#my parents grandparents g-grandparents g-g-grandparents—we’ve all been waiting for this since the day we had to leave

[probably-eating-poptarts]

His Cherokee Rose - Ch. 2

I meant to post one chapter a week, but this whole Corona BS is throwing off my schedule big time. So this week, you get a two for one! Part One

Read on AO3 here

Word count: 3k

Rory is laughing, sitting at a round table with several elderly men in a spacious auditorium that serves as a common area while they swap war stories and reminisce about better times, when she hears the first commotion from afar. Earlier that morning Jorge, Felipe, his cousin Miguel, and another man named Carlito had gone out on a run, but Rory prefers to stay safe inside with the old folks while Guillermo and his men handle most of the supply runs outside the walls of the compound. Normally things go pretty smoothly, but today something different must have happened.

Rising from her chair, Rory goes in search of answers, following the angry voices until she finds Felipe in the garage bay ranting about strangers jumping them in the city.

"What happened?" she asks Jorge. "What's all this about a bag of guns?"

He tells her about a scouting mission the day before, and a duffel bag full of rifles and ammunition just lying out in the open prime for the taking. There had been a horde of walkers surrounding one of the tanks left behind by the military, and today they had gone to retrieve it now that the crowd has dissipated some, but they'd been attacked by strangers.

Apparently Felipe had taken an arrow to the ass, too.

"We've got their boy now, though," Jorge explains with a triumphant smile. "And G isn't gonna hand him over 'til those putos give us the guns."

"So that's what we do now?" Rory asks scathingly, turning to Felipe just as Guillermo joins them. "We take prisoners and demand ransoms?"

"You gotta understand our position, cariño," Guillermo responds. "We need those weapons to protect this place. We don't know these people, and they took Miguel hostage, too."

Rory shakes her head in agitation, but they're all riled and ready to brawl. Making eye contact with their appointed leader, she gives him a glare that relays undoubtedly her dislike of their plans, and stalks off to find that their own hostage has been sat in a chair with Felipe's abuela and another older man named Mr. Gilbert.

The Asian boy looks terrified, his skin flushed with sweat and his clothes rumpled and dirty. Rory walks into the kitchen and comes back to him with a glass of water, offering the drink with a sympathetic smile.

"Please, let me go," he begs as he takes the glass with trembling hands.

"I'm going to talk with Guillermo again," she reassures him. "We'll get this all sorted out, and get you back to your group."

"This is all just a misunderstanding!" he continues frantically. "Please, you gotta tell them that those guns belong to us! Rick dropped them when the walkers attacked his horse, and we need them to protect our camp. We were just trying to defend ourselves, not attack your homies, or whatever."

Rory hushes him and pats his forearm, her smile faltering as her stomach twists with stale sorrow. It's been a long time since she's heard her deceased father's name spoken. "I promise I'll talk to them, but I'm a newcomer here so I don't know how much I'll be able to affect their decisions. Guillermo isn't the type to hurt innocent strangers, though. You'll be okay."

She pauses for a moment. "We have to protect our people too, you know. Maybe we can work out a trade or something."

"What's your name?" the new kid asks her.

"Rory. What about you?"

"I'm Glenn. Please, you have to help me. I just want to go back to my friends, and I don't want anyone to get hurt."

The young woman nods and sighs, running her fingers through the tumbled mass of her thick brunette hair.

"Just stay put, and I'll see what I can do, okay?"

Glenn nods, but before she can make good on her word she's stopped by a choking gasp from Mr. Gilbert. She rushes to his side, followed closely by Glenn, and tries to calm the old man down as he's hit by a full-blown asthma attack. Felipe's grandmother immediately totters off to fetch her grandson, but they can do nothing but wait and watch until their resident nurse arrives to assist.

Minutes pass in tense silence, broken only by Mr. Gilbert's wheezing, and Rory doesn't even look up when Felipe finally trots into the room, still limping slightly from his injury.

Until she realizes there are multiple sets of footsteps, and glances up to see who's followed. What she expects is Guillermo and Jorge and maybe the other members of their crew, but what she sees has her jaw dropping in unadulterated shock.

Her voice is barely more than a whisper, but in the spacious room, it manages to carry far enough.

"Daddy?"

.

..

…

..

.

For that moment, everything around them seems to freeze. The noise falls away, and Rory stands dumbfounded as she watches her own father stroll into the room, alive and well. She pays no mind to the two other strange men who follow at his heels, and when their eyes lock, Rick Grimes stumbles to a stop.

"Rory?"

Her feet can't carry her fast enough as she sprints across the room and hurls herself into her father's arms, burying her face into the curve of his neck with a breathless cry of joy. She couldn't care less about the big black man who curses in surprise, or the scruffy redneck who instinctively aims the shaft of his crossbow at her. All she cares about right now is that her dad is alive. His arms clamp around her back, crushing her against his chest, and his own sobs are muffled against her shoulder.

"I thought you were dead!" she mumbles through her tears. "I got separated from everybody, and the walkers almost got me in the city. I didn't think I'd make it."

"You're okay, baby girl. You're okay," Rick reassures his daughter, carding his fingers through her hair. "Everything's alright now, I'm here."

"Sorry to break up this tearful reunion," the rough-looking stranger suddenly pipes up. "But don't forget we still got to deal with this shit."

Rory turns her head to see him motion towards the group gathered around Mr. Gilbert, and as Rick unwillingly releases her from his embrace he keeps one hand firmly on her shoulder, as if worried that breaking contact will make her disappear as they all move closer.

Her father's attention is quickly drawn to Glenn, who stands at the edge of the crowd watching on with everyone else as Felipe helps Mr. Gilbert with his inhaler.

"What the hell is this?" Rick questions.

"An asthma attack," Glenn answers as he looks up. "Couldn't get his breath all of a sudden."

"I thought you were being eaten by dogs, man," the black stranger quips.

Rory presses her fingers against her lips to stifle a giggle as Glenn turns to look down at three small Chihuahuas cuddled together on a leopard-print doggy bed. The bravest of the canine trio, a little white-furred scrap, yaps fiercely at all the commotion.

During all the fuss Rory must have missed Guillermo's arrival, but she feels her dad turning and sees him hiss under his breath, "Could I have a word with you?"

Still refusing to relinquish his hold on his daughter, Rick tows her along with him as he leads Guillermo off to the side.

"You're the dumbest sonofabitch I have ever met," he whispers harshly. "We walked in here ready to kill every last one of you."

"You what?!" Rory looks up at her father in shock, and he levels her with a steady glare.

"We would have done whatever it took to get Glenn back."

"So you were just gonna bust in here, guns blazing?"

"Well, I'm glad it didn't go down that way," Guillermo interrupts the pair before their argument can devolve any further.

"If it had, that blood would be on my hands," Rick says solemnly.

"Mine too," G counters. "We would have fought back. Wouldn't be the first time we've had to. Protect the food, the medicine - What's left of it."

"I can't believe you two!" Rory snaps, glaring between the two men as they size each other up. They both pause, and while the younger Grimes pulls her arm from her father's grasp, Guillermo sighs heavily.

"These people, the old ones - The staff took off, just left 'em here to die," he says. "Me and Felipe were the only ones who stayed."

"What are you, doctors?" Rick inquires.

"Felipe's a nurse - A special care provider. Me… I'm the custodian."

Guillermo checks to make sure everyone is settled and Mr. Gilbert's attack has passed before leading Rory, her father, Glenn, and the two strangers into an empty room off to the side. Rick sets the duffel bag that has caused so many issues into a nearby armchair, and questions the other man once again.

"What about the rest of your crew?"

"The vatos trickle in to check on their parents, their grandparents," he explains. "They see how things are and most decide to stay. It's a good thing, too. We need the muscle. The people we've encountered since things fell apart; the worst kind - Plunderers, the kind that take by force. With the exception of your daughter, that is. She's been a great help to us since Felipe rescued her from the walkers."

Rick glances at Rory, perched nearby on top of an old side table. She shrugs her shoulders noncommittally.

"That's not who we are," he responds.

"How was I to know?" Guillermo insists. "My people got attacked and you show up with Miguel hostage - Appearances."

The bigger stranger pipes up from his own spot slouched in a chair by the far wall: "Guess the world changed."

"No," G responds instantly, "It's the same as it ever was. The weak get taken. So we do what we can here. The vatos work on those cars; talk about getting the old people out of the city. But most can't even get to the bathroom by themselves, so that's just a dream. Still, it keeps the crew busy, and that's worth something."

Rory watches the two men share a knowing look, and she shifts restlessly on her seat. Directly across the room from her stands the scruffy stranger, studying everything with a guarded expression. His gaze lands on her for a moment, their eyes locking, but a shot of uneasiness trickles down her spine that makes her look away with a frown. He looks half-feral - like a dog who's one step away from his brother wolf in the forest.

Like he could inflict a lot of damage without even breaking a sweat.

Guillermo is still talking about how he and his crew fortified the building, barring the windows and welding the doors shut.

"The vatos, they go out - Scavenge what they can to keep us going. We watch the perimeter night and day and we wait. The people here, they all look to me now. I don't even know why."

"Because they can," Rick tells him steadily. He looks down at the shotgun in his hand, and then hands it over silently before turning to the duffel bag and pulling out a rifle, setting it on the desk behind where G sits. Slowly he doles out a few more guns along with several boxes of ammo, and then zippers the bag shut again.

The two men exchange goodbyes, and Guillermo leads everyone back into the main room. He tells his crew that the strangers are all free to go.

"I guess this is goodbye then, eh cariño? I'm sure you'll be wanting to go with your padre."

Rory turns to see Felipe smiling somberly at her. With a tearful nod she hugs both men each in turn before moving about the room to say her farewells to each of the residents she had come to know during her stay. They all wish her the best as she trots after her father and his group, and while they make their way back onto the street, Rick drapes his arm across his daughter's shoulders.

"Now we can get you back to your mom and brother," he murmurs, rubbing his palm against her upper arm. "I'm sure they're missing you pretty badly at this point."

Rory's smile is blinding as she turns to her father in shock, and he gives her a smirk in return before gently steering her away from the heart of Atlanta.

The group's trek back through the city is blessedly uneventful. They remain mostly silent along the way - not wanting to risk attracting walkers - with the exception of introductions. Rory already knows Glenn's name, but her father acquaints her with T-Dog, the bulky African American who gives her a friendly smile, and Daryl, the feral-looking one who does nothing more than squint his eyes and spit on the ground near her feet. She glares right back at him, and the second her father's back is turned she sticks her tongue out childishly.

But as they finally reach the outskirts, trekking beneath the shadow of an elevated train track, Glenn pipes up: "Admit it: you only came back to Atlanta for the hat."

"Don't tell anybody," Rory's father responds.

Daryl, who hasn't said a word since their departure from Guillermo's compound, finally turns to Rick and speaks out.

"You've given away half our guns and ammo."

"Not nearly half."

"For what?" The wild-looking man questions. "Bunch of old farts who are gonna die off momentarily anyhow? Seriously, how long you think they got?"

"How long do any of us?" Rory snaps, leveling him with an icy glare. "I lived with those people, and I gotta say that most of them have more decency in their little finger than you do in your entire body."

The pair lock eyes, each sporting a sour expression, but before he can respond their group circles around the front of an abandoned Metro bus and come to a quick halt.

"Oh my God," Glenn murmurs.

"Where the hell's our van?" Daryl demands, momentarily ignoring his consternation with the Sheriff's daughter in lieu of more important issues.

"We left it right there," Glenn continues. "Who would take it?"

Rick responds without hesitation.

"Merle."

Realization dawns on Daryl's face. "He's gonna be taking some vengeance back to camp."

.

..

…

..

.

Evening is falling, and above the calls of night birds and cicadas the steady sound of footfalls and panting can be heard.

Rory jogs along behind her father, ignoring the stitch in her side as she keeps pace with the group. All she can think about is her mother and brother in danger, and that pushes her to keep going as they continue up the hill, keeping to the rough gravel path surrounding the quarry below.

Suddenly the rapid crack of gunfire and panicked screaming rips through the relative quiet from up ahead.

"Oh my God," Rick whispers.

"Go, go!" Someone yells, and they take off racing towards the source of the commotion.

They burst in through the back of the campsite, where everything is in utter chaos. Rick drops the duffel bag as he begins unloading buckshot into the nearest walkers, and Rory pauses long enough to grab a rifle and two clips before joining in the battle. Years ago her father had started bringing her to the gun range where he and Shane would practice after work, and it wasn't long before Rory was learning how to handle a gun all on her own. Now that practice is proving to be very useful.

The clearing is filled with terrified screams and the sharp crack of the guns, but one by one the walkers fall.

Rory hears her dad yelling for her mom and Carl, and slowly she makes her way after him, nailing two, three, six, then eight walkers as they shamble into her line of sight. Around her the other members of the group are fighting just as hard, and out of the corner of her eye she watches Daryl decimate the skull of a fallen walker with the butt of his shotgun.

"Dad!" she hears her little brother scream from the top of the hill, where she sees most of the survivors huddled beneath the awning of an old Winnebago.

"Carl!" Rick scoops his sobbing son into his arms, holding him close to his chest.

Rory finally has a clear shot through the massacre towards her family. "Mama!" she cries.

Lori looks like she's seen a ghost as her daughter scrambles up the slope, and in an instant the little family is whole once again. The remainder of the walkers are quickly dispatched, and Rory weeps into her mother's shoulder as they embrace tightly.

But the joy of being reunited is dampened by the cries of sorrow and fear. Among the bodies of rotten corpses lie several members of the group, clawed and chewed apart like hunks of meat. To the side a blond woman kneels over the fallen form of a younger girl, sobbing as she tries desperately to stem the flow of blood from several deep bite wounds. Rory can hear her wailing as the life fades from her companion, and she wonders if they were family, given their resemblance. The thought sobers her and she gently pulls away from her mother to haul Carl into her arms, hugging him fiercely.

"I missed you, little brother," she whispers.

"We thought you were dead," he responds tearfully. "I'm so glad you're back."

"Me too, kiddo… Me too."

**

Part three is now posted!

#the walking dead #TWD #his cherokee rose #HCR #daryl x oc #daryl dixon #original character #original female character #fanfiction #cross posted #ao3 #(kind of) canon compliant #archive of our own

[maknaesdancersrappers]

on the third day of kinkmas, my lover did to me:

[ f a c e - s i t t i n g ]

>>KUN

>>warning/s: breeding kink bc why not, unprotected sex (bc breeding kink duh), a dash of angst

a/n: we need more smutty kuntent for this prince of China

-

Most arranged marriages between kingdoms for peace and unity end up being unhappy and result in multiple affairs and concubines. Your parents considered themselves lucky because they were good friends before your grandparents arranged them to get married; and because such predicament is unavoidable, your parents have made arrangements for you to befriend, at an early age, the son of the neighboring kingdom.

Kun of the Qian kingdom was soft spoken and bashful when you met him. Both of you were eight years old, hiding behind your mother’s dresses as your parents urged the two of you to talk. After another encouraging urge from his father, Kun stepped forward and asked if you wanted to catch dragonflies in the garden.

And everything started there.

When you were both fourteen, he found out you liked butterflies more so he gifted you a garden of flowers to attract them beneath the balcony of your room.

Two years later, there was no doubt you were inseparable and mutual admiration was undeniable. The relationship everyone had speculated was forced through the arrangement was now something both of you wanted and enjoyed.

“Kun.” You quietly beckoned to the boy tending to the parasol to provide you shade from the afternoon sun.

“Yes, princess?” He peeks down from the frilled parasol.

You feel your cheeks warm when your eyes meet, “Oh, you know you don’t have to address me as such.”

Kun smiles at you, taking one last check at the parasol’s position before taking a seat on the picnic blanket beside you. “I meant it as a nickname.”

Your face felt like it was burning now, “Oh… well, I was just wondering. We’re sixteen now. In a few years, we’re expected to announce our engagement and the wedding will follow not long after.” You fiddled with your thumbs on top of your lap. “I was wondering if we had a choice—would we push through with it?”

Kun cocks his head to the side, the fringes covering his brow following, “I would if you would.”

“What if I didn’t want to?”

The briefest frown graced his face before forcing out a smile you could only describe as melancholic. “Then we wouldn’t get married.”

“But!” You exclaim, straightening your back and reaching out to cover his hand with yours, “I do, though. I wouldn’t want to marry anybody else.”

The prince chuckles; moving to hold your hand, raise to his lips, and presses a kiss over your knuckles. “As do I, my princess.” Through his lashes, he glances at you. “My future queen.”

“My future king.” You quietly say back to him.

You shared your first ever kiss that day; the first time you ever felt his lips, plump and soft, against yours: it felt like kissing a rose bud.

Ever since that day, you and Kun were something more. Anyone could tell, from the stable boys when you two wish to ride your horses to your own parents, casting knowing glances across the dining table as you and Kun smile at each other.

When you were twenty, just a year shy from the wedding date, a rival kingdom wages war against the Qian kingdom that required both your fathers (as your kingdom is already an ally to theirs)—and Kun—to set out for battle.

The night before they had to leave, you sat in your silk nightgown at the foot of your bed, worried and frightened by the possible outcome of the war.

A knock sounds on your door and your lady-in-waiting calls out, “My lady, Prince Kun would like to see you.”

“Come in.” You reply in a voice loud enough for her to hear through the thick mahogany doors, rising to your feet and briskly walking over to greet Kun, also dressed in his sleepwear, as he enters with a hug. “Must you go?”

He sighs, “It’s my kingdom, [Y/N]. My people need me—and they’re yours, too, in a year’s time.”

You open your mouth to retort, but you dare not say such a predicament; a nightmare. He, however, is quick to catch on, kissing your forehead in consolation.

“I’ll be alright, princess. We’ll win the war and I’ll return with our fathers safely.”

“How are you so sure? Death is inevitable in wars, Kun, I don’t want to risk it.” Tears spring onto your eyes at the thought. “I don’t want to risk losing you.”

“You won’t.” He repeats, thrice; each one with a kiss on your lips. “When I return from war, victorious or not, I will marry you immediately. I promise—please, my princess, tell me how I could put your worrying heart at ease.”

Without thinking, you quickly beg, “Lay with me.”

He is taken aback with your request. A prince and princess during their betrothal period is not allowed to bed one another. And although you two have messed around in the shadows when you were left alone unattended, neither of you pressed to go any further.

“[Y/N].”

“In case the worst befalls you,” You glide your palms to cup his face, “I want my innocence be taken by you, and only you. In case you don’t return, leave me with your offspring��son or daughter, I don’t care! As long as they bear any resemblance of you.”

Kun’s features contort into unease, “I can’t let you raise my kid on your own. What will people say about us breaking the rule of being betrothed? They’ll call us shameless for being impatient. If I don’t return, you’ll be unfit to be wed off to another if they find out we’ve slept together—let alone finding out you are carrying my son. You’ll be brandished as a whore and I can’t have that.”

“I don’t care! I don’t want anybody else!” You cry into his chest, gripping onto the cloth of his shirt. “Would you let another man hold me when you’re gone?”

His fingers on your back twitches at your words, letting you know how he really feels about the situation.

“Would you let another man deflower me? Pleasure me like you could have? Would you have allowed another man’s child in my womb?”

“No.” Kun spits out the single syllable with disgust.

“My love,” You whisper, “this could very well be our last night together.”

He breathes in deeply as he lets your words sink in, placing his hand to cover your own. He intertwines his fingers with yours and brings it to his lips, kissing your palm. “If you put it that way, then I must spend the next hours showing you the extent of my love.”

You stumble back a bit when he kisses you suddenly, your hands finding support on his muscles that have gotten firm during the days he spent away to train for a battle.

For a brief second you’re reminded of what’s to come when the night is over, but it’s quickly thrown out the window as Kun’s nimble fingers dance along your arms and hook the sleeves of your nightgown between them; pushing it down your shoulders.

You help him get your dress off, letting the silky cloth pool around your ankles until you were left in your panties. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before but he still likes dragging his eyes over the expanse of your exposed skin.

Kun untucks his shirt and pulls it overhead, tossing it aside without another care. He leads you to your bed, carefully laying you down the soft blankets and trailing kisses down your body; from your lips, chin, neck, both breasts, until he reaches your navel. “By the time I return, this must be swollen with our child, yes?”

“Yes.” You repeat, practically shaking in anticipation as he rolls your underwear off. You press your thighs together when he extracts the white clothing article from your ankles.

He slides his hands up your legs and leans forward to kiss your knees, “May I see you, princess?”

Your heart is thumping erratically in your chest as you slowly part your legs, wincing slightly at the cold air that breezes through your intimate parts.

Kun sighs, almost contentedly, running his hands down your thighs.

“Please don’t stare.” You try to shut your legs back together but he stops you.

“Don’t be shy, princess. You’re beautiful—very beautiful, all of you.” He assures, lowering his head down to your nether regions and placing a chaste kiss that pleasantly jolts you.

“Oh!” You exclaim, rising to your elbows to watch him. Once his tongue touches you, licking through your folds, you fall back against the mattress with a moan, “Oh.”

His tongue felt warm; a pleasing contrast to the cold air from the open window when it hit where his lips have been. He holds onto your thighs, squeezing them once in while whenever you quietly whimper. You were a little disappointed when he pulls away all of a sudden. He moves to the space beside you and guides you to sit on top of him, “Come here.”

Once you had straddled him, you look down in confusion while you await his next order.

“Come sit on my face, princess.”

You gasp, “On your face? I—I can’t possibly!”

Kun smiles, “It’s okay, princess. Think of it as your throne, come now.”

With hesitancy, you maneuver yourself until your core was right above his awaiting mouth. You were quick to succumb to the position when Kun resumes his feast on your groin, loudly humming as your juices dripped onto his tongue. He held you against him with firm grips on your thighs when you began to writhe from a knot in your stomach that started to tighten.

It was certainly a new position for the two of you. He had never had really used his mouth to pleasure you like you had with his; his fingers knew your pussy more: where to touch inside of yours to leave you shaking, where to grind his palm against to make you want more.

One of his hands lets go of your thigh to spread apart your folds for his tongue to lick more of,  coaxing your juices out by inserting two fingers and dragging them out crooked. He captured whatever essence he was able to draw out with quick laps, making noises of absolute satisfaction at the little feat.

When your body began to convulse in short bursts, you slap a hand over your mouth to contain a moan as you feel yourself unraveling, bucking your hips incessantly against his tongue while his nose prodded the skin that housed a bundle of nerves that sent little shocks of pleasure into your system.

Kun is slurping your climax beneath you as you catch your breath, the little hairs that framed your forehead had stuck to your skin due to perspiration.  

He gestures for you to lie back to the bed, guiding your quivering frame with gentle hands. “You tasted so sweet, princess. I could have your essence all night over and over again.”

“Don’t be silly.” You blushed, feeling ashamed at how wet his lips are. “Don’t say things like that.”

He looks at you, quizzically. “But you are, love. Would you like to try?”

Kun dips his head closer to you, but stops just an inch from your lips. Realizing he’s waiting for you to move, you pull him closer with a hand over his nape until his mouth was on yours.

His lips tasted differently from the previous kiss and blood rushes to your cheeks when you realize you were tasting yourself on him. It wasn’t as sweet as he claims, but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

“I think I like how you taste more—from that time at library, do you remember?” You giggled as he pulls away.

He came to visit you while you had your lessons and the minute your tutor left, assuming you wanted to converse in private; you were on your knees for the first time in front of him and got acquainted with his cock.

“How could I forget? I never knew how salacious you were; swallowing it all and acting like nothing had happened when your tutor returned.” He chuckles, “If we had a little more time, we could relive that moment, but tonight...”

Kun sits up, pushing the garter of pants down until it was completely off his legs. He situates himself between your legs, kneeling with his thighs spread apart and rigid cock in hand. “Are you sure about this, [Y/N]? Think about the consequences that can arise from this.”

You rise up and replaced his hand that held his cock, pumping the entire length. “There are no consequences, Kun. How can your child in my womb be such a thing?”

“You really want this?” He laughs a little when you nod, “You’re quite spoiled, you know?”

“Is it really my fault you grant every wish I ask for?”

“I guess not. I just want you happy.”

You look at him, wistfully. “I am.”

Kun glances back down the little space between your bodies, eyeing how your wrist expertly handles his member. “This will hurt you.”

With another kiss, you whisper against his lips: “Nothing will hurt more than the uncertainty of the war’s outcome. If I truly am spoiled, you’d grant my wish and stay.”

He kisses your forehead and without another word, guides his cock into your entrance. Your mouth falls at the entirely new sensation you’re experiencing. You watch as his length disappears inside of you, inch by inch, and halfway through, you feel a painful pinch within that causes you to whimper.

Kun places a hand on your hips and the other on your face, “Tell me to stop, princess.”

“Don’t.” You choke out, flinging your arms around him to bury your head on the crook of his neck.

“Just a little more, my love.” He whispers, voice strained as he runs a palm over your back, kissing your shoulder as if it could distract the pain.

You could feel yourself stretching out to accommodate his girth, uncontrollably clenching around his dick as it continued pushing itself deep inside of you.

“Tell me when to move, princess.” He kisses your shoulder repeatedly, gliding his hands all over your body and squeezing whatever he could to encourage you.

You moan when you tried to move by yourself, just shifting ever so slightly, “I—okay, p-please do something.”

He transfers his hand down to your ass, pushing your weight up just a little before letting you ease back down his shaft.

An abrupt exhale leaves you with a breathless “okay.”

You begin to bring yourself up after a few minutes, finally getting used to and surprisingly enjoying the feeling of being stretched out; while still holding onto Kun with arms around his shoulders.

He murmurs soft encouraging words into your ear, minutely groaning once in a while when you would clench around him.

Pulling away from his neck, you gaze into his eyes, “I love you.”

Kun’s lips twitched into a grin, “I love you, too.”

Your brows suddenly furrowed when the familiar knot in your stomach begins to tighten once more. Kun must have sensed it too because he suddenly moves your bodies around until your back is pressed over the mattress and his hips are repeatedly snapping into yours; taking charge of the situation.

The arms on either side of your body that held his weight up were straining, veins popping out of the smooth skin. A good amount of sweat had accumulated on his own furrowed brow, threatening to drip onto you.

Your hand leaves the warmth of his shoulder to hold your breast that had been bouncing back and forth with Kun’s thrusts. During a particularly hard re-entry of his length into you, you grasp onto your breast and unintentionally heightened the pleasure you were experiencing.

Your face was completely flushed, already glowing pink as you made the softest noises that filled in the silence of your room aside from the creak of the bed and snap of Kun’s thighs against yours.

“You look so beautiful, [Y/N].” He bends down, bringing your neglected breast into his mouth and swirling the hardened nipple with his tongue. “What I’d give to have you like this everyday—and I will, when I return from war. Just wait for that day, princess, I’ll return as a man and become your king. I’ll show you how a king shall love his queen.”

You moan at his words, threading your fingers through his hair and pushing your chest into his face for him to ravish.

“I promise to return, my love, I promise on…” Kun hisses; hips picking up their pace.

“On what, my love?” You whimper, legs quivering at your oncoming orgasm.

“On our child.” He grunts, thrusting so hard that it unravels you for the second time tonight, and as you violently shake with your back arching away from the bed, Kun stills completely with eyes shut tightly; letting your pussy naturally milk his cock of his seed.

You slump back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling as you savor the warmth that’s spreading from your core up to your abdomen.

Once he catches his breath, Kun pulls his cock out of you; worriedly eyeing the little blood that coated him. “Are you okay? You’re bleeding.”

“You’ve taken my virginity, that’s all. I’m fine, I—I feel amazing.” You pant, taking his hand and gripping it hard. “I know you should head back to your room, but could you sing me to sleep tonight?”

“Of course, princess.”

You wince a little when you try to get yourself under the covers while he dresses himself. After he does so, he sits by your head and you move so that your lying on his lap.

As he combs your hair down with fingers, you quietly ask him, “Wake me before you leave.”

He nods before he sings you a lullaby and in a few minutes, you’re fast asleep.

Instead of returning to his room, he stays with you; watching you sleep, playing with your hair, and singing once more every time you stirred. When dawn came and your fathers had entered your room to fetch him, he—nor your father—had the heart to wake you up; not when a ghost of a smile graced your face.

So Kun, despite your request, left without disrupting your sleep and you only found out about it when you had woken up a mere hour after they departed; the tracks of their horses on the ground still fresh like his voice in your head when he lulled you to sleep.

#nct smut #kun smut #kinkmas2018

[bloodandrosesarenofun]

Dear Diary.

🎶Medicine - Daughter🎶

I started this blog as a way to keep track of my thoughts. To vent you know? The one place I could be emotional and be myself outside of people. Hell. Truthfully I didn't think those people could let me be me either.

This past few months, have been hell and heaven all in one. My brother and I don't fight so much anymore, and we support each other again, that's all I've wanted for a long time for us. We talk and we watch videos and we find ways to be deep when we don't speak. I feel better about it. My mum, is just as difficult I think. She does things like go out of her way to support my friend in ways she won't even support me. Or cry in the kitchen telling us about her depression but dismissing and belittling my mental state. She's hard to deal with, and I know I shouldn't be, but when she said she has depression, I felt so angry at her. How does she get to say that? To feel emotions so publicly? When she tells me things like I'm crazy, like I'm attention seeking, like I'm just some stupid kid, and not her child. My best friend of five years, they left me. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, and maybe I left them. The relationship had gotten so toxic, and she had gotten so cruel. Saying things to me like I would never be enough to notice it was wrong, how he never loved me. How he can't. He invited me to say something to him, essentially to groval at his feet. It was a lot to say no. When he'd said how horrible of a person I am. A lot of people have said that this past year. Even my parents. Wirt, he's something special. I feel lighter when I'm with him. Ever since warped tour it's like we could talk endlessly for days without ever getting tired of each other or running out of things to say. We've been almost inseparable in that we text near everyday at least once, and we see each other often. I've gotten so much out of being around him, and I think this is the first time I've felt so heavily that I love the person I am around somebody. I love who I am with him. I am myself with him. But I glow, I'm happy, I don't get happy for long. The other night I went to see him, and we spent twelve straight hours just talking, uninterrupted, smiling and laughing even when I didn't think I could. He saw me have an anxiety attack out of nowhere and despite my visit being to make sure he was okay, he took care of me. I found something I've never had in him. Kaneki, my other friend, has actually oddly I think gotten clouser. He's been around since we were fifteen with nowhere to go, and he's here when we're eighteen with only an idea of where we want to go. He opened up to me about his depression and I always knew, we sort of talked around it, but it feels nice to know he can tell me. It may seem dreary, but it was a way to open the year with trust. I feel like he's a friend I need, I'm thankful to have him in my life. Both my dads..they're a subject all their own and it's a mess. I still don't go to mi abeula y abeulo's house. I still have trouble talking to my grandparents at home, but I stand up for myself more. I sing louder. I'm picking back up my instruments and language. I'm depressed right now.

I think my parents may get a divorce.

I haven't written in this blog like this in a while, and I don't know if it was the depression making me feel like it's a chore, or there being too much to write. But since the last time I did, it seems crazy to have turned this blog into a writerblr, but it makes sense. Because what better way to be who I am than through my art? I'm not going to stop journaling though, because in an odd way it's apart of my writing, it's a part of my art. Art is all I know what to do with the heartache and the water, when I'm not hurting myself. I've been clean for a long time.

I almost broke, the other night, but I didn't. Because of Wirt, or because of Kaneki, or because I made it so far, or because I remember being happy I'm not sure. Maybe because of them all. I thought of how to hide the scars, where to do it, how they'd heal before I saw Wirt so he wouldn't know, I planned it all. Then I didn't. I feel a strength in that. There's a strength in that.

Tonight is a hard night. I think my mum triggered a really hard hitting depression bought, she all but called me a little runaway when I came home from Wirt's. You know, when he had to drive my ass home because I was too incoherent to pick myself off his floor let alone take my bus route home alone in the dark for at least an hour. Or wait downtown at night for an hour if my bus ran early. But I didn't tell her that, and instead of asking she simply assumed. That I didn't call on purpose or I didn't leave his house to spite her. To be vindictive and better than everyone because I see people as pawns. She said how I lie, and how she knows how I am because I'm a runaway, and how I'm naive, and how I think the world is great. As I'm coming down from an anxiety attack. That I can't tell her about. That Wirt checked on me and took care of me and drove me home for, but my mother would blame on me, or say it's a trick, or say I overreact to things. Always trying to make up problems. In the eyes of so many that should have only loved me, I am arrogant and cruel. Wirt and Kaneki are some of the only people I never feel see me that way. That I feel safe around. And my teachers. I still remember Timothy scolding the other children for calling me a girl, because I couldn't talk for myself. That'll never leave me. None of those moments will. They get me through these days.

I feel scared, because I have a meeting with one of my teachers I'm not out to, and I think I may tell her. I want poetry to be honest. I don't want to have to stifle myself or dance around pronouns, but I feel so new, and talking is hard again. I guess it's just something I have to re-learn. I've done it before.

I'm also scared, because I like Wirt, I think I do. I don't know if that feeling is going away, or if he feels the same, and it scares me, because I don't want things to be different between us, but if he does I don't want him to think I don't? I've never had a boyfriend, or a girlfriend, or significant other. I don't know what to do here or how to tell. It takes me forever to develop a crush, and little things don't last long, but there's something about him. I want to keep him as close as we are, I don't want to ruin it. But can I just gush for a moment? He's beautiful. As a person and physically. His eyes are the kind of green I want to find the right paints to recreate, and he's soft but he's resilient and stands his ground, and his hair changes colours from the dyeing in the nicest ways, it's wavy and messy and it fits him. He's got the cutest way of doing small things. The way he says my name when I've done something ridiculous, or gives his surgergical bandages quizzical looks, or complains about things in the kindest ways he can find so he doesn't hurt anyone, or laughs, or awes at me and points out my endearing traits. It's almost like he's looking at a puppy, and I get- shy? But I don't tell him to stop it like I do with everyone else. I don't feel as defensive, and I want to be better around him, I never feel like the kicked puppy in the street side. It's nice. I love the way we understand each other and the way we look at each other and the way we laugh together and take care of each other and aren't afraid to say we love each other. I've never had something like him. The things I do. Like we were in his car, and everything had closed it was late, but we rolled the seats back and leaned back in his car, and we wound up getting kind of quiet, and watching each other, smiling because we were having such a good time and also because the stareing should've been awkward, and all I wanted to do was lean over and kiss him. I kept wondering if it was okay, and being grateful the car was so dark in case my face and neck went red (for any one who's read Life and Death I blush as easily and much the same way as Beau), and if he ever looked at my lips and thought of kissing me too. I wanted him holding me when I was having a rough time. I want to just drive somewhere with him, screaming because life is exasperating some days and laughing because we have each other though, this whole week because I'm exasperated. I told him, and I can't beileve I did, when we were having a r o u g h night and finally found each other after getting lost "I hate our fucking lives! We are the best thing we have in our lives. We are all we have going for us, just each other." and I said it because my heart was in my throat and we'd gotten lost in not the best place at not the best time and spent hours either waiting, searching, or screaming and had each other's backs through the whole escapade and I'd had a shitty month and he had too and work was eh and our plans had been smashed with a hammer but we were still there, so by that point that's how I felt. I know, a mad man's sentence. But at the time I barely had any time to think about it because he was screaming too and we were just trying to drive away. Every time I think about him in a less than platonic way I just- get scared I'll ruin it, but think about if it works? Gods. I'm like a gay cliche fic but with two demisexuals. Diary it's almost six a.m. and I should sleep. As to be expected the depression won't let me sleep much. Hopefully that'll change soon. I'm sure I'll be back writing regularly so. I have so much shit to blab about and expand on.

It's sad though, that I'm already crying again.

But it's that weird sort of crying? That I have depression and I don't feel it but my face is leaking gently crying. I hope this feeling goes away soon.

Me and Wirt are planning a trip to the next town over, and I'm just hoping to have some trip where we sleep over soon. Not for sex potential, gods no we're very ace leaning and he's been walking around with his shirt off for days yet I feel like nothing (try wooing a rock and you got me. That's my difficulty level), but because when you sleep around someone there's something that's said there. That you guys maybe never would have said other wise. He'd maybe probably know about my tossing and turning and my insomnia and how I cry and just want to be held or gold somebody so I use things like my Shamoo plushie or the big bear my mum's ex gave her that she gave me (can we honestly get some positivity for the fact this is potentially not as a weird a thing at my age like when you have s e v e r e depression?) and that I need specific pillows to sleep and maybe probably that I have a tendency to if things are super bad or I'm in an unfamiliar space scream, cry, yell, thrash, or say things that aren't the most cheery and least disturbing in my sleep. I'd maybe probably learn about equally as well kept secrets he has. We may tell each other things we never would've shared before. I find that there's something about when you know you won't leave each other till the daylight, about three a.m. conversations and waking up to each other in the morning. Something vulnerable. I don't know if I trust him with all that yet, if I can tell him, or let him see me when I don't let anyone else. Anxiety attack was wow, impressive that I trust him that much, that I knew he wouldn't hurt me or make it worse when it's so ingrained in me that that's all people do. But I'd be so scared to sleep, scared to wake him with my screams, or wake up too close to him because I move in my sleep, or wake him up with something disturbing. The last unfamiliar place I slept in I literally slept on the floor to keep people from being disturbed and because I am that uncomfortable sleeping in the bed with people (but I think weirdly if I was okay with this I'd be shyly okayyyy with sharing a bed if needed? Like I wouldn't be dramatic about it in a "I'll just sleep on the floor" but maybe in a "are you sure-?" About ten times) and I woke up like- breathing heavily and saying "Stop! Stop! Stop!" and I'd bruised my arm hitting it on something and I think I was crying and I had to sit by someone else for a while and calm down before I could go back to sleep like holy shit it was bad I was literally shaking. THAT is probably alarming if anyone had woken up like whoever shares a bed with me needs a whole ass like debriefing beforehand because I seem like I'm on some shit but my mental state can just genuinely get t h a t bad. Screaming and crying and actually injuring myself in my sleep bad. I really wonder if anybody else has these problems like ask me how often I slept over at anyone's house? These issues have been with me for years.

Maybe I dread and look forward to it.

No. I think just- as fucked up as I am and as much as he's told me about how he gets at night I think it'd be a mess? But equally. Like both of us doing weird and concerning shit but also both of us supporting each other and loving each other and so it's okay in a way. So I feel like it'd be insane to be at that level with him where we'd be completely comfortable with showing each other that side of ourselves and comfort each other without judgement. I know me and Kaneki have had the weirdest conversations at those late times.

I'm a late times person.

💤

Until next time,

LHayes

Sign off.

#depression #lhayes #sad #stress reliver #writing #journal #things i write #anxiety #lgbtq #tagging mainly for myself #self harm #self love #friendship #love