever having brought the topic up. Brasidas turns to face you, his arms trapping you between him and the balcony railing, a gentle cage that you can break free of should you wish. 

But you do not move —you do not want to. Reaching out, you smooth over the Tyrian purple himation draped over his shoulder, hiding a soft green exomis. All that is missing is the golden wreath atop his head from the relief of Methone. His head dips down and his coarse beard scrapes across your cheek, tickling. A warning before his lips pressed against yours, gentle if not hesitant. “Forgive me,” Brasidas breathes, but the apology is insincere. You slide your hand to the back of his neck, beneath a single braid, pushing up and pulling him back down at the same time. There is no hesitancy this time. 

“Brasidas,” you murmur, heart racing. The curtain to the balcony is drawn, but there is still a nagging voice in the back of your head saying what if. Brasidas silences that voice with another kiss, this one rougher and needier than the last. You gasp into his warm mouth when his hands grip onto your thighs, lifting you onto the stone railing. He keeps his arms around you, but pulls away to study your face. You blink, eyes hazy with lust. The general smiles, reaching up to brush your hair back. He leans forward, lips catching on your cheek in a light kiss, working his way to your ear. 

You moan, a tiny and strangled sound at the back of your throat, head tilted back. He takes your earlobe between his lips and teeth, nipping the delicate flesh and drawing another gasp from you —fingers clutching around his back. Brasidas pauses, a flicker of uncertainly in his warm honey eyes, but it’s chased away when you whimper, pleading with him to keep going. 

He slides his hand between your legs beneath your loose laurel-colored chiton —the only thing you wear as the maiden’s hair veil as slipped off and fell to the churning depths of the sea— thumb grazing over your clit. You shudder in his arms and his hand moves lower, sliding his fingers against the warm, soft sex between your thighs. Brasidas laughs —a low, hearty sound— when your legs clench around him. He bends his head toward your neck, lips suckling where your pulses races. 

A soft sigh escapes your lips when he slides one of his calloused fingers inside you. Hooking his finger, he begins to thrust back-and-forth in slow measure. Keeping balance, you part your legs further to accommodate his wandering hand. Your hands rise form his back to find his thick brown hair, fingers threading into the short cut locks. Brasidas rubs his beard against your neck, moving back up to claim your lips again —already pink and swollen. He lifts one of your legs beneath the knee, slipping another finger easily into your warmth. “You’ve cast an enchantment over me,” the general breathes. For a moment he thinks you to be Hekate in the flesh. 

His fingers curl upward again, and you clutch onto his hair tighter, gasping —but then he withdraws them to your soft cry of protest. Brasidas smiles, lowering himself to the stone between your legs. Pushing your chiton out of the way, you gasp again, the muscles in your legs tightening as he places a kiss to your thigh. It is a sight to behold one of the most powerful Spartans in Hellas on his knees before you. The general holds your legs open with a firm grip as he nips at your thigh, soothing the red mark with his tongue. The warmth of his mouth and cool sea breeze sends a tingle over your body. Brasidas draws slowly towards your center, tongue lazily trailing along your skin. 

Both you and Brasidas moan when he reaches your heat —lapping at your slick folds with his tongue. You shudder above him, hands wrapping tightly around the stone railing as his beard scrapes against the inside of your thighs. He tends to you eagerly, spoiling himself with the sweet taste. Chest heaving, you moan aloud when the general closes his lips over your clit, suckling on it and drawing a forceful shudder from you. But then he pulls back, nipping hard your thigh again. “Brasidas,” you whine as he rises back to his feet. 

Hurriedly, Brasidas pulls at his himation, kicking the puddle of linen aside and unties the knot in his loincloth, adding it to the pile of fabric. He only wears the green exomis now and the outline of his cock is evident —as are the lines of his muscles. He pulls up the hem of the short tunic, giving himself a few quick strokes before stepping back between your legs. Brasidas guides his hard cock to your warmth —watching you as he begins to push forward. You part your legs wider and he hisses behind clenched teeth. Hooking your legs around his waist, you grasp onto tightly behind the shoulder —holding onto him as though he is a lifeline. 

He draws his hips back then snaps them forward again, you moan drowned out by a burning kiss and the rolling waves. Clenching your legs around him, your nails dig lightly into his bare shoulders, seeking purchase as he rolls his hips into yours. Losing himself is too easy. Brasidas grunts and lifts you from the railing, turning to press your back into the rough stone wall next to the flowing curtain. You hardly notice, only focusing on the slow drag of his cock as he moves his hips again and again. The general looks at you, a beautiful sight in the throes of forbidden passion, face twisted, and eyes squeezed shut. 

Brasidas braces his hand on the stone wall and thrust harder. You tip your head back against the wall, tightening your legs around him. He feels your muscles tense up, quivering, reaching the edge of a precipice. Moving his hand from the wall, he slides it between your joined bodies, fingers finding your clit again, even as he thrust wildly with every quick roll of his hips. “Brasidas.” His name falls from your lips in a soft chant. Your back hits the wall, over-and-over again, but the scrape of the stone pales in comparison to the ecstasy. He surges forward, drowning the whispers and moans with another heady kiss. 

His kiss, the roll of his hips, and the pressure of his fingers rubbing your clit is too much. The coil that had been tightening in your belly since he first slid a finger into your heat release. You shudder, heels pressing into his lower back, nails scraping down his back —but Brasidas swallows all the sounds you make, still rutting into you. This had been an act of lust, though with the way he holds you it could be something more given time. A final thrust sends Brasidas over the precipice too, and the general collapses against you, twitching and moaning aloud into your shoulder —shaking deep within his bones. The sweat on his brow already beginning to cool in the evening breeze.

Your hand rises to touch his forehead gently and he blinks, drinking in your features in the last golden light of the sun. Brasidas brings his hand to cup your cheek. “Do you think anyone heard us?” He asks cheekily, grinning despite his tiredness. You swat at his shoulder, smiling even with the flush of color on your cheeks. He eases you back to the flat stone on shaky legs and bends to collect his himation and loincloth —which he uses to wipe away the sticky warmth between your thighs. 

“What will you do now, general?” You ask, helping adjust his himation to hide the red marks on his shoulder before the recess ends and negotiations begin again. He cups your cheek again, bending forward to take another kiss from your sweet lips. He is a Spartan and he will do what he must for country. 

Brasidas warm gaze flicks between the moonrise and you. “I’m going to fight for Sparta,” he pauses, thinking himself unwilling to leave such a woman behind, “and fight for what I want.” He steps away from you and draws the curtain to the balcony back, rejoining his countrymen and the Athenians. Brasidas of Sparta is a persuasive man and he will have what he desires. 

#Brasidas #Brasidas x Reader #Brasidas of Sparta #Brasidas Imagine #Brasidas Fanfiction #Assassin's Creed Odyssey #Assassin's Creed Imagine #my writing

[sandpumpkin]

Horror house

A little bit of late night spooks!!! The house inspired by the Crimson Peak house and also a little inspired by a reoccuring nightmare I had when I was younger. I love horror but I do need to stop writing it before bed

Under cut. It’s long about 2k. Also spooks. so..beware.

The rain fell unrelenting, the ashen gray skies covering the bright sun that had been visible not even twenty minutes past. The sound of boots against slowly forming mud and the crunch of undergrowth sang in harmony with the raindrops pattering against the abundance of leaves surrounding the group marching their way through the forest. 

The Kid pirates were heading towards a nearby town though it seems much further than when they spied it from the crows nest of the Victoria Punk. Unless they had taken a wrong turn somewhere. Kid marched ever forward insisting they were indeed going the right way. Hana clutched her umbrella and tried to keep up with the crew, who had undoubtedly longer legs than her and in the growing mud she was slipping every few steps. Heat had stopped noticing her lagging behind. Taking the umbrella from her and aided her to stop her sliding around.

“Thank you.'' They carried on their way for a few more moments when the rain became so much heavier, spurring the group on into a panicked run until they moved from forest to open garden and a poorly looked after stone path. The house that loomed before them was a grand manor house. Hana was in awe. The house was old, its large windows dusty and hidden by the out of control vines that engulfed the walls of the building but still it radiated its once former glory. Killer ran ahead and opened the door quickly lettin them all follow and seek shelter from the rain. 

“Wow!” setting her umbrella by the door and wiping her feet on the old and dusty doormat before venturing further into the grand lobby. “Look how big it is!” The lobby leads into an open living room, a huge stone fireplace in direct view of the doors. To their left was a wide mahogany staircase that hugged the walls as it snaked around and up the walls to the second floor. Old oil lamps were hanging on the walls amidst a horde of dusty paintings. Despite the outside looking old, the inside was surprisingly intact if just a bit dusty and home to a lot of spiders if the cobwebs were any indication. 

“I’m going to go explore!” Hana announced excitedly, already halfway up the stairs before Kid could even complain.

“I’m sleeping outside.” Kid stated firmly, turning on his heels setting a hand on the door handle as a crack of thunder echoed outside.

“Kid. It’s one night. Come on, Heat’s already lit the fire.” Killer said with a mocking pat on his old friend’s back. Kid grumbled in response as he turned back to head towards the now warmly lit living room. 

“KID!” Hana’s sudden shout made Kid jump in alarm, he looked up at the orange haired women leaning excitedly over the banister “you have to see this bedroom! It’s beautiful!! Can we sleep up here?” 

“NO! Everyone is sleeping down here.” he said sternly, earning a whine in protest “come down here.” he ordered.

“Aw come on!” she whined, slowly and dejectedly making her way down the stairs “it’s such a lovely manor house.” Hana said in awe, finally joining the crew in the huge living area “look at this furniture!” she ran her hand along the arm of a huge tall backed chair “it’s like a throne.” she sat in it promptly causing a huge plume of dust to rise from it, the dust filled her nose and eyes quickly, making her sneeze and cough loudly. A strong arm yanked her out of the chair and pulled her down onto the floor. “Kid- I can’t see..” her eyes streamed trying to expel the dust and as she instinctively moved to rub her eyes, Kid’s firm grasp pulled them away. 

“Don’t rub them. Stop touching stuff!” he scolded, holding her firmly. Another heavily calloused hand held her face still but she tried to jerk away in alarm  “It’s just Killer sit still damn it.” Killer carefully opened her eyes to try and flush the dust out with water. Hana squirmed as the water ran into her eyes. Shaking her face of water after and finally rubbing her eyes. She blinked and tried to focus. “better?”

She looked around testing out her vision, scanning the room she spotted a dark figure standing back in the hallway. Is that one of the crew? But she blinked again and it had vanished. “Yes I think. Sorry. I just..I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.” she apologised, Kid huffed and pulled her backwards into his lap, his good arm coiled around her stomach 

“Stop touching shit. We leave in the morning, regardless of the weather.” he ordered sharply. Killer handed Hana one of the travel mugs with some coffee in it.

“Kid is easily spooked.” Killer explained with a mocking tone.

“Shove it Killer.” Kid hissed in response. 

“Oh! Let's tell spooky ghost stories!” Hana announced excitedly “This is the perfect setting for them.” Kid’s hand cupped her chin tilted her back to look up at him.

“Did you not listen to anything?” he growled but was met with her soft smile 

“But ghost stories are fun! There’s no such thing as ghosts anyway.” she laughed loudly. 

Kid allowed them to tell some spooky stories though he pretended not to care even though he was taking it all in and not enjoying any of it. She’s pretty good at storytelling though. After a few hours of scary stories the group finally began to retire. 

Hana slept comfortably in Kid’s arms curled up in his super fluffy coat. Warm and safe. 

A crack of thunder jolted her away. Blinking to try and help her eyes adjust quicker to the encroaching darkness, the fire only dim embers now. Shivering from a sudden draft, in the distance she could hear the front door banging against the wall. Reluctantly crawling from Kid’s embrace, grabbing a candle that had blown out in the wind and re-lighting it with the embers of the fire and stepping over the crew carefully. Peering out into the hall, the front door was indeed wide open letting in a bitter cold draft. They’ll catch a cold if  I leave it open. Hurrying out of the lingering warmth of the living room, Hana crossed the eerily dark and cold hallway quickly pulling the door too. As she looked out into the courtyard amidst the driving rain she caught the sight of a figure in an old fashioned nightgown. She opened her mouth to call out to the person but they vanished. Hana poked her head outside the door and looked around. There was definitely nobody there. It’s just the darkness playing tricks on me. Finally closing the door making sure it had clicked properly “maybe Killer broke it earlier?” she hummed turning away from the door as a figure appeared at the frosted glass pane. 

A loud thud from up stairs made her jump almost dropping the candle holder in alarm. 

“Old house..makes creepy noises..” Hana nodded, convincing herself that there was nothing in the darkness. “Or maybe mice? Yeah mice..scampering around…” her words trailed off as another thud came from upstairs “big mice..” she walked past the staircase and then walked back to the staircase and then away again. “I won’t sleep until I investigate,” she grumbled, beginning her ascent of the stairs, moving carefully to not blow the candle out with any sudden movements. 

“I’ll just quickly check the rooms and be done with it.” Hana took a deep breath as she stood at the mouth of the long corridor, the darkness making it seem almost endless. ‘I’m a pirate now..can’t be scared of the dark..or not being able to see in the dark..’ cautiously Hana walked down the corridor making sure each door was shut and all was well until she reached the master bedroom she had spied early and the door was ajar. I closed it. I definitely closed it. Taking a deep breath and reaching for the handle she pushed the door open quickly. Slowly pushing a door open would only spur potential ghosts to give her a scare: she had read enough horror stories to know that was a bad idea and she kept a firm grip on the door handle so the door wouldn’t slam shut behind her. I got this. Holding the candle aloft, she scanned the room. Nothing. Maybe I didn’t close the door. As she lowered the candle, Hana became aware of something peering out from behind the door. Don’t look at it..it’s not there..can’t see it… taking a step backwards, the little flame was blown out and in alarm Hana jumped away from the door letting whatever lurked behind it to slam the door shut. 

Staggering backwards, Hana fell over what felt like a footstool and dropped the candle holder with a loud clatter as it rolled away from her on the wooden floor. Kicking the footstool towards the shadowy figure, Hana shuffled backwards in panic. “I can’t see it..it’s not here…” she chanted backing herself into a corner. The sound of quiet footsteps slowly became loud booming footsteps like a deep drum beat. “I can’t hear or see anything...nothing is there..” she mumbled, turning her back on the darkness covering her ears with her hands and closing her eyes tightly. Her chest felt so tight, it was getting difficult to breathe and she couldn’t stop shaking. “Don’t look at it..it’s not there..can’t see it…” she choked out, tears streaming down her face revealing her real emotions. She was scared. She tried to focus on what made her feel calm..that fiery red hair, hot temper, cocky grin, natural warmth. “Kid..” she sobbed quietly. “Kid.” again louder. The footsteps grew closer to her ever so slowly. “KID!” she screamed as loudly as she could muster.”KID!!” she screamed, though it was muffled through her continued and controllable sobbing. 

-

Kid was kicked awaked by Killer. “What-” he noticed the fire had been relit and a certain someone was missing from his arms. Everyone else was awake too. 

“I think she’s upstairs..there was-” Killer’s words were cut short when a strangled scream for Kid echoed from upstairs. Kid was on his feet in seconds he stumbled into the door frame clumsy as he raced towards the staircase. “I told her to stay put.” he grumbled to himself as he heard another cry for him. Kicking open each door scanning the room quickly. As he kicked open one of the doors the sound of metal rolling across the floor reached his ears scanning the darkness, he spotted Hana huddled in a corner sobbing.

 “it’s not there..can’t see it. Not there..” she chanted over and over through her sobs. Kneeling beside her, he set a hand on her head which just made her curl in on herself more. “Not there...Can’t…”

Kid draped his coat over her shoulder and felt her tense in realization though as she turned her eyes were firmly clamped shut, gingerly she reached to touch him but he guided her hand to his metal arm, that was a sure give away who it was. Swallowing deeply, she opened her eyes, her lips still quivering. “Kid..” once she had ascertained he was in fact there, Hana threw her arms around his neck and sobbed loudly. “Kid. I’m sorry. I heard a noise and then there was something in here and and-”

“Don’t be leaving my side.” he scolded, scooping her up with his metal arm “back downstairs.” he ordered everyone. The group headed back downstairs to the warmth of the living room. Hana was still visibly shaken by whatever happened. Kid made sure to pull her as close as possible trying to ease her nerves. “What happened to ghosts not being real?” he teased, trying to coax a smile out of her.

“Kid..I don’t…I don’t..” but it just made her cry again. 

“What happened?” he asked seriously planting a kiss into her bright orange hair. She sniffled loudly and regalled what happened. “No more scary shit before bed.” he warned, not wanting to be privy to anymore scares himself. She nodded and shuffled in close, he felt her let out a sigh of relief. 

“You make me feel safe.” she admitted, looking up at him from the confines of his coat. 

“I plan on keeping you safe..” he replied quietly.

The night went by without any further incidents. Morning came swiftly and Kid could not be more eager to get the hell out of that creepy dusty old house. Thankfully the rain had stopped and the sun shone brightly. Hana sighed deeply as she left the manor, as she crossed the courtyard she felt something behind her. Turning to take one last look at the manor, one side of the front door was open even though Killer had closed it. She could see directly into the living room where the fire was lit and a chair had been moved in front of it. She felt a chill run down her spine as long thin fingers appeared around the door. Unable to move from fear as she saw a head starting to appear from behind the door. Willing herself to move, she turned and bolted to catch up with Kid finding his arm to cling too.

“Oi. What’s wrong?” he asked, her sudden touch had startled him “you okay?” she nodded quickly and curiously peered back to see the front door was firmly closed. Kid put his arm over her shoulder. “Come on let's go.” 

Thankful to put the horror house firmly behind her, she sighed with relief. Maybe she needed a break from horror stories for a while..

Though some things aren’t so keen to be left behind and can leave a little bit to follow you forever.

#pumpkin writes #metalpumpkin #self ship #eustass kid x pumpkin #horror #spooks #one piece

[sillyrabbit81]

Her Heavy Cross

Summary: Three years after tragedy hits, Lana she decides to start dating again. She meets Will through a dating app and they begin an online romance. After months of constant requests, Lana relents and agrees to meet and go on an irl date with Will. But is Will who he says he is? Lana is quickly pulled into an intense relationship forcing her to confront her tragic past. Will Lana face it or will she close her heart forever?

Pairing: OMC x OFC

Word Count: approx 3.5k

Warnings: swearing, smoking

Authors Note: The story started as a Henry Cavill fanfiction but I changed it to be an original character, but shades of Henry are still there. Hope you enjoy the story and thanks for reading.

Part 1 Part 3

Part 2

I stopped breathing. My voice was strangled. "You're Will?"

Liam nodded. He had a massive smile on his face. "I hope you understand. I can hardly use my real name or photos on a dating app."

I made some sort of noise in agreement, but my thoughts were reeling. There's no Will. Will is Liam. Liam fucking Cross. Will lied to me. No, Liam lied to me. He told me he was a personal trainer. Whose photos were the ones he had online? Did he steal them? Who the fuck is this guy?

I was breathing again, but now my breath was ragged.

"Hey, it's ok, come and sit." Liam put his arm around my shoulders and guided me back to the table.

"Don't touch me." I spat out venomously.

He backed off immediately. Not looking at him, I walked the rest of the way myself. Sitting down, I crossed my arms and said, "why would you do that? Why would you lie like that?"

"Lie?" Liam sounded shocked. "I used a fake name and photo, and I apologise for that. I can't..." he paused for so long that I almost looked at him. "I can't exactly date in the usual way."

"How often do you do this?"

"I met another girl about a year ago in London. We went out a few times, but it didn't work out."

"Who were the photos of? Do they know you do this?"

"He is a friend from school. He knows."

I leaned my elbow on the table and rested my head in my hand. I needed a fucking cigarette. I reached into my bag and pulled out my emergency stash. I hadn't smoked in 3 weeks. Damn him.

I lit up and took a long drag. It didn't taste the best, but then the nicotine made it worthwhile. I finally looked at Liam.

"I thought you quit," he said.

"I have," I said tartly.

For a while, neither of us spoke.

I debated whether or not I should be as angry as I felt. On the one hand, the explanation made sense. I mean, if he had told me when we first started talking that he was really Liam Cross, I would have thought he had a few kangaroos lose in the top paddock. On the other hand, I felt like a fool. Is it that easy to fool me? I didn't even notice that he never sent me any pictures of himself. I didn't send him any either, but social media wasn't a big part of my life. I could easily go months without taking pictures of myself.

I went back and forth, arguing both sides until I stubbed my cigarette into the plastic ashtray and couldn't draw it out anymore.

"I get why you did what you did. But it's a bit of a shock."

Liam looked relieved. A curl had fallen onto his forehead, making him look like a lost puppy. Well, maybe a lost wolf cub. A wild and untamed wolf cub.

"I have some questions, though," I continued. Liam smiled and waved his hand in a go-ahead gesture. "So, other than your name and job, what else isn't true?"

"I was as honest as I could be. I am a guy who would rather stay home and read or watch movies or play video games than go out. I am looking for a serious relationship. I want a woman to come home to, but one who understands how busy my life is. I want a family, someone to take care of. All those things are true." He spoke with confidence like he had been thinking about what he wanted for a long time, but it sounded like a laundry list to me.

Liam moved his chair closer and went to take my hand. I pulled away.

"I'm sorry I upset you. It was not my intention to deceive you. I know what I want, and I know what kind of woman I want. In the circles I work in, there aren't many women like that. I wanted someone unconnected to the Hollywood world, someone who doesn't want to be famous. I didn't know how else to find someone like that."

I looked at Liam. I was held transfixed by his gaze. His blue eyes were so clear and sincere. I tore my eyes away.

When he spoke again, Liam's voice was small. "I am really sorry. I... Fuck." Running his fingers through his hair, he said, "I don't know what to say. Lana. I'm still the same person."

"But you're not." I shook my head. "It's not just that you lied online; I get that. But why did you lie here? You could have said, 'Hi, Lana. I know you thought you were meeting Will, but Will is actually me. I did that because I'm famous.' Instead, you played along with the charade and made me feel like a bloody dickhead."

Liam was quiet. He dropped his head. "Is that it then? Is this over before it has a chance to get started?"

I shrugged. My leg was bouncing. I tried to stop it, but it started again. I crossed my legs.

"Do you want me to go?" Liam asked.

"Do you want to go?"

"No." Liam leaned towards me, his hands close to my knee. "But I will if you want me to." He let the back of his index finger brush against my bare skin. It was the lightest of touches, but it thrilled me.

Feeling tongue-tied, I shook my head.

We sat like that for a while. Liam's finger continued to rub against my knee like he was trying to calm a skittish horse. The anger in me stilled under his touch. I didn't want it to. I wanted to stay angry. He was so gentle I couldn't help it.

Eventually, I gave a small smile. "Say something," I said, unable to stand the silence any longer.

Liam's face creased as a warm smile spread across his lips. "I'm happy you're here to meet you finally." He put his hand out, palm up on my knee. I put my hand in his, and it was immediately swallowed by his much larger hand. He sighed, seemingly relieved and said, "to touch you."

"Say something else." I implored. My fingers caressed his palm. I traced the lines I could feel and the rough callouses that formed below his fingers.

Liam became serious. No, not serious, something else. He looked at my hair and reached with his other hand to brush it behind my ear. "Your hair is redder than I thought it would be."

"Is that bad?" I asked unsurely. Being a redhead was hit and miss. Some guys seemed to love it, and others ran a million miles. We had a reputation, after all.

He shook his head, "it's beautiful." His eyes kept searching my face, and I turned my head to look away, feeling heat rise to my cheeks under his gaze. He put his hand under my chin and gently guided my face back.

"Don't look away. I want to look at you." My cheeks were on fire now, and I felt warmth spread all through my body.

Liam's hand moved down to my neck. His index finger caressed my ear lobe as he cupped my neck and all coherent thoughts fell away. Gently he put his thumb under my chin and lifted it stretching my neck. My whole body was aflame now. My lips parted as I gasped.

"I want to kiss you." Liam's voice was hoarse and wanton, yet firm. He wasn't asking to kiss me. He just told me what he wanted. I broke out in goose flesh and shivered. Yes, this is what I needed. I needed a man who knows what he wants. I didn't trust myself to speak clearly, so I licked my lips and closed my eyes.

Liam groaned. His hand left mine and held the back of my head, his fingers sliding through my hair. I felt his warm breath on my lips, smelling faintly of beer, earthy, almost like freshly cut grass. I could feel myself quivering in anticipation.

Then his lips met mine, so softly, I thought I had imagined it. Then he kissed me again, his lips firm but still so soft. He pulled me closer, and I reached out and grasped his shoulders.

His lips parted, opening mine as they did. Liam's tongue gently licked at my bottom lip. My tongue met his, and I moaned. I wanted more. I kissed him back with more ferocity than was probably necessary. I couldn't help it. Spurred on by my kiss, his hand turned into a fist in my hair. His lips moved against mine harder and faster.

My thoughts were gone. I could process nothing but the duel sensations of pleasure from his mouth and the ache from my stretched throat and pulled hair. It drove me wild, and instinct took over. I wrapped my arms around Liam, trying to get closer to him. My chest met his, and I felt his hard body against my soft breasts. I wanted to feel his whole body against mine, his hardness against my softness.

Then he slowed, his kisses become softer and longer, his tongue withdrew into his mouth, and I felt the loss if it. The loss of his heat against my body made me feel cold. Liam let my hair go and slowly sat back.

I opened my eyes, blinking several times as I adjusted to the light. I looked at Liam, his eyes were bright, and I watched as he suppressed a grin. Then I watched, fascinated as he moved in his chair and tried to hide the hand that moved between his legs as he adjusted himself. I had to look away. I laughed because otherwise, I think I would have died.

"What's so funny?" Liam asked though he sounded amused.

"Not funny, I just can't help it." His eyebrow popped up. "I just enjoyed that."

"Back to being direct, are you?"

I shrugged.

The twitchy lip was back. "Maybe not." I wanted to crawl under the table. "Do you still want to go to dinner?"

I nodded. "Where are we going?"

"Apparently, it's not far from here, on the harbour. It's a seafood place. I remember you telling me you like seafood."

I nodded vigorously. "That sounds perfect."

As we walked to the restaurant, Liam held my hand. We didn't say much, but it wasn't awkward. Sometimes I would look at him and catch him doing the same. I would look away first, giggling as I did. Liam would chuckle and squeeze my hand.

I was disgusted with myself for acting like a schoolgirl. I was a grown woman with a marriage under my belt. Yet, even as I wondered why I was acting like a 16-year-old, I knew the answer. Liam was gorgeous, successful and wanted me.

I looked at him, and again he caught me. This time I forced myself not to look away. I returned his gaze and studied his face.

Turning his body to face me, Liam's eyes drifted down my body, lingering on my breasts. He slowly smiled. I felt naked, like he knew what I looked like without clothes.

Liam took a step towards me, forcing me to take a step back. Again he came closer, and again I retreated until I felt my back against the wall behind me. Liam's arms came up, and he put his hands on the wall beside my head. As I searched his face, I saw a naked hunger. I swallowed hard.

I wanted to look away, to say we should keep walking, but I also wanted to stay there trapped by Liam's arms. Up close, his arms were so big, and they looked like they could break me without much effort. He pressed his whole body against me, and one of his legs slipped between mine. My bones became jelly, like I would slide down the wall if his firm body weren't holding me together.

I put my hands on his wrists and felt my way up to his shoulders. Every muscle in his arms was tight, and I could feel each in turn as I moved my hands. I shuddered as my hands reached his triceps, and he flexed for me. My hips buck against his leg in an involuntary move, and I felt the sweet friction between my own. Liam made a noise from deep in his throat and took a step back so quickly I almost fell.

"We should get going, or we will lose our reservation," Liam said coldly and started walking. I was confused and struck immobile for a moment, then had to take a few jogging steps to catch up to him. This time he didn't take my hand. I didn't look at him for the rest of the way.

"I believe this is the place," Liam announced. It was beautiful, right on the harbour with the Harbour Bridge's views to one side and the Opera House on the other. The water was dark and reflected the bridge's lights, twinkling like it was another sky.

I finally looked at Liam. He was smiling again. He put his arm out and made a slight bow, indicating I should go first. I was still confused about earlier. He was so hot and then so cold, I didn't know what to make of it. I didn't want to make a scene, so I went in, but I also didn't want him to think he could get away with it.

The maître de greeted Liam by name and ushered us both upstairs and to a private balcony overlooking the harbour. We sat and were given a quick rundown of the evening's menu. It was a degustation, so the menu was set, and there would be eight dishes. The sommelier followed quickly behind, giving drink recommendations. Liam asked for paired wines, and I agreed. Eventually, we were left alone.

"I'm sorry about earlier," Liam said. "You make me forget where I am." He smiled. His mischievous look made him seem almost boyish.

"Why does it matter where you are?" I asked harshly.

"I don't want photos out there of me kissing you in an alleyway."

"I see." I did see. My heart sank. I knew it was too good to be true.

"What's wrong?" Liam was frowning.

"Nothing. I mean, it would be terrible if anyone knew you were kissing me," I said. I was probably a little too sarcastic.

"You know what I mean, Lana."

"Yes, I do." I stood. "This was a mistake. I should have left after your first lie."

Liam grabbed my wrist and stood up. "I don't think you do understand. A photo of you showing up with me means they will start hunting you down, find out who you are, search your social media, look into everything. They will probably publish your name, age, occupation. Dig up every bit of dirt they can. Are you ready for that?" I had to admit I was not. "All of this happening while we are still getting to know each other. It's a nightmare you don't want."

"You're right," I said softly. "I don't think I'll ever want that."

He let go of me and sighed. We both stood there for a few moments. Eventually, he spoke, "I don't want to put you in a situation where you're uncomfortable. You were right, and I shouldn't have lied about who I was. I want to honest with you about what being in a relationship with me means. Part of that is being very private about the relationship until you're ready to go public. It also means not telling friends or family who you don't trust to keep quiet."

"You know that this isn't normal right?" Liam nodded. "Ok, just so we are clear, dating you would be like dating a married man? No one can know."

"A married man?" Liam looked startled. "No, not like that. This isn't about me or to protect myself but to protect yourself. I'm not ashamed to be seen with you. You need to decide when you want the public to know about us. I already have almost no privacy, but I won't make that decision for someone else."

"Lots of celebrities date someone not famous, and no one talks about them."

"Yes, they do. At first anyway, the longer they're together, the less they get talked about if they are smart with publicity. Don't you read magazines, follow Twitter gossip, Instagram or anything?"

"Not really. I mean, if there is a tv show or something I like, I'll follow updates on filming and interviews with the actors, but that's usually it."

"Things can get vicious online with gossip."

"Are you trying to scare me off?" I said, a bit pissed. "Because it's working."

"No. I want you to know what can happen."

I started to sit back down. Liam pushed my chair in as I sat.

"If we were to date, would I have to do anything? Like, can't I just be in the background?" I scrunched my nose up, "I don't have to be all on Instagram selling diets or anything, do I?"

Liam chortled. "No, nothing like that."

"Good." I think people would laugh at my big thighs if I tried to do that anyway.

"And that is why I like you." Liam took my hand and lifted it to his lips, his whiskers tickling as he pressed a kiss to my palm. I shivered.

Our first course arrived then with some wine. It was a beautifully sliced tuna sashimi with orange and ginger. It melted in my mouth and exploded with fantastic citrus flavour. I'm sure I moaned aloud. I just hoped it wasn't a When Harry Met Sally level of noise. The white wine with it was also delicious, slightly dry, but easy to drink.

"My god!"

"Good, huh?" Liam asked.

"Sho gud," I said after I had already put more in my mouth. Liam laughed, and I quickly finished chewing and took another drink. "Sorry."

"Don't apologise. I'm enjoying watching you enjoy it."

"Buckle up then champion because if the next seven courses are anything like that, you're going have the time of your life." I don't think I could have said anything more cringe-inducing. Hiding my face with my hands, my cheeks felt hot. But Liam laughed and took my hands away. His face was warm, so I laughed as well.

The next seven courses were amazing, scampi tails, lobster and beef, beautiful salads with roe and sorbet for dessert. It was astonishing, something I had rarely experienced before. None of the ingredients were new to me, but I've never had food prepared with such exquisite care and attention to detail. Little edible flowers and streaks of sauces were laid out on the plates, making the food a feast for the eyes.

The wine was impressive. We had five glasses all up, each one a flavour to compliment the food. I know I was a little inebriated by the end.

Liam wasn't sober either. The wait staff seemed to take it in stride, carefully clearing away our plates while avoiding Liam's flailing arms as he told me stories. Liam liked to talk with his hands when he was drunk, evidently.

As the night went on and the alcohol flowed, we both became much more relaxed and open. Our conversations flowed as they had on the phone over the last couple of months. He told me stories about his family and growing up in London. He mainly talked about his two brothers. I told him more about my older brother, David and the horrible things he did to me as we grew up. We compared notes to see whose siblings were the worst.

When the bill arrived, Liam paid. He insisted, saying he asked me out so he should pay.

"Don't you mean begged me to out with you?" I asked, teasing.

Liam pretended to be offended but conceded immediately, "I suppose asking nearly every day for a month is begging. I'm glad I did." He put his arm on the back of my chair and leaned in close, our noses nearly touching. "Did you enjoy dinner?"

I felt heady being so close to him. Either it was him or the wine. I closed my eyes as his nose nudged mine. I heard someone coming up the stairs, and I pulled away.

The waiter returned Liam's card and offered to call us a taxi.

While we waited in the restaurant's foyer, I thanked Liam for a great night and kissed him on the cheek. His rough face pricked my lips, making them tingle.

I ran my finger along his jaw, feeling his short, sharp beard and his smooth skin on impulse. I smiled as I went.

"What are you doing?" Liam asked, his voice playful.

I shrugged, "I don't know. I've just had the urge to do that since I first saw you."

"Do you like it? The hair, I mean." I nodded. "Then I'll keep it as long as I can." Liam took me in his arms. "You feel nice," he said, voice a little slurred. I blushed. I felt like I had spent most of the night blushing. Liam kept picking strands of hair off my face and putting them behind my ear. I looked up into his eyes as he played with my hair.

"Come back to my place, Sweetheart?" Liam asked. I laughed and raised an eyebrow at him, and he laughed with me. "I don't want tonight to end yet. I've waited so long to meet you."

Andy's face appeared like an apparition. For a moment, Liam was Andy, and I was standing in his arms again. He had been taller than Liam but not as muscular, hair not as dark, skin not as pale. But then Liam said my name, and Andy vanished. I had definitely had too much to drink, or was it the old guilt resurfacing?

I shook my head as if it would erase the thoughts. I put a smile on my face and pretended to think it over, "Mr Cross, you're very bold."

"Indeed, Miss Walker." Liam grinned, playing along. Mrs Walker, I thought but didn't say.

"Very well, Mr Cross, I shall accompany you back to your home."

"Very good, Miss Walker." Liam lifted my chin and placed a light kiss on my lips.

Part 3

#original character #original fiction #romantic story

[crownarg-the-watchers]

Old Favorites

The royal Scribe leans against a tall bundle of straw, the wooden planks of the boat rocking beneath him with the waves. It itches against the back of his neck, through the collar of his silk robes, and he sits forward to pick up the small cup of rice wine, the tilt of the floor beneath them sending his drink splashing precariously up against the cup’s sides. With the thick fog, he can hardly make out the matching bundles of straw on the opposite side of the boat, but he can see the man in front of him’s smug and accomplished smirk. Around them – the thundering beating of drums, forcing the Scribe to speak loudly in order to be heard.

“Respectfully, you are absolutely certain that this will work? If it does not, your execution is an unavoidable outcome.”

“The outcome is certain,” the statesman replies, taking a sip of his own wine. “Just as war is certain, and this fog was certain, so much so that I knew of it three days in advance. Just as you asking to accompany me was certain, Scribe.”

“It is true what you say,” the Scribe says, and shoos a glowing red eye back into his long sleeves. “And what you predicted – it is also about to become true.”

A sound like cracking whips and rushing wind and leaves under boot is drowned out completely by the sudden thump of thousands of arrows into straw bundles and wooden shields all around them. The drummers go on, shouting and pounding their instruments like a war cry, and in beat with the rhythm, arrows thud into wood and grass all around them.

“His imperial majesty will be greatly pleased,” the statesman tells him. “And also greatly displeased.”

“Displeased?” the Scribe asks. “You have achieved exactly what you were ordered to do.”

“Friend, you know very well that his imperial majesty ordered upon me this impossible task, and rejoiced when he was certain I would fail,” the statesman says with a smile. “It is a foolish man who cannot see that his majesty only wanted a reason to kill me.”

“I am not so foolish. I simply wanted to hear it from you.”

-=-=-=-

They watch from within the growing crowd as the bearded poet sings a long story of his own creation – he had been standing on the stone steps reciting it since early that morning, with his Muse always nearby to listen. Their dark hair is hidden beneath a curled wig, their face behind a sheer veil. Dressed in long chiton and peplos, the Muse can still see their poet with their eyes hidden, his gaze landing on them briefly as he continues –

“...for all the pain his lays may cause me I will salute him nonetheless; bards are honoured and respected throughout the world, for the muse teaches them their songs and loves them.”

The Muse tilts their head, smiling secretly to themselves. They are a keeper of stories, not one who tells them, but the prose of the writer and aoidos was something they would lend their memories to willingly. To play the role of Calliope, a minor goddess though she was, would surely have their poet scolding them for their hubris, though it was no such thing. It isn’t overconfidence if it is true, after all – but Calliope was a name they would have to abandon soon.

It was a performance, a story of length that was recited from dawn to dusk, in the beating sun on stone steps, no food and little water. The Muse helped their poet to his inn, and over his evening meal told the last words of that decade-long war, of snakes that strangled a prophet to death, and a princess who perfectly mimicked the voices of those women who she had never met. Their poet drank wine and remembered, and his Muse disappeared in the night.

-=-=-=-

The Archivist waits by the city gates late into the night, a red glow and faint crackle emanating from her as she looks out into the night. Distantly, a part of her can hear the numerous thundering of footsteps marching towards the city, the steady clang of swords against armor against bronze shields. From the city itself, there is a skid of sandals against a stone yet unnamed, a girl with hair done up and eyes powdered sliding down towards the gate. She sees the one waiting and tenses, and the Archivist knows exactly how she looks.

Dark hair loose from braids or even curls, with her palla worn as a dark hooded cloak over a men’s tunic, and a red glow lighting her inhuman and foriegn-shaped face. She must look like the goddess Trivia or Invidia, here to strike the girl with justice from the heavens for her attempted treachery. The Archivist plans to do nothing of the sort.

“Come down from the rock, daughter,” she calls, and the girl slides down to the gate. She is trembling.

“I’m sorry, goddess, for my treachery,” the girl cries, falling to her knees. “Punish me, Vesta, goddess of fire with your burning eyes. I hear the crackle of flames around you. I am by nature a fool, and a traitor, so greedy as to seek to be above my honorable station, of which I am not worthy – and I am undeserving of you to appear before me.”

Being not Vesta, nor anything of the sort, the Archivist puts a gentle hand on the girl's shoulder, and helps her to her feet.

“You wish to be punished, daughter?” She asks, and the girl nods frantically, torn with guilt. “This is not the great empire I once knew it to be. This invasion will either strengthen it and make the Empire stronger, or the Capitol will fall. Daughter of Vesta: when the soldiers come, open the gate in exchange for that which they wear on their arms – then you shall be punished for your treason, and the Empire will be tested. Now – I hear the march of their armies. Fare well.”

Deftly, the Archivist opens the gate and slips out into the dark night, closing it on the still-kneeling vestal behind her.

-=-=-=-

There is a demon in her closet – there is a Watcher in those shadows. He is dark haired and black-eyed, and he is not human. The other girls under her aunt's care often bring men into their rooms to share their beds, but the Watcher knows his presence meant that the girl that he watched would not dare to do the same.

After all, she is only thirteen, and so lonely that she would tell him whatever he asked of her – and so he is careful to ask after only her music lessons, and gossip among the other girls. Not of her family, who gave her to her aunt because of poverty, nor her thirty-six year old music teacher, whom he knows follows the girl around at parties.

She comes crying to him, and she is a sweet girl still – kind despite her family and absent aunt, her music teacher and the other girls. As much as she cries, she laughs easily as well, and after a flash of red in his bedroom disturbs the much older man away from her, she looks forward to dances again. The Watcher is glad for her, for the girl that treats them like a journal to talk to every day. He knows he is the only man who doesn’t make her skin crawl when he looks at her, and he is not even a man, not truely. Still, she speaks to him in shift only, sometimes, and though he does not cover his eyes, they do not stray from her face.

Still, she brings up to him a dog from the courtyard, and coos over it while still holding it up high enough that it doesn’t track mud across her carpets. She is not broken yet, and the Watcher encourages her to take a break from her studies with a soft smile, a puppy sat contented in her lap.

“Pet ‘t, dearest demon! Is it's fur not so soft and inviting? Thou knoweth thee wanteth to, and the mistress wilt soon returne home, and maketh me bringe ‘t back to the courtyard,” she calls, pushing the dog towards him. He does so, and her face lights up.

“‘t likes thee as much as thee doth love ‘t, mine dear. Just recall to returneth ‘t ere thy mistress make thee, or thou wilt bet troubled greatly.”

The girl smiles, and her eyes are bright. The Watcher is not eager to watch them cloud over, not just with tears but with despair – but he knows some of what is to come. “Thou art correct, but at which hour art thee not? I wilt speaketh with thee again, and doth wish for me that none of the servants or other girls see me passe.”

“I wilt wish for thee. Wend, and hie back.”

-=-=-=-

The pine needles are soft under the Observer’s boots, snow lying in drifts at the sides of the path. Whistling through the trees, a winter wind blows him reassuringly in the right direction, towards the rumors and the exceptions and the outcasts. That was, he knew, where the stories were made – with the solvers of impossible puzzles, set upon them by unreachable figures. With the writers, and the storytellers, and the investigators, who get their hands dirty to make history accessible. Stories laid with the traitors and the rebels and the guilty consciences, with those who had been wronged by whom they should have been able to trust.

The Observer had sought out his entertainment for eras, and – as he rubbed his hands together and blew out white steam – this mineshaft in the woods had the makings of something truly interesting.

#writing #jack the observer #server carg