#only in a damp white nightgown

[soapyblubbles]

⋆｡˙ runaway pets ˙｡⋆

pairings: dark regulus + dark poly marauders

warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, implied kidnapping, threesome, implied fivesome, voyeurism, overstimulation, (light) slapping, choking, stockholm syndrome, smoking, shotgunning, pet names, etc.

a/n: please enjoy the much more comprehensive version of one of my very first works. there were a lot of inconsistencies and issues with the first version. I added a lot more detail to this and it honestly feels more like a one-shot than a drabble now. i'll add the unedited version at the bottom just incase anyone wants to take a peak. anyways, happy reading <3

“I told you it’d be worse if you went to get help.” Regulus sits on one end of the bed, a small indulgent smile flitting across his lips. As if nothing was wrong. 

As if you weren’t being fucked within an inch of your life.

You turn your head to him, breathless pants leaving your mouth as Remus continues to rock into you. His hips slap into your own at a steady pace. How long had he been sitting there?

The air is stifling, sweat beading along your forehead and the small of your back. The arm around your waist only adds to the oppressive feeling, Remus’ strong grip keeping you upright and in place.

Your arms shake from exertion, and you have to force your hands to unclench from where they’re fisting the damp sheets.

With a whimper, you reach for Regulus, trying to find the comfort you once found in him before it all. Before he had selfishly stole you away. Before you knew of the darkness lingering just beneath the surface.

You weakly try to pry off the arm wrapped around you, but it doesn’t budge. It only tightens, pulling you up until your back hits Remus’ firm chest.

“Want sir now. Please- Remmy-” The lanky brunette ignores you, muttering something unintelligible into your neck as his thrusts speed up. Your attention was stolen from him. He doesn’t like that- not one bit.

Your face crumples at the silent dismissal, the tears you’d been holding in falling just as you reach another trembling high.

“Please, m’sorry sir- c-can we please go home now?” You gasp out. Your limbs burn, they have been for a while you suppose, but still you try to ignore it, concentrating on just Regulus for now.

But he only hums noncommittally, standing as he makes his way to the makeshift bar in the corner of the room. Regulus rubs his jaw in mock thought, scrutinizing the scene before him while he pours himself a glass of firewhiskey. The smell of cinnamon saturates the air, adding to the heavy atmosphere.

“Thought you wanted to come here-“ He gestures around the room, lazily draping himself on the nearby armchair. “For help.” The last word is said with a sneer and laced with so much venom that you balk.

Even though you can tell he’s done arguing about it, you still sob out: “I’ll be good- promise.”

You hear Sirius let out a scoff. He’s leaning against the headboard, his shirt unbuttoned and a lit cigarette in hand, doing nothing but watching as his friends ruin you.

He’d been the one to call Regulus when you came running to their house, barefoot and in nothing but a frail, white nightgown. “You’re already being good here, pup- s’no use in leaving.” He makes his way towards you, squishing your cheeks together, your lips forming an o-shape.

He blows smoke into your mouth, smirking when you cough at the burn. “Y’already gonna be punished anyway, might as well do that here- ain’t that right Reggie?”

Regulus rolls his eyes, breaking his normally composed demeanor. “Don’t call me-”

“Hush, I can’t focus when you lot keep talkin.” James' speech is slurred as he speaks up, moving his head slightly from between your legs. He pays no mind to the way Remus pumps in and out of you. His mouth is so close to where the two of you meet that you can feel his cool breath against your clit as he talks.

“S’annoying.”  

You clench around Remus at the feeling, and the man in question groans, giving you a particularly rough thrust.

James goes back to work at that, humming softly as he drinks in yours and Remus’ juices. You let out a another strangled moan, instinctively trying to tilt your hips away.

Instantly Sirius’ face darkens with anger, “Uh-uh, I don’t think so puppy.” A hand shoots out to grab the base of your neck as James’ hands grip the front of your thighs tightly.

“Don’t fuckin’ run away from him- you understand?” 

You nod shakily, chest rising and falling quickly as you watch him with unseeing eyes.

“Just take it like a good girl, princess.” James cooes, lightly nibbling on the inside of your thigh. You let out a startled yelp.

“What d’you say bunny?” Remus asks from behind you, hips slowing as he tries to find that spot. Trying to coax the words out of you. You whine, unable to answer until Sirius gingerly slaps your cheek, raising a sharp brow at you.

“M’sorry- m’so sorry Jamie.” Your head is spinning, an ache growing until it becomes practically mind numbing.

At this point it’s all you can focus on.

“Thought I taught you better than that pet.” Regulus chides, clicking his tongue in disappointment. He looks only slightly more disheveled than before. His hair is not neatly combed back like it was earlier, and his tie considerably loosened. His fingers dig into the cushioned arms of the chair, the veins in his forearms flexing in a way that makes your mouth water.

You lick your lips. “Sir-”

Remus shushes you. “S’ okay bunny- y’just have to make it up to him.” You cry out as he brushes against your g-spot, finally finding what he’s been looking for this whole time.

Each hit of his hips is aimed perfectly, giving you no room to breathe until you’re a gasping mess.

James’ mouth certainly doesn’t help. His warm tongue suckles at your clit, unrelenting as he brings you to that exhilarating peak over and over again.

Eventually he breaks away, wiping the wetness around his mouth with the back of his hand. A feral grin forms as he pushes the hair away from your face, cupping your teary cheeks. “That wasn’t so bad now was it? You can take a little more, right?”

Sirius answers before you can even think to open your mouth, a mocking frown on his face. “I don’t know about that Prongs- she seems a right mess already, huh? Don’t think she can go on.” He slaps between your legs, and a panicked moan startles its way out of you. 

You quickly come undone, so worked up from before, but the torment doesn’t end there.

“I think you're right, Pads.” James murmurs, as he slips his fingers through the mess of your cunt, the tips of his fingers grazing the base of Remus’ cock.

It’s enough to startle a groan out of him.

Sirius grabs onto your hips, reaching around James to take control of the even pace Remus set. “C’mon pup, make a mess on Moony’s cock- be a good little cockslut for us.”

He bounces you viscously atop Remus, everyone watching intently as you become a drooling mess.

Your set your lidded gaze on Regulus, whose self-control looks like it’s seconds away from snapping. 

Yet he makes no move to stop the situation.

“Come on princess- fuckin’ come for us. Make a fucking mess.” James growls into your ear, pinching your clit roughly. Tears well in your eyes, body tensing as you are, yet again, pushed off the edge.

“Fuck- such a good bunny.” Remus curses. 

Sirius and James mock your high pitched cries, taking a sadistic pleasure in watching you sob at the overstimulation.

Your limbs go slack, Remus panting heavily as he fucks you through it all, his breath fanning against your neck. He kisses your temple softly and you whine, barely able to move, even as the aftershocks flow through you. 

The three continue to overstimulate you, and Remus lets out a breathy chuckle when Sirius lets go of your hips, letting you fall face first into James’ chest.

“S’your turn princess. We’re not doing all the work for you- besides you still have three more cocks to go.”

☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

UNEDITED VERSION

#hunnie writes ☀︎ #dark hunnie ☾ #sirius black x reader #dark sirius black x reader #dark sirius black #sirius black smut #james potter x reader #dark james potter x reader #dark james potter #james potter smut #remus lupin x reader #dark remus lupin x reader #dark remus lupin #remus lupin smut #regulus black x reader #dark regulus black x reader #poly marauders x reader #poly marauders #poly marauders smut

[leviathanspain]

not without him

anthony bridgerton x reader

synopsis: you knew birth would be no easy feat, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to do it without him

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

you clutched onto the white bedsheets, they were drenched with blood, and you were writhing on the bed as the doctor shouted orders at the nurses.

one had a cloth to your forehead, dabbing away your sweat and your tears. you couldn’t stop crying, it was an unbearable pain, that only got worse as the night went on.

violet had tried to prepare you, coming to her for advice on how to birth a bridgerton child. she had her most difficult birth with hyacinth, and just hearing her story sent chills down your spine.

anthony had been away in london when you went into labor. you knew he shouldn’t have left aubrey hall so close to the end of your pregnancy, but being the viscount meant there were things that required him present. you had hoped that your child would have some decency and arrive after the father, but the urge to push only became greater.

you feared that anthony wouldn’t make it, he was supposed to be here an hour ago, having rushed from london upon hearing the news.

the nurse looked down at you, “you have to push, my lady.” her voice quivered, as if she could feel your emotion. you teared up more, “no please- we have to wait for the viscount.” you felt weak, and you faintly heard the doctor shout that you were losing blood.

the nurse looked down again, and seemed firm, “you have to push, there is no time to spare if we wait for the viscount.” she dabbed your forehead again, “you and this baby will die if you don’t push now.”

you cried harder, “i need him here. i can’t do it without him.” you were scared, frightened by all these unfamiliar people. yes they were there to help you give birth to your first child, but you didn’t care, it wasn’t your husband dabbing your forehead or encouraging you.

your vision went fuzzy around the edges and your head fell back into the mounds of pillows that held you up. you could still hear the door push open, shouts being echoed into the room and finally, “let me through-“ his voice.

you heard a clatter of gear hit the wooden floor and you felt relief as he rushed to your side. anthony, still cold with the winter air, brushed the hair from your face, kissing your cheek. he saw how weak you looked, and could see the doctor’s expression.

“you can do it.” he whispered sweetly, “i’m here, you can do it.” he grabbed your hand, clutching it tightly and with his encouragement, you did the one thing you had been putting off.

the nurse over you seemed overjoyed that you were finally listening, there was fear among the doctor and staff that you would bleed out before anthony got there.

you grunted, weak from the blood loss. “push, my lady, push!” the nurse above you shouted, and you grunted loudly, doing as she said.

there was a brief moment of pause, relief that washed over you as you heard a newborn’s cry. you blinked away the sweat, feeling the damp cloth across your skin as you looked over at anthony, who hadn’t taken his eyes off of you. he was smiling brightly, but tears brimmed in his eyes, “you did it.” he whispered, “my lady….” he brushed the side of your face with a hand, and you closed your eyes, exhaustion washing over you.

you could see the light creeping through the curtains. it had been kept dark for you, candles burning just as you liked, even wearing your favorite nightgown. you could feel the pain, that ache that reminded you of what had happened.

you called out to your handmaid, watching as the door opened and instead, in stepped anthony holding the baby in his arms. your eyes softened, and you cooed, “my love.” you beckoned him to the bed, and anthony sat down carefully, the newborn in his arms was peacefully sleeping.

“good morning.” he kissed your forehead, “you have no idea how much i love you. i-“ he faltered, looking down at the baby to compose himself before he continued, “i almost lost you. please,” he looked at you, “please don’t ever scare me like that again. i beg you.” he whispered. he was happy at the birth of your son, but he wouldn’t have been if you had lost your life.

you looked at him, nodding. you didn’t want to say anything, instead looking down at the baby and resting your head on anthony’s shoulder, “have you thought of a name?” you noticed the baby’s fell head of hair and smirked, “looks like he got my hair.” you looked at the baby’s nose, “and your nose.” you laughed slightly, and anthony shrugged, “everyone says he looks like you more.”

his siblings must’ve arrived in from london. you smiled, but anthony knew what that smile was, “you must rest. the doctor said you lost a lot of blood, that you shouldn’t even think to lift a finger today.”

you sighed, “i won’t protest, i am feeling exhausted..” you didn’t know how to feel, your heart had never felt so much love all at once, “my boys.” you cooed, touching the baby’s hair as anthony kissed your forehead again.

#anthony bridgerton x female reader #anthony bridgerton fluff #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton smut #bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton smut #bridgerton angst #bridgerton imagine

[ellieslittlewh0re]

𝐋𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢𝐧 (𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐)

* ೃ⁀➷ part 1 - part 2 - part 3

pairing - farmers daughter! reader x farmhand! ellie

summary - ellies willpower gets tested

additional tags - shy/loser! ellie, promiscuous! but inexperienced reader, masturbation/wet dream mention, cowboy boot wearing els, eventual smut, sexual tension, mutual pinning blah blah blah

───── ☾•┈୨♡୧┈•☽ ─────

You stirred in your sleep, darkness still cast over the sky. You tossed and turned, trying to get a couple more hours of sleep in before the day started, but you couldn't- the aching in your tummy growing harder to ignore.

You push your hips further down into the pillow that sat between your thighs, grinding down on it. A soft whimper seeps through your lips, growing more desperate.

Imagines of Ellie that last time you saw her clouded your unaware mind, sweat gleamed her cheeks, slightly red from the sunburn, and how she ditched the button-up, leaving her in a white tank top stained with dirt and rust.

In your sleepy fog, you turn over on your tummy, holding the pillow in place beneath you. Your nightgown bunched up from your rustling, settling around your waist, leaving your white cotton panties exposed to the moon.

"Mm-fhm e-ellie." You whimper, drool pooling onto your floral pattern sheets beneath you.

You looked pathetic, humping your pillow, eyes still shut, and a cease between your eyebrows. It was lazy and sloppy, but it's not your fault since you were still technically sleeping, having a wet dream about your daddy's little helper.

It was deprived and sick. I mean, you've only just met her, and you've never even had sex before, so what's so special about some girl you barely knew?

Your head didn't know, but your body did. You craved her- in a fucked up sort of primal way, the same way animal instincts work during the spring, eager to find a mate and reproduce.

You felt empty, and only she could fix that.

-

The morning greeted you how it always did, sunshine flooding your window and the songs of birds ringing loudly outside.

You rub your eye with the back of your hand, looking around slightly confused. You don't remember what you did, the sheets in disarray more than usual, and the damp patch in your panties seemed to help you remember.

"Shit." You mumble, stumbling out of bed and tugging your panties down and over your legs. You dig through your drawer, pulling out a clean pair as your fathers voice called to you from the bottom of the stair.

"Y/n, I need to run into town, I'll be back in a few hours. Ellie's here in case anything happens."

Even though you were technically an adult- your father never liked to leave you home alone for too long- too scared of something happening to his precious daughter.

"Okay~" you yell back in a sing-songy tone- basically, it was your best attempt to sound like you weren't as panicked as you were.

You change your clothes, throwing on some denim shorts and a cropped baby tee since you were too tired for "first impressions" bullshit.

You make your way down the stairs, the soft pattering of your socks went unnoticed to the unaware Ellie who was standing in the living room, observing the collage of pictures that decorated the walls.

"Good morning, Ellie."

Your soft, slightly groggy voice made her turn around. Her eyes immediately take notice of the lack of a bra under your thin shirt and the strip of skin showing between the bottom hem of your top and the waistband of your shorts.

"M-mornin', doll." She clears her throat, looking back to the pictures to hide the fact she was absolutely falling apart in your presence.

You however, we're better at hiding it than she was. It was painfully obvious that Ellie was worked up about something, and you knew it was you.

You were kind of used to it- the admiration, that is, being in such a small town, the pickings were slim, and it just so happens that everyone in town agreed that you were by far the prettiest thing on this side of the Mississippi River.

"Have you eaten?" You asked, already passing under the archway into the kitchen and pouring yourself a cup of coffee.

"Uh- no, not yet."

Ellie follows your lead like a dog, making her way into the kitchen to sit in a barstool that over saw the kitchen, giving her a first row view of all your movements.

"Good- let me make you breakfast, I can make a mean pancake."

Ellie stutters to interfere, not wanting to bother you to do such a thing for her, but you insist- claiming she needed some meat on her bones.

You even poured her a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice since she refused the coffee.

Ellie's face was bright red upon seeing you all done up, "real housewife type," she thought. Your little apron hanging loosely around your neck, the strings wrapping around your waist, accentuating the curve of your hips just right, and how your hair danced over your back as you mixed the batter.

She could get used to this- seeing you every day and the little outfits you wore that made her head spin. She ached for you the same way you ached for her, but she'd never let herself give into her desires, not unless- you gave in first. 

"What did daddy need to go into town fr'?" You asked, placing the plate in front of Ellie before sitting down beside her on the empty barstool.

Ellie observes the plate, feeling slightly overwhelmed by the amount of food- a stack of pancakes, scrambled eggs, and not forgetting the bacon, of course.

She thought, for a second, you were trying to kill her or give her a heart attack at the very least.

"Uh- said something about needing some parts for the tractor-" She picks up the fork and knife and begins to cut into the food.

"Thank you, doll, you didn't have to do all this for me."

"Hush- don't you start, I did it because I wanted too." You smile at her, taking a bite of your pancake, licking the syrup clean off the fork.

Ellie almost choked on her own food. Surely, you were doing this on purpose; to make her life a living hell- or maybe, some sort of sex fantasy that only her dreams could muster.

She awkwardly laughs out of discomfort, directing her eyes to the food in front of her incase you actually do give her a heart attack with your little antics.

You two chatted while you ate- well, mostly you chatted- Ellie being too scared to make a sound to direct attention on her- just silently agreeing with whatever words came out of your mouth.

She watched you though- in between bites. You had her wrapped around your little finger, even if she didn't know it.

You had her exactly where you wanted her.

You knew she'd notice how your tongue wetted your lips or how the syrup started to drip down you chin.

"Oh.. you got a little- here." She dropped the silverware, her hand coming up to your face as she took her thumb and wiped the sticky substance away before putting it in her mouth, tasting the sweet molasses on her taste buds.

Your eyes linger on her lips, darkening with your growing insatiable hanger. Ellie's face immediately lit up in embarrassment, regretting the gesture altogether. She was painfully unaware of what she just did- just trying to help you is all.

"Sorry.., sorry- I dunno why I did that." She awkwardly chuckled, rubbing the nape of neck with her hand.

"Don't be sorry, els- I really appreciate havin' you around- don't know what I'd do without you." You found your voice to be; sickeningly sweet when Ellie was around, but you couldn't help it when you could tell how much of an effect it had on her.

You pat her thigh before dragging it away, making sure she can really feel your touch through her jeans as you grab both of the plates and take them to the sink.

Ellie swallowed the rest of her juice in one gulp, her mind at war if she should make an excuse that she had to leave because if she didn't? She didn't know what she might end up doing to you.

But it was already too late, you were quickly grabbing her hand and dragging her out of the kitchen.

"Come upstairs- wanna show you my room."

Ellie was fucked.

You open the door, holding your arm out as a soft "ta-da" leaves your lips. You fall into your bed, flipping onto your stomach with your ankles crossed, slightly swaying in the air.

Ellie hesitantly; takes a step into the room, still holding onto the door handle in case she needed an escape plan.

"Uh.. why are we up here?" She cracks a nervous smirk, looking around at the new environment.

"I wanted to show you my room-" you slightly pout, your hands tucking under your chin.

"Whaddya think?"

Ellie takes a second- looking around at the room and down to you, her eyes pausing at the curve of your back that dips into your ass.

Fuck- daisy duke shorts might be her kryptonite.

"It's- uh... it's very girly." Her hand leaves the handle as she takes a few more steps into the room, looking more closely at the pictures and paintings that decorated your walls.

"Do you not like it?" You pout some more, flipping onto your back with your knees propped up, making it even harder for Ellie as your cropped shirt rises more on your torso, dangerously close to exposing the undercurve of your breasts.

Ellie takes a seat at the edge of the bed, her head turning to look at your horizontal position over her shoulder.

"It suits you, doll."

Your hand comes up to play with the fabric of her sleeve. In Ellie's eyes- it seemed absentmindedly- like it didn't mean anything on your behalf, and she was getting worked up for nothing, but you knew exactly what you were doing- carefully calculating every little thing you did when Ellie was around.

"Why do you always call me that?" You softly chuckle, fixating your eyes on your hand that slipped to the exposed skin of her forearm- just lightly traces shapes over the faded ink.

Ellie tenses under your touch- her boxers tightening under her jeans.

"Because you look like one." She said barely above a whisper, her voice; coarse, and it dug into your chest.

Silence filled the space between you two besides the soft rustling of the trees outside your window. Your hand moves to her back as you drag your nails lightly across it.

You were testing her limits, wanting to see how much it would take until she finally gave in to what she's been wanting since the day she met you.

Her head turns away from you, letting it hang between her shoulders as she mumbles an inaudible fuck under her breath.

"You scare me."

Your eyebrows slightly scrunch at this, momentarily confused by the statement, but it was all an act. You were playing a game with Ellie- whether she knew it or not, and you were winning.

"Scare you? How?"

Her head comes up, looking back over her shoulder at you. Her eyes were piercing this time, darker than you remembered them being.

She leans down, getting dangerously close to your face- close enough you could feel her breath against your lips.

"You make me feel like-" she pauses, her voice firming under her clenched jaw.

"- like I can't control myself around you."

*sorry idk if I like how this turned out but oh wellll

❥ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 @tfuuka @mattm1964 @tlouadditc @bugaboodarling @robinismywifee @omgidksblog @bf4iy4z @ellieswifee @endureher @asteroidzzzn @machetegirl109 @thatgiraffefromtlou @locaforellie @bellaramseysgirlfriend @wannabwanted @iconsoft @abbbyslefttitty @fireflyelllie

#Ellie Williams #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams smut #ellie tlou smut #ellie tlou x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie tlou2 #ellie williams fanfic #ellie tlou fanfic #ellie the last of us #the last of us #the last of us 2 fanfic #the last of us part 2 #ellie williams x y/n #ellie x reader #ellie tlou #tlou ellie #tlou2 smut #tlou2 ellie #ellie x y/n #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams the last of us #ellie x fem reader #tlou smut #ellie williams x f!reader #ellie williams tlou2 #ellie x you #ellie the last of us 2

[calmcoldevening]

Little morning with slashers

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆ﾟ｡⋆

Tw: no

Characters: Jedidiah Sawyer, Mark Hoffman, Brahms Heelshire, Eric Draven, Jason Voorhees

➤ Jedidiah Sawyer

• As usual, the morning in Texas was quite cool earlier. You've been sleeping surprisingly well lately, so you've been waking up early with a good night's sleep and very rested. The sun was lazily rising from the horizon, coloring the blackness of the sky with golden and orange colors, as if a couple of drops of lingonberry blood had been dropped into the dark water.

• You lazily opened your eyes, squinting at the light coming into the room through the thin curtains. The sheets were cool but damp from the hot Texas night.

• Stretching slightly, you try to get out of bed, but a strong pair of hands stops you, pulling you back to the man's chest. Jedidiah lets out a growl of displeasure, and you giggle softly. Turning to face him, you gently touch the leather straps on his cheeks with your fingers. He forgot to take them off again before going to bed. You gently run your nails over rough skin, the scars under the mask have almost healed, leaving behind uneven pink scars.

• "Good morning, honey," you whisper, briefly kissing him on the forehead. In response, he mutters something softly, pulling you closer to him. His dark hair had grown noticeably longer and was damp from sleeping. You gently brush his bangs out of his eyes, causing a slight smile to form on his lips.

• He was always particularly sloppy in the morning. His hair is disheveled and his eyes are sleepy with small shadows under his eyes. He's wearing a loose white shirt that smells of his body and your own hands. His arms wrapped around your waist like a protective ring, Jed won't let you walk away from him so easily this morning. He likes to just lie with you in the bedroom while the others are sleeping.

• You were the only one, apart from his mom, who really accepted him and saw through those terrible scars. You didn't care about his face, he was still damn handsome to you, and the guy was grateful for that. Jedidiah was so glad that you stayed by his side, became his love of his life and his wife. And he appreciated every second he spent with you.

• Finally, after a long ten minutes, you feel slightly thirsty, after all, you haven't drunk since last night. "Come on, honey, get up. I still have to make breakfast, remember?" You speak with a slight smile and Jed purrs in displeasure, but loosens his grip. You kiss his lips briefly and get out of bed, ready to start a new day. Your husband will stay in bed for a while longer until he feels the pleasant aroma of your breakfast from the kitchen.

➤ Mark Hoffman

• Mark always woke up much earlier than you. Insomnia and stressful detective work made themselves felt. He woke up around four in the morning, his hair and nightgown wet with sweat, his head buzzing after another nightmare. The man held his head with his hands, trying to bring his breathing back to normal.

• After a short introspection, the man turns his head to the side, noticing your peacefully sleeping figure. You've always been so beautiful, even in your dreams. All thoughts of the nightmare disappeared as soon as Mark's gaze lingered on your face. He gently pulls his hand towards your face, gently and gently stroking your smooth skin with his thumbs. He's so happy to have you by his side.

• After a couple of minutes, the man finally gets out of bed, heading to the bathroom and taking off his wet clothes. He takes a quick shower, trying to sober his thoughts with cold water. After that, he makes himself a black coffee. His weekday mornings are insanely simple and gray, but on weekends it's a little different because he can spend time with you in bed until you wake up.

• Mark drinks coffee and looks through some of the Jigsaw case, sometimes instead he finalizes another drawing of a new trap for John Kramer.

• When the time moves to seven in the morning, he already leaves the house, before briefly kissing you on the forehead. You won't remember it, but a sleepy, satisfied smile appears on your face. This, surprisingly, gives Mark a pleasant feeling in his chest.

• When you wake up, he won't be home anymore. You get out of bed and wander into the kitchen to get a drink of water. Mark's breakfast is already on the kitchen table with a note next to it. "I hope you eat this. I know about your problems with food, so I hope you at least have breakfast, little lady." You smile slightly, admiring the note. The omelet he made has a sloppy ketchup heart on it.

➤ Brahms Heelshire

• A morning with Brahms is always a real lottery, you never know what mood he will be in today.

• If Brahms wants to be an adult, he will certainly get up before you. Of course, you cook for him most of the time, but he does not lack the skill to cook something simple. The man will make simple ham and cheese sandwiches and tea/coffee. Having prepared everything necessary, Brahms will return to the bedroom with breakfast ready in bed for you. You're sleeping peacefully, making soft noises. He will wake you up with a gentle kiss on your forehead, and he will put stray strands of hair behind your ear. "Good morning, Princess. I brought you breakfast."

• If Brahms decides to be little, he will be clingy and moody.

• Usually the baby wakes up before you as well. He'll frown, pick up his mask from the bedside table, and just stare at you. Brahms will just lie next to you for a couple of minutes, not knowing where to put himself. At such moments, he always naively thought that when he wakes up, you should already wake up. A man will climb on top of you, putting his chin on your chest.

"Y/N, I'm hungry!"

• He will bother you for a couple of long minutes in a row until you wake up. When you finally sleepily open your eyes, he'll be giggling with his nose in your neck.

"Good morning! I missed you," he purred with happy smile, squeezing you in his arms.

• Mornings with little Brahms are never quiet.

➤ Eric Draven

• Eric usually wakes up before you, he has a fairly light sleep. The guy smiles slightly when cool gusts of wind touch his body, penetrating into the room through the open window, and his feet stand on a warm tree.

• You get up almost behind the guy. Your eyes open sleepily when you don't feel the warmth of your lover on the bed next to you, the sheets under your palms are already cool enough.

• The air is filled with the aromas of flowering plants and young forest. Probably, the decision to move from that small town to a house near the city was the best one in your whole life. You moved in not so long ago, about two months ago, but you have already turned this place into your own cozy nest.

• You get out of bed and stumble awkwardly into the kitchen. Eric was here. His broad back immediately appears in front of your eyes, covered with scars in some places. His favorite big white shirt was on you right now. Eric turns to face you, giving you a warm smile, two mugs of coffee in his hands.

• Previously, a summer morning was always a good time to stay outside. And now the two of you are sitting on the porch. Eric put his arm around you, draping a thin plaid over your shoulders. You were sitting peacefully with each other, drinking hot coffee and looking into the darkness of the forest. Your boyfriend's presence has always been so comforting. Eric looks down at you and kisses you on the forehead, leaving a small wet mark on your skin.

"Good morning, my rose."

➤ Jason Voorhees

• You woke up because you were cold. It's damn cold. You slowly opened your sleepy eyes and sat up in bed, wrapping yourself more tightly in the blanket. The seat next to you was empty. No, of course, you knew that your boyfriend was special and he didn't need to sleep, but he was usually here with you until the morning, warming you with his big body.

• Your first thought was that maybe there were intruders in the camp again. But in such a cold season, hardly anyone would dare to enter the forest 'with ghosts'. So you decided to just wait, hoping for his return soon.

• Jason returned after a long half hour. He entered the room, throwing a large number of branches in front of the fireplace, and looked at you in surprise. He hoped you were still asleep. Jason's gaze slides anxiously over your trembling body. He frowns when he notices how you're shaking from the cold and your blue lips.

• Jason quickly lights a fireplace in the room, throwing in a large number of branches and comes to your bed. He takes you in his arms with care and tenderness, putting you on his lap, and squeezes you in his arms, hoping to warm you. Seeing you like this, Jason was consumed with guilt from the inside, he was so sorry that he left you. The man just didn't expect you to wake up so quickly, he wanted to quickly go get firewood for the extinguished fireplace.

• But you were better now. The room gradually became warm because of the burning fireplace, and the pleasant warmth of Jason's chest gave you peace and comfort. You curled up on his chest like a kitten while he gently stroked your head with his big hand. You felt so good in his arms.

#slashers x reader #jedidiah sawyer #jedidiah sawyer x reader #leatherface x you #the leatherface #leatherface x reader #mark hoffman x you #mark hoffman saw #mark hoffman x reader #mark hoffman #brahms heelsire x reader #brahms x reader #brahms the boy #brahms heelshire #eric draven #eric draven x reader #eric draven x you #jason voorhes x reader #jason voorhees

[fayes-fics]

Impertinent

2k Celebration Masterpost

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Sneaking around Aubrey Hall in the dead of night brings you right into the path of one Viscount...

Warnings: very suggestive content, nudity, teasing and touching, Viscount being a total menace but mostly a gentleman.

Word Count: 1.4k (250-word drabbles... I'm HILARIOUS)

Authors Note: Seventh in my 2k follower celebration drabble request fills for @colettebronte with the prompt “You heard me. Take. It. Off.” (ask here). This ended up quite tame, but I enjoyed writing him as a tease. Unbetaed. Enjoy! <3,

You know it's not the right thing to do. To be snooping around Aubrey Hall in the dead of night. But you cannot resist it. As everyone sleeps, you wander silently, tiptoeing around in just your nightgown, the light of the moon streaming through the large windows to guide you. It feels elicit, exciting even. Exploring the home of the man you hope to marry, Viscount Anthony Bridgerton. You have danced and promenaded a few times; this early invitation to spend time with his family ahead of the rest of the Ton bodes well.

You pause at the door of his private study, then, with a fortifying breath, turn the handle and slip into the room. Warm embers glow in the fireplace, and the smell of cigars and expensive whiskey hangs in the air. It is so masculine and so Anthony you can't help but drift to the sizeable imposing desk and take a seat, fingers running over the wood, picturing him sitting right where you are, working hard on something important or other. It makes you lean back, something stirring in your body, just the thought of him arousing.

It's then you notice there is material draped around the back of the large leather chair—one of his velvet, tailed jackets. It smells of spicy cologne, and before you know it, your nose is buried in the material, drawing deep breaths, the scent making your thighs rub together. Something compels you to want to wear it, to feel it against your skin. 

With a boldness you thought yourself scarcely capable of, you stand up and whip off your nightgown, reaching to slip on the jacket. You luxuriate in the feeling of the luxury satin liner against your bare flesh, how it cools your back, snags your pebbled nipples, and how the velvet collar tickles your neck. The front may sit at waist height on him, but on you, the material skims the apex of your thighs, catching deliciously in the patch of hair you have there.

So wrapped up in the sensation of being surrounded by him, by his scent, you don’t hear the door open until it's too late.

“What in the…?” 

You startle and spin around to see there in the doorway is the man himself, Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, casual in just a loose white shirt and his britches with braces slung around his legs. You are caught, red-handed. The power of speech has abandoned you, so you just stand there, a rabbit caught in his crosshairs, guilt, fear and shame flooding your system.

He stalks into the room further now and inhales sharply when he rounds a chair to see an unencumbered view of you, entirely nude except for his jacket. His gaze is heavy, sliding down your body sweeping your bare legs, then fixing on where the fabric only just covers you.

“Take it off,” he orders. 

You almost jump out of your skin at the tone and the gruffness. Your arms and hands incapable of moving; there are few charged moments when Anthony just stares at you.

 “You heard me. Take. It. Off.” This time it's even lower, a growl, predatory, enthralling.

And you scramble to obey, shucking the jacket from around your shoulders and letting it hit the floor with an audible thump. Entirely naked now, his responding noise has your thighs instantly damp.

“How impertinent to let yourself into my private study,” his voice surly as he prowls towards you. You freeze to the spot, your hands flying to protect your modesty. “Oh, it’s a little late for that now,” he chuckles darkly, “put your hands back at your sides right now.”

And you do. Casting your gaze to the floor as your cheeks heat. His stare is so heavy it feels like a robe you wear. Soon he is so close you can smell the same cologne that clung to his jacket but this time from his skin.

He circles behind you, and you gasp as he crouches down; it takes you a second to realise he is picking up his jacket, where you carelessly disposed of it onto the floor.

“Tell me, why would you put on my jacket while nude?” he queries, lingering there, and you shudder as his hot breath glances over your bare bottom cheeks as he does so, still behind you.

“I…I… I wanted to try it on,” you stumble, your voice far too quiet.

“And you had to take off your nightgown to do so?” he snarks, and both of your eyes cut to the side where your gown lays in a heap.

“It seemed like luxurious material,”  you confess, head still bowed, starting at the rug as if it fascinates you. “I wanted it against my skin,” those last few words are barely audible.

“You do not have velvet clothes of your own you could try this with?” he throws out, still behind you, that breath still hot over your cheeks; in fact, you swear it’s closer now.

“Yes, but…” you trail off, having no good excuse. Unable to think of a lie, you screw your eyes shut and decide on the truth “... they do not smell like you.”

You jolt and make a noise of sheer surprise as he pitches forward, and his teeth land on your cheek, inhaling deeply.

“At last…” he growls, scraping his canine over the globe of your bottom, “she admits to it.”

“To what?” you murmur as his wet tongue pokes out, soothing the spot he had touched with his teeth as you tremble.

“That you want me just as much as I want you.”

Your whole body shudders as he runs his tongue up the length of your spine, climbing to his feet, your toes curling, scrunching into the thick wool pile, as he unfurls to his full height behind you. You wish you had something nearby to grab onto; it feels as if you could topple over, the rush of blood to your head so intense.

“Are you a maiden?” his mouth is now hot on your ear.

“Yes.”

“And you have never had a man run his tongue over your body like that before, have you?” his voice dark and laced with bemusement.

“No,” you admit.

A warm hand lands on your shoulder as he stands behind you, and again you jump—your body aflame, your nipples pebbling hard, goosebumps breaking out down your arms.

“And I presume no man has touched your naked body?” 

“No, my lord,” your addition of his title makes him take a sharp breath.

“Good,” he snarls, sounding possessive,

His hand rounds your shoulder and starts to sink lower, mapping over the outer end of your clavicle as you try to school your body, trying to stay still, so completely overwhelmed by what is happening. When warm fingertips brush the top of your breast, you begin to tremble.

“Do you know what could happen to mischievous young maidens who break into men’s offices?” It's just a deadly rumble now while his fingers inch fractionally lower, so close to your nipple that it aches to be touched.

You are incapable of answering, so you shake your head a little, his nose bumping your ear.

“You are lucky, Miss y/l/n, that I am mostly a gentleman,” he purrs, “mostly.” 

You shiver as he circles your areola with featherlight touch but never crosses onto it, your heart pounding from the tease.

“I suggest you grab your nightgown and run now,” he advises, sounding like he is fighting his urges, his hand stilling in its motion.

“What if that is the opposite of what I wish?” you can barely believe you found the gall to utter your thought aloud, staring straight ahead at the bookcase, not daring to look down at his hand on your body.

His lips brush the shell of your ear, and it's like being struck by lightning.

“Leave now,” he whispers, “you may return tomorrow evening. Exactly as you are.”

“Why then?” you frown, disappointed as his hand drops from your flesh.

“Because then we shall be publically betrothed… and nothing should stop us.”

Your world spins, and you have to lock your knees to stop your swoon. “What…?”

“You heard me,” he says for the second time tonight, this time with a smug tone, stepping away and handing you your nightgown over your shoulder.

You take a faltering step forward and quickly pull on your nightgown, finally turning to face him again, and it steals your breath. His pupils are dilated, his cheeks flushed, his mouth damp and open.

“Until tomorrow, Miss y/l/n….” he gestures to the door and still utterly dumbfounded, you stumble towards it.

You cannot wait for tomorrow. 

Anthony Taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @fictionalmenloversblog @debheart @malpalgalz @amanda08319 @panhoeofmanyfandoms @delehosies

#anthony bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton smut #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x female reader #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton x y/n #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton smut #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton #2k follower celebration #1k notes #1k notes omg you guys!

[wifeofasith]

Anakin secretly watching you naked. You are getting ready to sleep, your hair still damp from your evening bath, as you sit on the edge of your bed, applying lotion over your legs. Your hands rub tenderly from your thighs down to your feet, and Anakin is devouring every second of the view. He grits his teeth, wanting to be the one touching your skin like that, gripping the backs of your knees, and pressing you into the sheets, holding your waist as he taints your body with his darkest desires. He groans silently when your hands travel up to your chest, rubbing sensitive nipples with more of the viscous white fluid. He can imagine licking your sweet, needy buds, nourishing your glowing skin with his spit instead. When you're done, you stand up, stretching your hands up in the air, and Maker he can't help but yearn to worship you. Your body is on display without you even knowing as his mind repeats mine mine mine. You slip into your sheer nightgown and walk to close the window of your room. Anakin steps away, hiding in the shadows as you approach. He inhales your scent, his legs trembling with anticipation to be so close to you, even if you are separated by the glass and darkness that conceal him. You are about to close the only entrance left unlocked into your house when your inner senses nudge you to leave it open. So you do. You close the blinds and bury yourself into the satin sheets of your bed. As you are about to fall asleep, you see the window opening wider. 

#anakin skywalker #anakin x reader #star wars anakin #anakin skywalker x female reader #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x reader smut #anakin skywalker x you #anakin x reader smut #anakin x you #anakin skywalker fanfic #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin fanfiction #anakin skywalker imagines #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker smut #anakin x reader fanfic #anakin x y/n #anakin x fem reader #darth vader x you #darth vader x y/n #darth vader x reader #darth vader #darth vader smut #darth vader imagine #darth vader fanfiction #anakin headcanon #anakin skywalker headcanons #anakin smut #star wars imagine #star wars smut

[delicateflowerss]

Dark Paradise

You try to adjust to a new life, married and living in a manor. But you quickly realize that not everything is what it seems, including your mysterious and devilishly handsome husband, Michael Langdon.

Warnings: 18+, DUB-CON, violence, murder, demon!Michael, blood kink, pain kink, breeding kink, dacryphilia

Word Count: 4.2k

You’re not sure if you’ll ever get used to the dark corridors where shadows dance in your periphery, or the damp smell that makes you feel like you’re underground. It smells of rotting fruit, a slow and lingering decay, almost like death surrounds you.

As long as it doesn’t reach you.

You’re also not sure if you’ll ever get used to the man that haunts these grounds. This tall, dark manor that sits in the middle of nowhere.

He’s not dead, he’s just your husband.

His appearances to you are scarce, only really seeing him at mealtimes and occasionally passing him in hallways.

He’s elusive, mysterious to you in ways you cannot comprehend. Ever since you arrived at the manor, all you’ve had are questions.

For an unknown reason, you can’t remember your life before this place. All you know is you were married off to a man named Michael Langdon.

Sometimes, you have the strangest dreams with a house that feels like the complete opposite of here. One filled with love and light and white walls, and not this frigidness that wraps around you now.

The days almost feel like they go on forever, blending together as nothing surprising happens.

Until one night, you’re pulled out of a peaceful slumber by a piercing scream.

It takes you a moment to blink away the sleep, wondering if it was real or part of a dream.

It doesn’t take long before another one echoes throughout the manor. It’s shrill, a seemingly female scream.

You clutch the soft sheets under you, your heartbeat loud in your ears.

You think about whether you should lie back down, ignoring it and going back to sleep. But you don’t think you could even if you wanted to.

Perhaps against your better judgement, you leave your bedroom, with only a candle lighting your path through the dark hallways.

Your white nightgown sways as you step between walls covered in paintings. The dim candlelight casts shadows on the faces, giving them a particularly ghoulish look.

You keep walking, hoping to find some sort of sign of what it is that woke you up. You’re not even sure where the scream exactly came from.

Before you can reach Michael’s room, a chill sweeps past you, extinguishing your candle, leaving you shivering in the dark.

A disembodied voice calls out your name in the form of a question.

“What are you doing out of your room?” he asks.

You instantly recognize the voice, and it stops you in your tracks. You swallow as he steps closer to you. Michael is holding a candle, illuminating the glare on his face.

“I thought I heard something. It woke me up,” you say nervously.

“I didn’t hear anything,” he replies, his brow furrowing.

“It sounded like a scream. I thought someone might have gotten hurt.”

“Are you sure you didn’t just have a nightmare?” he asks in an almost mocking manner, a cruel smirk growing on his lips.

“No-.” You sigh, stopping yourself. “No,” you say again, this time quieter.

“Come on. I’ll tuck you in and look under your bed for monsters,” he says, trying to step past you with a teasing grin on his face.

“I know what I heard, Michael.”

He stops, mere inches from your face and he can see the seriousness that settles in your eyes.

It doesn’t stop his own icy blue eyes from growing colder.

His gaze rakes over you before he leans in closer, warm breath fanning over your lips as he says, “you didn’t hear anything, Y/N. Time to go back to bed.”

You think your own breathing has stopped before he leaves you, going back to his bedroom.

That’s when your goosebumps return, Michael taking all warmth with him.

You’ve sat in the library all day, reading by the window as rain hits the glass. You decided that you’ll read every book in this place since you don’t have much else to do. You’re on 28 out of 11,200. Thunder rumbles above you as you turn the page.

Nothing has happened since you heard the scream, helping you to believe that it was either a dream or your sleep-addled imagination. You tried asking your handmaid if she heard anything that night, but she said no, giving you a strange look like you might be going mad.

You quickly shut up about it.

Michael hasn’t brought it up, which you’re somewhat grateful for because if he did, it would probably be to make fun of you some more.

Even if he has been polite enough about it, it’s been difficult to be around him. He’s always had an intense gaze but something about it has changed. It lingers for too long.

You think that’s always been the case. But now you react differently, a heat growing in your cheeks and a fire igniting in the pit of your stomach.

“Are you hiding from me for a reason?”

You practically jump, startled by the deep voice near your ear.

You close your book and look over your shoulder, finding Michael standing behind you. Amusement lights up his face and his hands are clasped together behind him.

“Do you normally spend your time in here?” he asks, eyes scanning the room, finding books from floor to ceiling and a fire raging, keeping you warm.

“Sometimes.”

You stare at him, still confused as to why he’s bothering you. Shouldn’t he be busy with something?

“So why do you seem to be in here more than you used to be?”

He steps over to the chair you’re sitting in, wood creaking underneath him. He looks over your shoulder, reading the title of your leatherbound book.

You swallow, able to smell the rich scent he wears. It’s musky with a dash of sweetness, like a piece of fruit being harvested from the earth.

“Just reading more, I guess,” you finally answer his question.

“Hm, well I wanted to apologize for the other night.” He pauses, like it’s hard to get the words out. “You were obviously shaken, and I could’ve been nicer.”

Even if his apology could be more genuine, at least it’s an apology.

“I also want to give you something,” he says before placing something on a side table near you.

You pull your brows together as you take in the gift.

“A pomegranate?” you ask, moving your gaze to him, eyebrows raised.

He picks the piece of fruit back up, mischief dancing in his eyes. In one motion, he cracks the rouge skin open, revealing hundreds of little seeds.

He gathers exactly four seeds in the palm of his hand, setting the rest of the fruit back down.

Without saying anything, he brings his hand closer to you, offering it as if you have no choice but to accept.

You hesitate for a moment before reaching to grab them from the palm of his large hand.

But when your skin brushes against his, a gasp falls from your lips, an image flashing in front of you.

It’s Michael, but he looks different…wearing different clothes than he wears now, almost like a school uniform.

The pomegranate seeds fall to the floor before you look up at him.

There’s a question in his eyes that almost matches yours. But it’s just a flicker of confusion before it disappears, turning into irritation.

He clasps his hands together again before leaning down to you and saying lowly, “if you make a mess, you must clean it up. Remember that.”

You keep your eyes away from him, not able to look at him. You can faintly hear him walk away, but your mind is too focused on the words that seem to have another meaning to them. A meaning that makes heat swirl inside you.

The sun is out today, but just barely. It peeks slightly behind gray clouds. You’ll take it over nothing, deciding it called for a stroll in the garden.

Except, as you look around, you realize there isn’t much of a garden. The flowers seem to be withering away, drooping without life and leaves almost crumbling to dust.

It must be the lack of sunshine, you think as you frown.

It’s so hard to find beauty in a place like this, instead only finding death and tragedy.

Without intending to, your mind wanders to a certain someone. You suppose not all beauty is lost.

You still have been avoiding Michael to the best of your abilities, still unsure what happened that day in the library.

You’re also unsure of your growing feelings for him. He is your husband, but it’s also true you two never consummated the marriage.

He never wanted to, and at first, you were grateful. But now, as you think of his golden curls and sharp jawline that could have been crafted by the gods themselves, you wonder if it would help ease the tension between you. Maybe it’s what you need to do in order to have a normal conversation with him.

But nothing about him is normal. He might be beautiful, but you can’t ignore the darkness that lies in his eyes and makes up his entire being.

You stop, finding a faded yellow flower sprouting from the ground. You bend down, pulling it up. Standing up, you stare at it in your hand, and you can’t help but wish it was alive.

You sigh, eyes closing, almost in defeat. But when you open them, you can’t believe what you see.

The flower is now a bright yellow, looking like it belongs in a vase full of fresh-cut daffodils.

It’s like the flower was resuscitated right between your fingers, finally getting the oxygen it so desperately needed.

There is no way you did this, so how is this possible?

Dinner is mostly eaten in silence. Some small talk is exchanged but you can tell Michael can barely bare it, gritting his teeth as you ask him how his day was.

Michael enjoys more intellectually stimulating conversation. It just so happens that usually means arguing with you or teasing you about something. So, you’re not very fond of it.

Once the plates are taken away, you think you can finally breathe, ready to take your leave to your room.

Just as you’re getting up, Michael stops you.

“Sit down. You haven’t had your dessert yet.”

“Dessert? We only have that on special occasions,” you retort, sitting back down.

“Well, you didn’t get to finish it the other day.”

You part your lips to question him again, but it’s answered when a maid places a plate in front of you.

A pomegranate split in half sits before you.

Michael seems to be waiting for your reaction when you lock eyes with him.

“What is with you and pomegranates?”

“They’re in season. I just want you try it.”

He leans back in his chair, giving a smile that doesn’t exactly reach his eyes. Instead, you find a glint there instead.

You nervously look down at the fruit, mulling over what he wants you to do.

You blink and you suddenly see that the red fruit has turned into a human heart, bloody and still beating.

You gasp, eyes widening as you push back your chair.

You look back to Michael, wondering if he sees it too. You’re met with a cold stare, his finger impatiently tapping on the table.

You frown, your eyes going back to the plate only to find the pomegranate.

Tears spring to your eyes as you consider the real fact that you’re losing your mind.

You don’t notice Michael getting up to stand next to you, your broken mind too caught up with all the peculiar things happening in the last couple of weeks.

He gently puts his hand on your shoulder, taking you out of the torment you’re putting yourself through.

By the time you turn to look at him, he has a few pomegranate seeds on his fingertips. You can smell the sweetness as he brings them closer to your lips.

“Don’t think about it. Just eat them,” he says as two of his fingers move past your lips and into your mouth.

You hum lowly in your throat as you taste how delicious they are, lips clasping tighter around Michael’s fingers, your tongue swirling around them.

He breaks the seal, removing his fingers before you swallow. He watches your throat move up and down, taking his offering.

You don’t miss the satisfied smirk on his plump lips.

It’s a night of tossing and turning. You’re able to sleep but it’s restless. Thoughts of Michael still lingering hours after he fed you the pomegranate.

When you’re finally able to sleep for more than an hour, you’re woken up by a scream similar to the one that woke you up weeks ago.

You know you heard it. It’s not in your imagination. No matter what Michael wants you to believe.

You don’t even think about it as you leave your bed, practically storming down the hall, deciding to leave behind a lit candle for light.

You pass Michael’s bedroom, getting closer to the faint sounds of cries and screams.

At the end of the hallway lies a singular door painted blood red.

You’ve never dared to go through it because when you arrived at the manor, you were told it is off limits.

Every time you would look at it, the hairs on your neck would stand up, giving you reason enough to never investigate it.

But now, you know you have to, tired of not knowing the truth.

When you step through the doorway, the air feels heavy, like all the light has been sucked out, only leaving a darkness that sits on your chest, making sure you cannot take a breath.

It’s pitch black, stairs going down to seemingly nowhere or possibly the pits of Hell. So, it’s either idiotic or suicidal why you decide to go down them.

Once you go down the stairs, a sweltering heat is the first thing you feel, like fire blistering your skin. It’s so bright down at the bottom of the stairs that it reflects in the irises of your eyes.

Hundreds of candles are lit with a few fires alongside them. The walls seem to be made of the earth, like a cave.

You don’t exactly understand what is going on, crouched at the bottom of the stairs spotting Michael walking toward a man sitting on the ground.

Cries and screams of “no” fall from the man as Michael brings a small knife to the man’s throat.

He slices it open, like a bleeding smile, his cries ceasing.

A sadistic smirk paints Michael’s lips, a satisfied one that is so similar to the one he had when he fed you the pomegranate seeds.

That’s when you notice everyone else. Bodies littered around the room, both alive and dead. Blood seeping from their various wounds. The ones who are alive seem to be chained to the floor or the walls, like they’re being tortured.

You can’t help the strangled cry that leaves your mouth, your stomach churning, thinking of the horror that the man you’re married to has been enacting.

You catch yourself, slapping a hand over your mouth. But it’s too late. He heard you.

Michael meets your gaze, and it only takes you a split second to get up and run back up the stairs.

You rush through the house, finding the front doors that keep you trapped inside this prison from the rest of the world.

You fling them open, running barefoot past the garden into the trees that border the manor.

Except just when you think you’re getting somewhere, you’re entering another door, one that goes right back inside the manor.

You look around with bewilderment, your mind racing to try and figure out what is going on. But you just end up hitting a brick wall, wanting to collapse into tears while nothing makes sense. You feel like the floor is moving, like your world has been tilted.

“Don’t cry, little witch.”

You turn to find Michael at the top of the main staircase, looking at you with a sort of curiosity and feigned sympathy.

“What?” you ask, voice cracking.

He continues down the stairs, stepping closer to you.

“Stay away from me,” you yell, voice still thick with tears. “I’m getting out of here.”

“You can try as long as you want to get away. But you’ll always end up back here.”

His looming figure is blurry as you blink away the tears.

You let him get closer, his thumb wiping your tear-stained cheeks.

“You poor thing.” You hear him mutter like you’re some naïve little lamb that needs to be protected.

“You’re stuck here,” he explains. “Those seeds you ate bound you here forever. With me, little witch,” he adds with a grumbling chuckle.

“Why do you keep calling me that?”

“You don’t remember,” he observes, tilting his head at you, like you’re his science experiment.

He thinks for a moment before continuing, “I suppose it would be better if you remembered. Then we really can have fun.”

Before you can protest or say anything, everything goes black.

Certain details are still fuzzy when you regain consciousness, but you remember it all.

You were a powerful witch in a coven. You remember your sisters and your Supreme, Cordelia.

You also remember him.

Cordelia made a deal. She knew who Michael really was, so she did anything she could to send him away, lock him up within the gates of Hell.

She had to make a sacrifice, and it just so happened to be you.

She came up with a loophole for you. The problem is that you couldn’t remember what it was when you arrived here.

You look around at your surroundings for the first time, finding yourself inside a circle of lit candles.

You try to move outside of the confines of the circle, but it’s like an invisible barrier is up.

You lie back down in defeat.

There is no fighting him or getting out. You ate the seeds of the pomegranate.

If enough time had passed without you eating them, you could’ve gotten away from here like Cordelia wanted.

Now you’ve sealed your fate. You’ve been promised to The Beast.

It’s not long before a door creaks open. The man you’ll be forced to spend eternity with, walks through the door.

“I imagine that was an enlightening nap,” he says, fighting off a mocking grin.

You swallow, keeping your eyes anywhere but on him.

“I was right that it would be better if you remember. I can feel the hatred coming off you. I like that more than indifference.”

He pauses, his eyes raking over your body, like he’s hungry and you’re his next meal.

“Of course, other feelings haven’t changed. You know, it was so hard not to say anything that day in the library when I could smell how wet you were.”

You finally turn to look at him, eyes widening at his casual vulgarity.

“Or any of the other times you were clenching your thighs together. And all because of me,” he adds, eyes full of mirth.

“You’re lying,” you argue, but you can’t deny how warm your cheeks are getting.

“Am I?” he challenges. “It really wouldn’t matter. You’re mine to do as I please with.”

You try to hide the waves of heat you feel, but you can’t successfully hide anything from him.

“What would your Supreme think if she knew how easily you gave into me? If she knew how much of a whore, you are?”

He walks around you in circles like you’re prey that he’s just playing with until he’s ready to feast.

It’s dizzying.

“Maybe I couldn’t stop Cordelia from trapping me here, but I knew I wasn’t going to let you go. Her silly plan with the pomegranates,” he laughs. “I was going to pull you down to the depths of Hell with me. Which is where you’ll be for the rest of eternity.”

You shake your head, wanting him to stop taunting you.

“You’re a monster, Michael,” you harshly say. “I’m sure you feel more at home here.”

He just gives you a humorless laugh, something cruel settling in his eyes.

“Cordelia doesn’t care about you. Her hatred for me outweighed whatever love she had for you. She’s probably forgotten all about you.”

You try to pretend that his words don’t claw at your chest.

“But if I’m going to have my little witch by my side,” he continues. “She can’t be an insolent one.”

You instantly regret hurling any insults at him.

“I think it’s time you learn how things are going to work around here.”

He steps inside the circle, barely giving you time to move out of his way.

“On your knees. Now,” he says, his voice sounding gravelly.

You scramble to kneel at his second command.

“Tell me, little witch. Who’s your God?”

You look up at him, confusion in your eyes.

“What?”

The palm of his hand meets your cheek, moving your head to the side. A slight sting burns your skin.

“Let’s try that again. Who is your God?”

You just shake your head, trying not to let the tears fall from your eyes.

His palm slaps your other cheek, the same biting feeling spreading through your face.

“We can keep doing this until you get it right.”

At least when Michael walked the earth, he had many people to subject his torture too. Now, he just has you. And any other sorry soul that might cross his path, you think. The image of crimson pouring from that man’s neck is still burned into your mind.

“You, Michael. You’re my God,” you defeatedly say.

“And how should you worship your God?”

You catch his gaze, unsure how to answer.

All he does is move his hand to undo his pants, unzipping them until you get what he means.

Your eyelashes flutter as you move your face closer to his cock.

He’s already hard, so you give a small lick to his tip, tasting the salty evidence of his arousal.

He watches you start to put his cock into your mouth and down your throat.

A groan falls from his lips as you begin to fuck him with your throat, spit spilling out of your mouth as you choke on his size.

He puts a hand to the back of your head, helping you to take almost all of him. You can feel your own arousal coating your inner thighs.

“I knew you were good for something,” he says as you gag a little.

He surprises you by pulling you off him, letting you fall onto your ass while your drool hits your chin.

He’s quick to grab you, pinning you to the floor as he puts his weight on top of you.

“I want you to feel me cum inside you.”

He doesn’t waste any time before he rips your white nightgown off you, seeing your naked body for the first time.

His own clothes come off and you hate that even if you know how much of a monster he is, all you can think about is him fucking you.

His hands have your wrists underneath them, pushed into the cold hard floor. You can’t move if you wanted to, but you don’t think you would anyway.

All you do is blink, and his face has changed. His skin is paler with cracks running through it, almost like cement. And his eyes have gone black, no light or emotion to be seen, just darkness, an overwhelming evil you’ve never seen or felt before.

It frightens you. His body is colder as he pushes inside you, a growl coming from deep in his throat.

He doesn’t care to wait for you to adjust, he’s rough in his thrusts, setting a pace that already leaves you gasping for air.

“Michael,” you cry out. “It hurts.”

You know you sound pathetic which is almost worse than how full you feel, your cunt stretching to accommodate the size of him.

“Good,” is all he says.

He licks and bites at your breasts, playing with your nipples between his fingers. It’s both pain and pleasure and it drives you insane. You can feel him deep inside you, the tip of his cock hitting that soft spot nestled in you.

You wrap your legs around him, your walls clenching around him.

He kisses your cheeks, wet with tears from the pain you have felt. He just licks it up, finding your pain to be delicious.

His lips drag against your throat, teeth nipping at the delicate skin.

He whispers, “I can’t wait to see you swollen with my baby. Evidence of how you belong to me.”

You can feel your pussy squeeze him at the thought, the coil in your stomach getting tighter and tighter.

He captures your lips in a sloppy kiss as he moves his hand down to rub your aching bundle of nerves.

It’s enough for the coil to snap. It’s only moments later when you feel him twitch inside you, coating your walls with his cum. He bites down on your shoulder, and you cry out in pain as he laps up the blood that seeps from the wound, soothing it with his tongue.

He’s breathless as he collapses on top of you, his skin going back to its usual color.

Your mind isn’t clouded with pleasure anymore, but you bring a hand to the curls on his head anyway.

He moves his head slightly to look at you, a smirk forming on his lips.

“If only Cordelia could see you now.”

#michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #ahs #american horror story #ahs apocalypse #michael langdon fanfiction

[themidnightcrimson]

bubblegum ࿏ wm

summary: in which wanda is a lenient mommy, but her leniency can only go so far.

words: 5.2K

warnings: soft mommy!wanda, top!wanda, f!reader, bottom!reader, mommy kink, ownership, punishment, edging, orgasm denial, fingering, use of vibrator, use of dildo, brain goes brrrrr

this post is for 18+ only. minors dni.

masterlist.

Wanda loves you in all things pink.

Ballerina pink walls in your room. A little pink clock sitting high above the varnished white desk, a pink cat in the face of the clock ticking its whiskers towards the morning hour. Your pink bunny slippers lying discarded on the ground. The bubblegum color of your bedsheets that you grind between your fingers as your hands wake first, trying to find that smooth warm skin that you so dearly love. The pink of your lips, of your rosy peaks, of that space between your thighs, kept exposed throughout the night because she discards your pink nightgown before you fall asleep in her arms.

It's morning time, your favorite. Your hand crumples the pink duvet in its odyssey to find your lover. You can feel her slow, heavy breaths and hear them in your ear over the morning birds outside the window. You can feel her legs entwined with yours, your toes resting on the bones of her ankle. Hand meets arm—you’ve found her.

Slowly, your eyes blink open to see her. Wanda is lying facing you, one arm tucked under the pink pillow, one cast halfway over to you where she must have reached for you during the night but lost you before she fell back asleep again. Your hand has found her forearm, clutching it, fingertips pressing into the fleshy muscle there.

“Mommy,” you whisper as confirmation that this is whose arm your hand has found. Your Mommy, who sleeps with you every night, whom you always wake up to. Even if she wakes before you first, she resists the urge to get up to make you breakfast. She wants to be the first thing you see every morning.

A noise stirs in Wanda’s throat. Your hand, as if attracted to the sound, crawls up her arm and over her shoulder so that your fingers can wade through the ocean of orangey red curls to find the ridged column of her throat. Green eyes open to focus on you, a little puffy from sleep, and her ivory grin shines as the brightest thing in the room. “Good morning, baby,” she says, the vibrations of her voice buzzing through the skin of your fingers on her throat.

Her arm finishes its journey that it started sometime in the night, reaching to slide over your waist until it can press into your lower back, ushering you closer to her. You giggle as the front of your body presses against hers, taking in the delight of how warm and soft her skin is against yours. When she inhales, her tummy touches yours, and when she exhales, the force of her breath moves a strand of your hair.

As your thigh opens and cradles around her hips, her hand on your back slides up and buries itself in your hair. She moves your head forward so that she can press a gentle kiss to your lips.

“Wanna suck,” you pull away to tell her, your tongue running wildly over the inside of your mouth, eyes darting down to her chest left exposed by the blankets that parted down when she had moved you towards her.

Wanda obliges, as she always does, guiding your head downwards until the hill of her breast presses into your nose, and your eager lips find the peak of it, wrapping around it and sucking. Your hand palms clumsily at her other breast, and you shiver when you hear the satisfied sigh that comes from her throat. One of her thighs comes forward to settle between yours, her knee bucking against the place that is still buzzing from the night before.

She takes pleasure in the sound you make as your hips start to grind against her, already hungry for friction and eventual release as you suckle on her nipple, nose infiltrated with the scent of her perfume from yesterday that is still damp against the valley of her chest. It’s your favorite smell.

Wanda hates leaving you when the pleasures of early morning turn into getting dressed for work, making you breakfast, and then having to leave through the front door. Something that helps the both of you to cope with these hours of absences is a pink leather collar that she belts around your neck loose enough to be comfortable but tight enough that you can feel it always. Throughout the day, when she is at work, she thinks about you at home and knows her collar is on your neck. When you find the house too big and empty without Wanda’s presence, your fingers find the leather and the tiny metal buckle, remembering as if it is her hand on your throat and not the collar.

You will spend the day watching TV or drawing or reading, wearing whatever outfit Wanda has picked for you, accessorized by one of your favorite stuffies cradled in your arm. You will eat the lunch that she prepared for you in the pink tin lunchbox on the edge of the counter, visible enough that you walk by it and remember to eat, since she has to remind you so often.

Wanda takes pleasure in the details. She cuts your peanut butter and jelly sandwiches into little crustless hearts. She fills your pink plastic water bottle full of water and tapes a little sticker heart to the front. She makes sure that she cuts your baby carrots into little strips because it looks more like French fries which you are much more inclined to eat. The homemade brownie tucked into its own square in the lunchbox has two chocolate chips for eyes and a bending line of chocolate chips formed into a smile. She cuts your apple into half-slices because it’s easier to chew. She tapes a note to the underside of the lunchbox lid, telling you to have a good day or to make sure you eat all your lunch, always signed with her initial inside a heart.

Wanda doesn’t give you many rules, besides that you don’t leave the house without her, stay away from the kitchen drawer full of knives marked with a red X sticker on the handle to remind you which one is unallowed, eat all of your lunch and finish the entire water bottle, and, as needed, lay out whatever meat she plans to use for dinner so it will be defrosted by the time she comes home. She prefers it when she gets home from work to find you kneeling for her at the door, but she understands when you forget. You are a good girl and don’t get yourself into trouble often, so she doesn’t need to lay out so many rules. The main rule, the one she has told you so many times that she doesn’t even have to tell you anymore, is that you keep your collar on all day. She wants to see it on your neck when she leaves and see it on your neck when she comes home. It’s simple. You’ve never broken this rule.

Wanda is a lenient Mommy. Sometimes babies are prone to accidents, she says. You might forget to eat the last of the veggies in your lunchbox. There may be an inch of water still in your bottle. Maybe you left a mess of your coloring books and crayons on the floor. Maybe you slipped out of the outfit she dressed you in so you can slip on one of her shirts because it soothes you while you miss her. Maybe you spilled juice on the kitchen floor and didn’t clean it up.

The only punishment you know for these simple accidents is when she gently reprimands you and helps you to fix whatever it is you slighted. She feeds you the last of the veggies, holds the bottle to your lips to finish the last of the water, helps you put the coloring book and crayons back in their place, puts back on the clothes she picked out for you, leans down to the floor with you and wipes up the juice with the paper towels that have little hearts and flowers on them.

She never raises her voice, she never gets angry, and she never punishes you further than the upsetting disappointment on her face. She spoils you.

Her leniency could only go so far. That day when you woke and placed your fingers to her throat, you found yourself restless after she left for work. The crayons did not appease you, so you left them scattered on the floor of your room. You tried to watch TV but could not settle yourself comfortably enough on the couch. You forgot to eat the lunch she made you or drink any of your water. She had texted you to tell you to lay some chicken out for dinner, but your mind was wandering, and you forgot. She wouldn’t answer any of your texts after that, which you knew meant she was having a busy day at work, but it upset you more than usual.

Seeking comfort, you tiptoed into the bathroom and tore off the pink skirt and shirt she had dressed you in before you left. You stepped into the shower and bathed yourself in her shampoo and soap instead of yours, taking in all the scent of her you could smell. You even blotted her perfume on your chest the same way you watched her do in the mornings before work, though you didn’t know how fast the perfume came out of the bottle, and accidentally emptied it on your skin and left it lying messily on the sink without even putting the lid back on. You pulled on one of her hoodies and sweatpants, which flooded you, and nestled into the couch, watching one of your favorite cartoons while you waited miserably for her to get back home.

At some point in the late afternoon, you fell asleep, clutching your stuffie to your chest as you napped on the couch.

Wanda had a difficult day at work. All that could go wrong, went wrong, and she found herself rubbing her eyes to stay awake as she drove home an hour later than usual. She expected you to notice, to be kneeling in front of the door waiting for her, having missed her even more than usual since she was late. She felt disappointment sack her in the chest when she opened the door to nothing, and then she saw you curled up asleep on the couch in her clothes.

Though she was irritated, she thought you looked cute like that, so she didn’t stir you. She went straight to the bathroom, eager to change out of her suit, when she stepped on something that cracked between her shoe and the bathroom tile floor. It was the lid to her perfume bottle—her eyes found the matching bottle sitting on its side on the counter, practically empty except for the last bit which had leaked from the upended bottle into a pool of scent on the counter.

She noticed that the shower curtain was left open and so were her bottles of shampoo and soap. Irritation goaded her as she realized how messy you had left her bathroom, and she grew even more frustrated when, in her bedroom, she saw that you had gone through all her drawers to change into her clothes, fabrics lying rumpled on the floor.

It doesn’t matter, she told herself. Maybe you were frazzled because of her distance. She couldn’t blame you for that. When she walked past your room on the way to the kitchen, wanting to start dinner under the assumption that you were probably hungry since she would have had dinner made by then, she saw a mess on the floor of your room. Crayons and toys strewn all over, your bed unmade, some paints spilled onto the carpet. She balled her fists.

When she went into the kitchen, she noticed your lunchbox and bottle still sitting where she left it. Opening the box, anger flared in her when she realized that it was still full of the food she packed in it, and your bottle had not even been touched. She couldn’t take it anymore when she realized that you never laid out the chicken that she had asked you to.

Pursing her lips and taking slow breaths, she walked to the living room couch where you lay undisturbed, the hood of her hoodie you were wearing drawn over your head so that all she could see was your nose and your parted lips.

“Baby,” she said harshly, her hand not matching her voice’s anger as it gently touched your shoulder. “Wake up.”

Hearing Wanda’s distant voice, you groaned and moved, turning onto your back and slowly opening your eyes to see Wanda standing above you. Delight flared inside you, but the wide grin on your face did not mirror Wanda’s.

Her eyes were at your neck, which was bare. Before she could say anything, you shrieked, “Mommy! You’re home!” and jumped off the couch, launching yourself at her like a canon as you threw your arms around her.

Wanda stumbled with the force of your hug, but she didn’t hug you back. She placed her hands on your upper arms and peeled you from her, holding you steady as you looked up at her in confusion. Her eyes were at your neck again, and, out of habit, you slapped your hand to your throat, expecting your fingers to catch on the leather collar, but instead they just slipped over your skin.

Your eyes widened as you clawed at your neck, panic filling you. Where had the collar gone? You didn’t remember taking it off—the shower. You had taken it off to shower and didn’t put it back on. How could you be so forgetful?

It was a substantial disgrace, but as you searched Wanda’s stony eyes, your panic swelled. She must have had a bad day, you could tell. Your eyes sifted past her and to the kitchen where you saw your lunchbox and bottle untouched on the counter—how had you forgotten that, too? Her text message rung in your head—you never laid out the chicken.

Suddenly, as if Wanda’s absence had swept away your brain while she was gone, your brain came back to you with her reappearance. Everything you had forgotten to do during the day came rushing back at you in swirling, panic-filled thoughts as you mentally read the list she too was making behind her eyes. Maybe it would have been okay if you hadn’t forgotten to put the collar back on, but it was just the finishing touch on the unruliest day you ever had.

Excuses formed on your unmoving tongue, but they drained down your throat when Wanda spoke before you could.

“Go to your room. Take off your—my clothes—and put the collar back on. Kneel by the bed.”

There was no softness in her voice, no light, no care, no kindness. You’d never seen the vein in her neck that was bulging furiously for your attention, nor the stormy look in her darkened green eyes, nor the curve that formed between her creased eyebrows. It trembled you.

You didn’t ask any questions or say anything else as you sprinted to your room, listing her commands in your head so you wouldn’t forget. You peeled her hoodie and sweatpants from your body until you were diminished to nudity, found the collar and latched it around your neck, and even cleaned up the mess all over your room floor that went unnoticed by your eyes until now. You kneeled in front of the bed, head tipped down, and waited.

You thought she would come through the door soon after you knelt, but she didn’t. The room grew cold on your exposed body, and your knees started to ache from being bent for so long. Your fingers fiddled together as nervousness filled you—you wanted to reach for your stuffie on the bed, but you wanted to be kneeling obediently whenever she walked through the door. It must have been half an hour that passed, though it felt like years, before Wanda came through the door.

Gasping from the suddenness, your eyes lifted excitedly to see her. Maybe she was using the time to calm down. Maybe she would have forgiven you by now, but the hardness in her eyes told you otherwise. She was carrying a plate, and as she sat on the edge of the bed, you craned your neck to see that it was a sandwich and a cup of water she was carrying. The sandwich was not cut into a heart, and the cup had no heart stickers on it. It pained you, but you were reinflated by the thought that even as your bad behavior and proceeding punishment hung over your head, she still made sure you were going to eat.

“Come here,” she quietly ordered, and you turned and crawled in front of her lap, kneeling back down and feeling grateful that your room was carpeted.

“Mommy?” you began, but she looked at you with a sharp, silencing gaze. She set the cup down on the nightstand and picked up the sandwich, handing it to you. You raised your hand to take it, but she snatched it away suddenly, giving you a knowing look. She was going to handfeed you.

Gulping, you opened your mouth, and she moved the sandwich to it, and you took a bite. Under normal circumstances, she would have made you a full dinner, but you knew that she wanted to get this out of the way so she could deliver her ministrations.

Bite by bite, Wanda fed you the sandwich, feeling your teeth occasionally scrape her fingers. When the sandwich was gone, she lifted the cup to your lips and instructed you to drink the whole thing. You felt the instinct to reach up and hold the cup so it wouldn’t fall, but you trusted Wanda as she angled it so you could drink. Some of the water slipped out the side of your mouth, dribbling down to your bare chest, and when the cup was empty Wanda reached down and wiped the water away from your skin.

Then she sat, hands in her lap, with you kneeling in front of her and looking up at her expectantly. “Tell me what you did wrong today.”

Your eyes darted around, but you tried your best to keep them on her as you thought of the list of things you’d done wrong, which admittedly was long. “I—I didn’t eat my lunch. I spilled your perfume. I…left your clothes on the floor.” You hesitated, but she arched her brows, urging you to go on. “I changed out of the clothes you picked for me. I made a mess in my room.” Your voice was small and wavering, fingers tying together nervously. “I didn’t lay out the chicken.”

“And?”

“And my collar—I forgot to put it back on.”

She nodded slowly, signaling that that was enough. Her eyes were steady on you as she picked at the situation in her mind, trying to cautiously think of how to proceed.

“Come here,” she instructed, patting her lap. Carefully, you stood up and clambered to her lap, straddling her, glancing down in shame as her hands held your hips. “Look at me.” Your eyes met green. “You were very bad today, and Mommy already had a tough day at work. It hurts me to know that after a stressful day, I come home to my baby to find that she has been bad all day. How do you think that makes me feel?”

She wanted to make sure you understood what was happening before she did it, which scared you a little. “Bad,” you whispered.

“Yes. It makes Mommy feel bad.” She paused, her hand gently gliding up your waist. She didn’t like seeing you so upset, but she couldn’t keep spoiling you every day. “Is there anything you have to say for yourself?”

You hesitated, trying to think of the best thing you could say to make her feel better. All you could think of was a teary, “I’m sorry, Mommy.”

She didn’t say it was okay, nor did she even thank you for apologizing. She only laid you down on the bubblegum sheets and opened your legs, settling herself between them.

“How do you think Mommy should punish you?” she asked, her hands sliding down your thighs, nails scratching your skin lightly.

“I don’t know,” you mumbled, shivering when she brought her hand directly to your slit and cupped it.

“You don’t know,” she echoed slowly, enunciating every syllable as if they had never been strung together before, as if it were a new phrase she’d never heard of. “I don’t think that will do.”

You struggled to think of words as her fingers rubbed your clit, etches of desire already sparking in you. “I’m sorry, Mommy,” you pleaded.

“You already said that,” she snapped, her other hand sliding up your tummy until it found your breast and squeezed it harshly. “Should I ground you? No more going out on weekends, no TV, no coloring?”

Your eyes widened in fear as she threatened to take these things away. You loved going out with her on weekends, walking around the park, getting ice cream, always coming home with arms full of shopping bags because she spoiled you so helplessly. “No!”

“Don’t raise your tone at me,” she snapped harshly, her fingers pinching your clit. You yelped, hips jolting, but settled back down again, eyeing her with pouty eyes. You watched as her eyes softened—this was as hard for her as it was for you. “You have to think of something, baby. You’ve been so bad today.”

She looked down to watch as she dragged her fingers down to your entrance, dipping two of them inside you—you were still wet from grinding on her thigh that morning. You squeaked as she entered you, curling her fingers at their depths before dragging them back out, along with more wetness from your inside.

“I don’t know what to say, Mommy,” you whined as she entered you again, this time thrusting. Your skin was starting to warm up, face getting red, as she fingered you slowly and at her own pace. Wanda’s eyes returned to yours as she pumped her fingers in and out of you, watching your face make expressions of restrained pleasure, her head tilted curiously. Her thumb caught your clit and rubbed it as she kept curling her fingers to find that ridged spot inside you. It irritated you how easily she could wind you up, how you were always wet for her, the way the soft skin of her fingers slipped easily in and out of your hole, the soft wet sounds that your ears caught with every other thrust.

Your hands grabbed at the pink sheets as pleasure twisted and contorted in your tummy, building into a pressure that Wanda stoked at with a third finger inside you. She watched you, wordlessly, expressionless, as she tortured you into a knotted circuit of pressure, back arching off the bed, thighs squeezing around her hand, hips bucking. When she felt your walls tighten around her fingers, and watched you start to dip your head upwards as the pressure began to crack, she removed her hand from you entirely.

The room, that had grown brighter as your orgasm started to reach you, the very beginning of its tendrils having just climbed up your stomach, dimmed down. That horrid feeling, of nearly reaching a climax and having it ripped from you, from being full of her fingers to so painfully empty, crashed upon you. You looked at her with a whine.

“I think maybe I spoil you too much,” Wanda said casually, as if she hadn’t just exerted the worst torture upon you, as if her fingers weren’t wet with your juices. She reached over you and to the nightstand, pulling open a drawer and taking out a pink vibrator.

“Mommy,” you whined, thighs rubbing together in search of friction.

“I give you everything you want,” she said as she pushed your thighs open again. “Toys, gifts, playtime, orgasms.” She clicked the vibrator on, the buzzing sound filling your ears. You wanted to jump away from her when she pressed the vibrating end right to your clit. “I think spoiling you has turned you into a selfish brat.”

Her words hurt more than the vibrator torturing your already throbbing clit. She pushed it against your clit, watching the way your knees shook and your back arched, trying to both get closer to it and farther away from it.

“Mommy, please,” you begged, grabbing fistfuls of the sheets and resting your ankle on her hip as your legs moved restlessly around her.

“You didn’t even have your collar on when I got home,” Wanda said as she pushed the toy harder into your clit until all you could feel was vibrations rumbling up your tummy. “What kind of baby does something like that?”

“I’m sorry,” you said again, face starting to grow moist as the pressure she had just invited within you started to weakly rebuild, growing stronger with every second. “Please,” you said again, words melting away from your lips as the room grew brighter again. “Please, please—”

The vibrator silenced, and all you could hear were your own ragged breaths and the sound of the bed sheets crumpled under your fists. “No!” you whined as you realized Wanda had snatched yet another orgasm away from you with perfectly merciless timing.

“Brats get what they deserve, baby,” she said as she tucked the vibrator back into the nightstand before taking out something else—a pink strapless dildo, curved at the end for perfect pleasure. It was thin but long and bent to the shape of your insides, perfect for the torture she was bringing upon you.

Wanda was no longer finding it hard to punish you. She loved seeing you like this, whining, eyes tearing up, your pussy red and swollen from touch but no release. She eased the tip of the dildo inside you and grinned sharply at the way you screwed your eyes shut and tried to get away from her, but she grabbed you by the thigh and kept your legs open around her. She took pleasure in giving you all of it but nothing at the same time.

“Mommy,” you panted as you felt the dildo slip inside you, still feeling the ghost of the vibrator buzzing on your clit. It snaked inside you until you felt the curved end brush against that sweet spot so deep inside you, and she pumped it just like that.

Your wetness had dripped down to the sheets, staining them a darker shade of pink as you shook and squirmed on the bed, feeling feverish and burning up inside. Wanda traced a gentle palm over your lower tummy, pressing down just to make the feeling even worse inside you.

“If you cum,” she began, “You won’t get any weekend outings for a whole month.”

In the midst of your haze, you weren’t sure how many weekends that was, but it sounded like a whole lot as you whined, tears slipping down your cheeks. You could already feel the tender shivers of an orgasm inside you, and when she rubbed at your raw clit again, you felt helpless under the inciting surrender to release.

“Mommy, stop, I can’t,” you whined, trying to keep your hips still as she pumped the dildo inside you, feeling it deep in your tummy.

“You can’t stop yourself from cumming, but you can be a brat and disobey me all day without caring about I will feel about it?” Wanda said before tutting her tongue. “You really are a spoiled brat.”

Cries left your throat as your vision left you, feeling the air grow hot and the room bright. The orgasm was right there, reaching for you with its heavenly hands, and you tried your hardest to turn away from it. Your heels scraped Wanda’s hips as the bedsheets in your fists grew damp from your sweaty palms.

“Mommy, please,” you begged genuinely, barely opening your eyes just enough so you could look at her. “Please, I can’t.” You brought a hand to your face so you could clamp your teeth down on your wrist, trying to feel anything other than the tortuous pleasure Wanda gave you.

Wanda quickly took your wrist away from your mouth, holding your hand gently in hers. Even like this, she didn’t want you to get too upset and hurt yourself. Her thumb stroked over the wet indentions of your teeth on your wrist.

“Do you promise to be better from now on? No accidents and no forgetting to do the things Mommy tells you to do?”

You nodded furiously, and you meant it. “Yes, Mommy. I promise. I promise.” Your voice was strangled, like if you spoke too loudly you would lose concentration and cum all over the dildo inside you.

Wanda waited a moment, looking thoughtfully before she finally retracted the dildo. At first, you felt relief, but then you felt the shadow of the orgasm that had been hanging over your head the entire time still there, fading away into nothing. It was her last blow of punishment—no release at all.

You caught the whine in your throat, not wanting her to put the dildo back inside you and torture you even more. Now you just had to sit with the discomfort, your throbbing clit, knotted tummy, and wet, empty hole.

“Good girl,” she soothed as she put the dildo back in the drawer and closed your legs, crawling up to press kisses on your cheeks. “You did so good for Mommy, not cumming.”

“But Mommy—” You began, wanting to tell her that it still hurt, that you wanted her to award you for not cumming by letting you finally do it, but she pressed a kiss to your lips to silence you.

When she pulled away, she smirked and stroked your face. A slight change happened in her eyes. “Are you okay, baby?”

You nodded, but the words were tumbling from your lips. “But I wanna cum now.”

She laughed airily, gripping your chin between her fingers and looking at your blushing, distressed face. “Unfortunately, that’s part of the punishment, baby.” She kissed your nose and got up, picking up your clothes on the floor that you had discarded when you showered earlier. You were laying on the bed pathetically, clit throbbing so hard you could hear it in your ears, the ceiling spinning above you.

“Put these back on, puppy,” she said, handing them to you. “And don’t you dare take them off again until I tell you to.”

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #mommy wanda #wanda maximoff x f!reader #lesbian #marvel #lgbt

[lakesbian]

@simurghed ok here are some miscellaneous nothing thoughts ive had about undersiders team vacation for you. this is my purest form of autism theres literally nothing interesting under this post just a lot of words of me sticking undersiders into situations. thats not intended as self deprecation just fair warning

if they went in a cave where the tour guide is like "DO NOT TOUCH ANY CAVE FORMATIONS or they will BE DESTROYED, FOREVER, after THOUSANDS OF YEARS OF BEAUTIFUL EXISTENCE" brian would immediately proceed to spend the entire tour staring at aisha and alec instead of looking at the rocks and shit and preparing to grab them if either of them attempts to touch a cave formation. alec would accidentally set his hand on one w/o realizing while huffing and puffing his way up stairs or a steep incline but he would be walking behind the rest of the team so no one would notice and he would pretend it didn't happen

brian accidentally slams his forehead into top of low tunnel everyone is walking through and swears for like 20 continuous seconds and then has to go sit somewhere with an ice pack and the entire time hes like I bet aisha and alec are touching so many fucking cave formations right now.

if the undersiders went on a hike or something where there were like. Ledges. over Long Drops. aisha would without doubt go stand on them and dick around in a spry 13yo manner and it would freak brian out so much he would yell Aisha Middle Name Laborn Get Your Ass The FUCK Down From There!!!!! and then she would pretend to be startled like she was about to fall off for a moment and he would almost have a heart attack and he would be so mad for the entire rest of the day and not let her off the trail at all and keep glaring at her

if they went to a beach they could all wear cute little swimsuits...taylor would have a full bodysuit (dark gray) but mostly just spend time sitting in a chair reading. rachie wouldnt wear a swimsuit but she would just take her dogs up and down the beach on walks in normal clothes and maybe get a bit damp anyway. brian would wear swim trunks and a long-sleeved top because he also feels uncomfortable having too much skin exposed but, like, more quietly. aisha is wearing a purple tankini with one of brians giant t-shirts over top. voluntarily, to be clear, ifeel like someone might misinterpret this as "brian made her" but shes doing that on purpose. i also think she has at least one "nightgown" that is fully a massive shirt stolen from brian but thats besides the point. lisa is wearing a purple bikini with one of those like. flowy half-skirts tied around the bottom. and alec is wearing girls swim shorts and one of those sheer white swim cover tops youre supposed to take off before you get in the water except he's not taking it off

aisha keeps pestering alec to go swimming with her and he's like sure ok and lets her drag him in. and then almost drowns because he doesn't know how to swim and figured he could just "wing it." brian has to dredge him out and he spends several minutes coughing up seawater sopping wet style while brian takes the opportunity to lecture about how he's stupid. and then he spends the next half hour after that complaining about how there is Sand up his Buttcrack.

aisha and alec spend literally like over half an hour just standing next to taylors chair pestering her to make a crab rave happen. she tries to ask lisa for back-up but lisa says she also wants to see the crab rave. so it happens. very clandestinely with only a few crabs.

aisha demands a ride on brian's shoulders into the ocean. he obliges. alec demands to get to go next. he is denied, because brian thinks it would be kind of gay. he doesn't say that, but it's what he's thinking.

i think they should get to have the most miserable time on the planet all waiting for their turns to shower off in the hotel room after going swimming. reasonably they would have multiple rooms but i like to envision theres only one and everyone is shivering and holding malicious intent towards whoever is actively in the shower. they make alec go last because they know how he is with long showers and he just kind of sits tragically on the entry tile in a slowly collecting puddle of sandy water and stares into space looking haunted and intermittently shivering

undersiders trip to history museum. undersiders trip to preserved historical building. undersiders trip to preserved fancy mansion. ive posted about this one before but both alec and brian are enjoying it (for different reasons) while aisha HATES it and it's freaking all three of them out a little. alec is performatively trying to pretend he also thinks it's lame because he's (largely platonically) whipped but then he turns around and asks the tour guide an actual question and he and aisha both know that in this moment he has betrayed and abandoned her. they reconcile via shared advocacy for ice cream afterwards

alec vasil hot and tired of walking frow up incident, no deaths, intense injury to one boy's pride and also his shoes

brian laborns intense and immense joy over getting to organize and use the contents of his cargo shorts

the incredible drama of brian laborn trying to parallel park the van in a really tight spot while lisa and taylor both play unwanted spotter for him and he's like Please. just Let me Concentr-. Just let me do what i need to do just be quiet for a minute . they do stop talking for a minute, during which aisha takes the opportunity to start making fart noises

rachel lindt is fitting so many ouppie dogs in the van and theyre just kind of ferreting between everyones legs and climbing onto laps to stick their heads out the windows and shit. this starts off as something everyone but rachel is mad about but settles into a more amenable cuddle pile situation

undersiders go to aquarium or zoo....zoo would be more fun to witness because alec would complain about it being hot + smelling bad the whole time. lisa has the intelligent idea to quiet him with a blue raspberry slushie

speaking of lisa you know shes going into this entire thing like Taylor Specifically has to have the most funnest specialest time ever. shes always like "ok ill read some dinner options off the phone :)" and then all 5 of them are things taylor specifically would love. and so on and so forth.

alec vasil spotted wandering lost and ghostlike in the modern art gallery

i could go on

[ms0milk]

𝟏𝟐 | 𝐏𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥 𝐃𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫

ー✧ prince!bakugou x royal guard!reader

"You will spend summers in rainstorms and autumns in his orchards because you are Alderan and he will kill Takoban gods to get you there."

cw brief description of drowning and a claustrophobic struggle with the ocean. suggestions of suicidal intention and self harm. reader tries to fight the sea and your prince has horrible misunderstandings about it. bkg 🫱🏽‍🫲🏼 unethical rescue tactics pt 2, borrowed clothes, a fevered fireside confession in the bedroom you’ve been searching for 6.4k

PREV | M.LIST | TAGLIST | NEXT

If Takoba is the edge of the world, Aldera is the center. You so starved for comfort, stand with your feet at the tip of the surf and tie your braids together.

You watch the sea at midnight and the winds coming off the water bite your scars before they chill your bones. Autumn at the edge of the world is miserable. Lakes freeze but the ocean is colder, and full of tides , like Todoroki said, which you’ve spent the day reading about. Unlike lakes and winter ice skating, the ocean has a taste. Salt and decay. It tastes unfathomably ancient. You watch its many maws foaming under the moonlight and seashells burn in frigid water when you step onto them.

In the view from Bakugou’s bedroom, you’ve lined your boots up neatly in the sand and stand watch beside them for a moment. You’re dressed to stop a midnight siege, in your white nightgown and padded habergeon, staring so small and far away from the warmth of his fireplace. You in a dark blue world, framed by his open window. Bakugou would have sipped his tea and rolled his eyes at his newly fucked up sleep schedule and how ridiculous you insist on looking in public if his cup wasn’t spilt on the rugs where he dropped it. If he hadn’t already ripped his door off its hinges in his sprint out of the castle.

You couldn’t sleep. You have no appetite and no mobility yet for sparring. Just books. Just Uraraka answering your questions about the sea while watching her men train. The ride with Todoroki yesterday was nice but it left your throat stiff and you are still in your kingdom’s service. Today in Takoba, tomorrow and forever behind your prince. Long before the blue gardens and scars, before the kitchen, before sticky crowds and white horses and cold hallways, something somewhere started to die.

You take another step into the swollen water, it rises with the moon, to confirm your suspicions and grimace when a crab scuttles over your foot. Another step and you’re up to your hem. It would all be easier if your heart was still a forest fire. When did that stop? When did the rain come? Up to your knees now. Seawater climbs your nightgown.

As it stands you’re no longer a dragon, just damp tinder. The black sea sways you side to side at the hips now so gently– keep walking, don’t look back. You will free yourself from doubt and you will fight a god to do it.

“Moon makes tides,” Uraraka yawned and slouched and stretched as you sat on your knees beside her in the pit.

“Can you swim in it?”

“In the ocean?” she squinted, “Yeah of course. But don’t tell me you want to swim in this weather?”

“I won’t.”

Shinsou could only pretend not to hear for so long from his spot beside you both this afternoon, “The moon makes tides, and tides make storms.”

Good. Up to your ribs now. Wear the rock there like an anchor.

In the cold water your body heat becomes that much more apparent and it’s lovely like home. Genuinely hot for a second. Your nightgown floats up around you and you sink quickly from chest to nose when the sand under your feet drops to freezing nothing. The sudden dip sends icy pain behind both eyes and the sensation of failing steeles every joint sickly sore. Walking through the ocean is like a fight, like driving a sword through someone solid, like braving a thunderstorm, but sinking into it is easier than sleeping.

You gasp and spit out the aftermath of losing your footing but you also fight too hard in anticipation of sinking and you’re suddenly in the open air up to your waist like a salmon leaping upstream. The weight of the nightgown settles you back down to your shoulders and it’s silent except for the sound of waves kissing the beach and one another. Whistling wind. You bob only some ten meters out from shore, just short of where Todoroki held you back for fear of drowning and something wild like greed blinks open a sleepy brown eye.

You hardly have to move a limb to keep your head above water; the sea is free and gentle. You float easily here, where a lake wants to watch you fight. It’s part of the fun at home and in exchange you are safe in freshwater. Salt stings– saliva pools under your tongue to keep it from getting inside– but it also holds you up in the foam like two hands under the hip.

Is this what you were so afraid of? This is the god you planned on killing tonight?

Every day in this miserable place you have been beaten. You have fallen apart in some way, your hair is too messy, your new clothes don’t fit right. You lose Aldera with every step, heel toe– earrings that are no longer yours, heel toe– a weapon you can't return, heel toe and stand at attention– a brooch you’re too afraid to wear, to lose too, so you keep it under your pillow and wear silver seashells instead. Blue fire took the first victory in the forest and you salvaged your prince with your life thin in your teeth. Takoba took the second victory and strung you out in your nightgown for nobles to pick at like crows. A driftwood table took the third and Bakugou stole the fourth. The only time you have ever won here is when you decided to die. When you churn the water with your arms a pain echoes across your back not quite inside your scars.

Kirishima on the verge of tears, Shinsou above your operating table, Uraraka at your side, Todoroki holding you back from the edge of the world– your prince, wet to his knees– you have never, not once in your life have you ever failed. Their gazes make your throat hurt and you spit again into a tiny rolling wave that lifts itself over your chin and into your ears.

The goddess of the sea does not pity you.

She pulls you into her arms and laughs when you rub your freshwater eyes. She tossels your hair with silent waves you could never have seen coming. She reminds you of her strength. And Todoroki told you that you couldn’t possibly challenge her– eat your words sealace prince. Even just this once, witness me. You are a gem in the crown of Aldera, the left hand of the golden family. Takoba is no setback the sea is not your master, you are a chosen servant, not a mistake. It is so wonderful to be in the presence of a queen again and at night her water is soft and black.

The shore is farther than you remember when you finally glance back at the world. You bob like a peach, a frozen peach, and realize you can’t feel the cold anymore. Time to head back. Today was just a test anyway, to make sure you could put up your fight. Maybe sleep will come now that you’re starting to breathe heavy and now that your muscles ache again after days without real training. Ice creeps up the back of your neck from wet hair.

The goddess of the sea plays with you for a few more seconds and you can’t wait to come back in the warmth of the sun to lay on your back with her to whom you no longer need to prove yourself. The ocean pulls in its depths just as much as it pushes at the shore so you brace your eyes for discomfort and duck under the surface to kick a good length forward. It would have worked in a lake, at the center of the world.

When you resurface you are somehow farther than before and considerably shorter of breath. The cold starts to press on your lungs now that you’re truly using them. It’s okay, one more time. You kick once to let the goddess lift you up with her salt and breathe in the free air before diving under again but all you actually do is stir bubbles around you exactly where you started. If anything even farther. Your boots are too small to see now.

There are no storms, no raging waves, no rain, no thunder, hardly wind, what is putting up the fight? Whatever. You paddle above water, thankful for light clothes, and weary of the growing ache under your jaw– the start of a pulsing headache. More than anything you are finally excited for bed, but no matter how hard you push there seems to be a growing distance between you and safety.

Dread drops in your peachpit stomach and you start to feel long pretty fingers tickle your heels in black water. The ghost of the flame mage happy to drag you with him to the bottom of the sea. Irrational like a fear of the dark, but still there’s no more time for testing pride, you have to get back to shore. The little girl inside of you cowers when you take one more heavy breath and then release it to sink yourself as deep as the salt will let you. You can see the breaking point, all you need is to reach the seafloor and kick yourself to it.

As you drift down into the pitch black something so much better than sand or ghosts meets your feet. You connect with rock as your lungs begin to ache for air and kick with every well trained muscle your legs have, forward towards the shore. Faster than freshwater, you rocket to the surface and gasp excitedly, blink rapidly, and infinitely closer to white sand, and then immediately the goddess pulls you under again.

Sure you found the breaking point, sure your toes tease the start of the shore you want to reach so badly, but that’s what waves do here. Break.

Something so silent couldn’t possibly be this powerful, but your head is forced back under as your hips are pulled back out and you tumble head over knees, mouth filled suddenly with salt and sand in the darkness. Resurfacing is no fun task, choking. You’re thankful it’s easy to float in the ocean but saltwater dries out your mouth as you retch it back out from your throat into the foam and then there’s another break over your head to remind you that humans should stay far away from god.

You’ll die just thirty meters from the shore. Salt blinds you. Water deep in one ear keeps you just dizzy enough to let this sea carry you out once again, and shouting isn’t an option. Shouting or gasping, you have to pick one. Ache has turned to paralysis; muscles so beaten and a heart beating so fast you’re already at the last limit reached by your master, training to failure. Striking and swinging until you can no longer hold your weapon. Hours of training reduced to fifteen minutes at sea.

The bruises of your shoulder protest every paddle you force out of them and go much stiffer much faster than the rest of you. In a way, the mage is drowning you. In every way the sea is much more claustrophobic than a war room.

The moon watches you heaving for air stuck between beating waves and being swept back out to sea. She doesn’t do anything. You are pulled under again. The rocks beneath you scratch your soft skin this time and your instinct is to flinch which fills your nose with water and drowning is certainly not as peaceful as poetry makes it out to be.

Of course it ends like this. A soggy creature fighting gods alone.

Of course he’s watching you, his Captain, being stolen by the sea.

You surface forcefully with a grip on your scruff and while your body remembers how to breathe, magic every furious color of the rainbow arcs above your head. The water recoils for a moment around you in the force of his impact. Bakugou erupts from the sky as he always does into the tragedy of your life in Takoba and you have no control over your searing gaze when it turns to him above you, framed by sparks and stars. Halo from the moon.

You both fall back into the water but not so helplessly as a moment ago. Your prince hooks and arm across your chest, pressing your back to his front and with so much more strength than you could ever muster, rips his way through the water in half of a backstroke. Half of him focused on keeping you afloat and only half of him conquering the sea. His legs create their own current. He holds you and you’re sure you’re breathing loudly enough into his collar to hurt his ears.

You are an excellent swimmer. Weak children, drunk diplomats, tests from your master; you have dragged your fair share of victims out of rivers and as the victim yourself you know better than to struggle or panic in your prince’s grip as he drags you from the goddess, but you can’t help how your fingers scratch at his translucent tunic. Cling to the warmth of his bicep.

In twenty seconds he has reached the break. Strength like a war criminal, like a godslayer. He turns in the water, times it to match the swell of a wave for height, and pulls you chest to chest with a guiding hand on the side of your head to fold you into him. The sea drops you and you know what comes next. Bakugou anticipates your struggle, or a drowned man’s panic, any logical thing and wraps another arm around you tight as he pulls you both under, but you don’t fight a single second and neither do you breathe.

He knows the sea so much better. If you weren’t unraveling like a common soldier you would have realized too, just how much calmer the water is underneath its surface. Even with ears full of sand you can hear the wave crash above you but there is no pull underwater. The roll of the goddess back out to sea twirls through your hair but nothing else. She lets your prince push up to the surface and doesn’t stop you from catching your breath inside the crook of his neck. Eleven seconds to beat the break. What does he even need a captain for?

This time when the tide drops, you don’t quite drop with it. Knees in the sand. Back on solid ground you realize how hard a body can shake and then water is beating you down again from behind, and a warm hand has you by the back of the haubergeon to keep you from slipping out to sea or laying flat down to sleep in the surf.

Both hardly walking, and you more-than-half carried, you and your prince stagger over seashells like glass back to the spot where your boots rest like nothing bad has ever happened at all, chased the whole time by a disappointed tide. You collapse the second he lets you. You, useless with cold and vomiting seafoam.

“Why?!” Your prince chokes, similarly out of breath beside you, hunched over his knees from the effort of winning your war. You can feel the glare. You are warmed by it and then entirely numb again, in a terrible turn of events, to even his attention. The very last ember dies without smoke.

Bakugou, even in a temper tantrum, has never looked quite so disheveled. He’s been wet before, and pushed his hair back with big hands and caught his breath through his teeth just like this, but he’s never looked at you with such confusion. His eyebrows don’t sit right. Without a scowl his whole thing really falls apart, huh?

“Answer me, Eyes!”

You wheeze instead of speaking when you try to use your voice for the first time and spit out the last of the salt that comes up with it. He doesn’t move, catching his breath across the sand at midnight. Your prince really is so pretty and something inside is eating you alive to the beat of the wash of waves. He is a star and you are the bloody little creature beneath him always, not chosen at all.

You sit yourself up. Bakugou is beautiful. Broad chest and shoulders trained for his magic and a wet tunic that clings to every lovely shape, just a few feet too far away to touch. Unmarred face and shaggy hair. His eyes. His jaw slopes sharp, sharper still in the moonlight and dripping with water, up towards his hungry red eyes that eat everything they’ve e–

“Wake up!” He barks.

He’s not eating you. He brings back your focus and when you hold his stare this time it’s so obvious he’s not confused, or angry, not exhausted or embarrassed or exasperated. He’s six and he’s holding your hands in a velvet carriage, terrified.

Oh boy. You guess self-control died with your heart, because your shoulders start to shake in a chuckle. Bakugou stares. Any fold of his brows melts immediately at the sound of your soft laughter but he hardens again when he speaks.

“What about this is funny?!” and pulls himself up to his knees as you lower yourself to clamshells, not-quite-laughing but not fighting the smile either. This is exhausting. “You just tried to kill yourself!”

This makes you snort, which is ugly, and shuts your prince up entirely. One laugh like a lie and then another and you curl in on yourself, shivering arms folded above your head and forehead pressed flat to the sand. Something like an apology. You are redundant, not suicidal.

If it were a real apology you would wait until he spoke again to raise your head like Todoroki in the stables, but that’s not what you’re doing at all. You ache from the inside. Burn in fact. You chuckle again and spit salt one last time when you sit up, then grab for your shoes with muscle memory instead of feeling since the cold has stolen that from you too. Bakugou is staring again– it is irritating, you should do it less.

The ocean makes a lovely noise when you are not drowning in it. It’s much quieter and sounds a bit like laundry sliding over itself. Or apples tumbling into a basket. You are the first to your feet, clumsily, and you are not so delirious that you forget you need proximity to a fire. Anyone else might not be able to stand through this adrenaline trembling but how many apprentices have come so close to death so many times as you?

“Oi,” Bakugou growls, confused again by the wrong emotion for just long enough to let you escape.

The hill between the castle and the sea is overgrown with dune grasses tall enough to tickle your hips and that is what you decide to climb. Empty stomach, ruined shoulder, shaking legs, deep dead eyes.

Your clothes cling to you. They make you small. He can hardly breathe in the cold as he rushes to catch up, dripping what he's sure are icicles, and you look as if you could hardly stay conscious in it. Does your face feel as red as it looks? Friction or fever? “Captain!” And it’s obvious Bakugou can’t decide on his volume, but bulldozes after you nonetheless husky with exertion, “fuckin wait–”

There are sandy paths beaten into this seaside hill, small like children made them on their happy little way to swim. Bakugou makes quick work of it. You hike. You put all your effort into staying on two feet through a chill you could hardly ever imagine. Heat pounds in your temples, cruelly imitating Alderan fire when really it’s something poisoned like liquor.

“Please don’t follow me sir,” you call over the wind when the prince gets a few steps too close to catching up and he makes a sound almost like words, like words you shot dead in his throat. You know that sound because you have been shot at the same exact angle. Deadly isn’t it? He falls back.

Just for a moment Bakugou stops and watches, filled with something neither of you have the words for yet. Recovering just as quickly as you are succumbing to exhaustion.

Wait, he stares. Just– “Y/n.”

Wrapped in white, you are framed by rolling seagrass in the moonlight. You finally stop climbing and turn. You like a half-drowned painting. In a furred cape you might be a queen. From your spot smiling sadly at the edge of the world, your nose has started to bleed.

“Give me an order.”

Six and shaking in his hands. Eleven soaked in a fruit filled hallway, always working and fond of libraries. Sense of humor that doubles over his queen. Often covered in blood, staring too earnestly right now for him to remember that anger might fix this. Bakugou doesn’t breathe.

You turn back towards the castle alone and for the very last time, your body keeps the tears at bay. On a hill of swaying green grass and bright in the moonlight, your prince, frozen, looks so much like his mother you should kill him for it.

You always thought you were hiding from him on duty, only slightly more stealthy than a dragon. It got better when Jeanist stopped training you in chainmail, but your excitement at every small job bounced off the walls of his castle so obviously. Squirrel duty? You helped a hundred bastards back outside without pause. Sent up to swept bookshelves under the Great Oak and you're the only person he’s ever seen hum to themself so high in the air. Stable duty? Stable master more like. Seven and stacking stools to reach the saddles before Jeanist set you back on the ground by your scruff like his kitten. Bakugou can’t remember what went first, your heartbeat or his hearing.

The very first time you snuck up on him was in August under a plum tree, nine years old. He slept beside his book in the shade on a perfect day, perfectly alone and free of tutoring for the afternoon. Maybe because you were barefoot, but somehow even out of breath, the only thing that gave you away was your voice.

“Careful Highness.” He shot awake with that and figured for a moment that you were a dream while his eyes adjusted to the light through the leaves behind you– panting above him and holding tight to a plum. Like premonition your other hand lurched to catch another as it fell toward him, “they’re ready for harvest.”

Bakugou sat up. Off at an impossible distance for you to have run to catch plums, Jeanist stood beside a hanging line of red uniforms waving a beckoning hand.

“Laundry calls,” you whispered. As the little prince turned stupidly back to you above him, you set both plums on the grass beside his book and bowed.

Wait.

“Maybe a nap in the vineyard? Grapes won't bruise.”

Wait, I know you.

He watched you bow one last time and jog out of the shade back to Jeanist and Alderan laundry, just as he watches you stumble now in the dark, towards the faraway lights of a castle without the fire you need.

Wait!

“Y/n!” Bakugou bursts over the ridge and back onto marble pavement, what the fuck is he gonna do– your name won’t work twice, he’s wasted too much time. “Captain!”

You pay him no mind drifting away with your back still turned and with even less coordination than when you dragged yourself from the sea. You are deteriorating– fuck, fuck it. Bakugou, brimming with something to the left of anger, charges. If you hear him coming you do nothing to stop him. Not as he closes your distance with eight good strides and slings you over his shoulder.

"I–!" you jerk to strike instinctively, “Put me down!”

Good, you can shout. He still has time, you’re still alive. He’ll apologize for touching you later, for hesitating and staring, he will say everything he set aside in anger when you are not trying to kill yourself.

“Put me down,” you hiss like you know you’re one of three people that can make his skin prickle with threat.

“Not a chance.”

You grip the back of his tunic, clinging so wet to his body that you grab equal parts flesh and he turns away from your path to the glowing front gates all those hundreds of meters away, to kick in a door on an insignificant corner of an insignificant annex in the shadows of the castle that is only unlocked because it’s the same one he flew from, instead of his window, when he was trying not to startle you with his magic and into the sea.

You will spend summers in rainstorms and autumns in his orchards because you are Alderan and he will kill Takoban gods to get you there. Your nails on his back begin to burn with your silence and it’s haunting not only because you weigh less to him than a phantom, but because the smell of the sea follows you inside when there is no one else left to close the door. Immediately it is warmer without the wind but he will not slow until he finds fire, because you are gripping him instead of screaming again– because you are freezing to death and he will not let you win under new circumstances after he worked so hard to save you from the first.

This part of the castle is his, below the kitchens, the deep white underbelly in the cliff over the sea where no one will find him except cooks and staff who keep his secret and the queen who kindly ordered these quarters before she lost her mind. There is no difference of weight or warmth when he sets you down without a fight in front of the only red door in the hall. You aren’t a ghost. Even if you aren’t convincing. He throws the door open.

You would win in a contest but Bakugou too can make a steady fire. It’s still chirping bright in his fireplace when he crowds you inside of his quarters. Wood and furs. The smell of bread, everything so unlike Takoba. Small. Hard surfaces cushioned or covered in anticipation of winter, with red and gold and wool, forest tapestries from home– and it is a small victory that you take another step, then another, deeper inside without hint or suggestion.

“where are we?”

“You need to change,” Bakugou dismisses when you’re far enough inside to close the door, and pulls open a cherry chest of drawers at the foot of his bed. It’s draped in pelts and pillows. Faded herbs hang in bundles above you.

“have clothes in my room.”

“Didn’t ask.” When he looks over his shoulder, you are wobbling towards the fire like a starving woman, with two hands reaching subtly from your side. Good, shut up and warm up. Bakugou rifles through his options one more time and grimaces, raising his own black Alderan riding tunic aloft; it’s the only thing that’s going to be long enough to cover all of you.

He’ll sort out this shitshow step by step– dry you off, shout scream scold, get you warm, shout some more– a good Alderan lecture, and then tie you to him if he must since you obviously can’t be trusted alone. Walking into the sea when you thought everyone was sleeping. And for what? He grinds his teeth and grips the sids of his dresser with the realization that he’s probably not going to sleep again tonight. He’d kill you if that wasn’t what you so obviously wanted.

“Alright asshole, get ch–” Bakugou chokes when he turns back to you, sitting politely fireside with a dagger materialized in your good hand, blade pressed flat to your collar. He jumps, black tunic flying and shouts indiscernibly in a lunge for the weapon.

Not fast enough because by the time he makes one step, you’ve driven the blade down your chest and clear through your shirt. It falls open and your bare ribs seize in goosebumps this close to the fire, “told you I’m not trying to kill myself.”

“Drop it!” He wails, as if to a dog.

Oh how you will haunt him until the end of time. A month with you, just some soldier from his castle– a prodigal apprentice in a kingdom of geniuses– an impersonable, silent, invisible guard, who should cause harm only when necessary and appear only in danger– a woman who does this job to a tee, and still somehow steals his attention to any corner of the room she conceals herself in– just a month and you have beguiled him. Reaping grim satisfaction from watching you wreak havoc in this place he loathes.

You sit in front of his fire in his secret room, half bare now that you’ve decided to cut your clothes off of yourself, and entirely bare when you run the lip of the dagger across your shoulder to catch the fabric and then rough straight down the other side. You are pink from heat and staring through him entirely unfocused, all chaotic braids and parted lips. There’s a dry track of blood smeared under your nose and he shudders to think what part of his back it was wiped on while he was carrying you away. The fingertips of your scar peek into free air. Bakugou can’t spin around fast enough, howling in anger.

You sound like you’re smiling again mournfully like last time, “following orders, sir.”

“Don’t call me that!” He roars and shoves the black tunic behind his back towards you. This room is small, maybe five paces wide, and so he sits as far as he can from you on the floor beside his bed, still within arms reach. Back turned.

What the fuck is so funny? This isn’t a headache this is sustained torture. Bakugou’s own wet clothes cling to him in dry patches of salt and stick and grit that he’s desperate to bathe away just as soon as you are tethered to another magician. In another kingdom. You breathe heavily behind him in a mismatch between effort and task and then a sopping thud reminds Bakugou that you are stripping to nothing behind him and piling your rags onto his fine rugs.

“You’re a fucking nightmare.”

“you’ll be free of me in a moment.”

And it dawns on him, seasick irony, that there isn’t a person alive in this kingdom but him who could stop you from doing a single thing.

“If you think I’m letting you out of my sight you’re concussed.”

You pause your fiddling behind him for a second before resuming and you’re close enough that he can still hear your less than methodic pulling and ripping. A huff here and there. In the seconds it takes you to speak again your voice is still laced with the amusement that makes his skin crawl, “third time I’ve told you I’m not trying to kill myself.”

“Save it– just hurry up.”

“was just saying a prayer.”

“Save. It. An excuse that fulla holes wouldn’t even work on Kirishima the naif.”

“because nothing gets past the Champion.”

Bakugou erupts, out of unwounded fists to clench, and jerks around with every intention of barking at you. He’s not sure what he pictured before turning and he’s not sure where his voice went, but you are sat beside his fire draped in his black tunic with an expression he can hardly find the words for.

What is it in the way your shoulders hang? Exhaustion? The way your chin tips or your eyes flutter? Hunger? You watch him like you’ll eat him alive, like your life is the least of his concerns. The laces at your collar drape limp over your fingers from where you gave up their tying and so the shirt hangs loose and open, and much much too big. Bakugou has never thought of the shape your sternum makes between your breasts or what color the fine hair on your thighs might be. He knows the answers now because you’ve given up on posture like a selkie out of water and everything so unlike his Captain– because something inside of you is slipping.

“don’t bother the Champion with this,” your voice is still draconian. Even as your body fails, your eyes are still dark and infinite and possessive beside the glow of his fireplace and under a window that looks out over black water, “or Lady Mina, or your Lords. Don’t worry them with me.”

Bakugou mirrors you unconsciously in the way he sits close enough to touch. Why do you say that? You keep saying it, ‘Lady Mina,’ all month the same thing. Sir Sero, like he’s not a soldier in Jeanist’s rear guard. Like Mina and Denki didn’t grow up in the castle with you all to learn magic fifteen years ago.

“They’re not,” he admits because something about you unraveling by the sea sucks the malice like marrow from his bones. Maybe something inside of him is slipping too.

The pair of you slouch on the soft rugs from home and sticky with foreign salt, looking. Your next smile seems to take every ounce of strength, “what?”

“They’re not lords.”

And in a rush, such horror ignites in the eaves of this tiny room like an Alderan dollhouse. It is a grease fire film of oil on water. He is the match. You drop your head to your shoulder and start to laugh like Bakugou isn’t watching the life evaporate from the top of your head and out his window in the heat that pinks your cheeks and blotches your chest. You laugh like you have life to spare, “course they’re not.”

You manage enough coordination to hold the chest of his tunic closed with one hand as you rise, still giggling bitter, nothing like the bells you rang for Todoroki.

“Stop–” Bakugou reaches for you as you walk past him towards the door but stops short of touching even the air.

“dream something sweet Highness, I won’t interrupt again.”

“Oi, wait–” He gathers himself awkwardly barefoot and still dripping seawater, to catch the door before you pull it open. You bow your head and reach for the knob at the same time as he manages to slam his palm and weight against it in case you decide you have enough life left to fight.

“Told you, you’re not leaving my sight.”

Maybe staring isn’t so much a habit as it is a system to keep you from collapsing under the weight of Alderan sun. You who watch the world carefully so that when you attack it is silent and succinct. As long as you’re only looking, just watching carefully, the world will never be in danger of you spilling the secrets obvious only to you, and your kingdom won’t have to acknowledge the war crimes it takes to teach a kid how to kill.

Bakugou looms above you and rests against his door on a forearm. You raise your head like it’s lead to look at him. Your mouth even opens to speak but then something like fire punches to life in the blacks of your eyes.

It’s not a blink this time, it’s a stutter at first– and your face is so flushed that it almost looks like you’re glowing– before something you see feeds the kindling to roaring. For a blessed second you aren’t smiling. You stare so deeply into your prince he can’t look away for long enough to realize that you’re reaching for him.

Why? Why are you leaning closer?

The first heat pools at the hinge of his jaw and then scalding follows. Why are your hands so hot? You pinch his earlobe between thumb and pinky and let your fingers graze over the ridges of ear just so gently that sparks itch where sweat prickles at his neck.

It’s still for a second before chills, agonizing, erupt up his spine, bone by bone as he realizes– as your prince’s face drops and his own hand jumps to reach his ears and what’s no longer there. His right hand grasps at Alderan gold, a tiny sun. His left only cups yours, so much smaller– and the ghost of your earring lost somewhere deep at sea. Six and bleeding in his hands, all grown up and at his mercy.

“I hate you.” You smile in anguish.

You don’t bother pulling your hand from his, only rest your head against the door and let your heavy eyes finally close. Nothing to hold back the freshwater tears now.

Bakugou almost isn’t fast enough in his shock to catch you when you begin to slide down the wall in collapse, “Y– shit– Y/n!” One hand pulls up on your own and the other reaches around your back to try and bring you into him instead of hard against the wooden floor like he’s still a prince and not just a man whose heart won’t stop racing.

“Y/n? Y/n,” he shuffles you in his lap where you landed, and breathes the shapes he hopes make the sound of your name as he searches, distracted. You are limp in his arms and entirely too warm to have been freezing to death a few minutes ago. Lips parted and rolling like you’re trying to speak. Running to safety with you on his shoulder, the seachill must have hidden your fever from him. He cradles your head to check for blood and holds your cheek when his fingers come out dry from your hair, "c'mon, Captain."

“majesty..”

Your heartbreaking laughter still bubbles up in quiet sobs and incoherence murmured through abandoned ego, “..m sorry,” when you manage to see through the tears for a moment before falling unconscious again. Every apology laced always with “mitsuki.” You must have been holding it back. You must have been keeping the fever at bay by sheer force of will because now on the floor against him, your body is so hot it’s making his chest clammy. Sweat has soaked into the nooks of your black tunic and pools in salt licks between your breasts. Fuck Alderan fire.

Your prince gathers your shoulders and chest, your waist hips and exhaustion, into a bundle in his arms and pulls himself up with his doorknob because he will not let you drown, he will not let you freeze, and you will not win by setting yourself on fire. As he rises, blood leaks again from your nose. Tears fall aimlessly against his heart split to six like a pomegranate. When Bakugou is king there will be no child soldiers.

PREV | M.LIST | TAGLIST | NEXT

tagged angels ✧.* @nnubee @nonomesupposedto @zombiewarprincess @kotarousproperty @strawberry-mentos69 @sveetnn @lunrai @km7474 @arayoflia @cathwritestragediesnotsins @idimmadontgiveashit @kooromin @k1tk4tkatsuki @litiri @kiwibao @sarcasticlittlebook @condy-wants-a-cookie @mysticalfridge @falling4fandoms @katanaski @romiinlove @cherripunch26 @acid-rain27 @bakugouswh0r3 @zukowantshishonourback @ultracrii @chandiewashere @screechingdreameater @mecuryxmoonstone @onlysarcasm @ilovemushroomss @when-you-are-just-done @levisbae2 @flyhighinthesky @1astr0id1 @thebluespacecow @mizzfizz @butterscotch-ripple-icecream @phoenix-draws77 @ltadoriyuujl

#told you ch 12 was steamy #insofar as its hot and wet #can you tell im the eldest daughter? #a hymn to black water #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #fantasy bakugou #fantasy bakugo #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha fantasy au #mha fantasy au #bakugou fantasy au #bakugo fantasy au

[huramuna]

wine red, tears gold - chapter 6.

king aegon II x baratheon ofc

previous chapter | next

a bit of a slower chapter. there should be about 2 more after this & we are at the end (':

word count: 2.7k

please follow & turn on notifs for @huramuna-fics for my fic postings

content: smut, canon typical misogyny, canon typical violence, angst, fluff, arranged marriage, touch-staved aegon, aegon isn't a r*pist in this au but he is still a bad person and has his vices, ofc and aegon need to go to therapy together, justice for jaehaera, awkward sex, kind of a slow burn, infidelity, child loss, vomiting

cloudbursting - kate bush • playdate - melanie martinez

Alicent had thought she saw the last of death for a while. She had seen her grandson killed before her very eyes, seen her daughter’s skewered body upon the ground, a grisly tale of her son skewered through his eye, her other son burnt and suffocated. 

She had seen enough death for a lifetime and then some. 

When she had been awoken in the wee hours of the morn, it was still dark outside. Her handmaiden roused her from sleep with a panicked plea— the queen was in her labors. 

Labors? Lyanna wasn’t pregnant, was she? Surely Alicent would’ve noticed, as they spent every morning together since the girl’s arrival over half a year ago. 

She slipped on a housecoat and was escorted to the maester’s offices, where the robed man swept her aside immediately. 

“What is going on? Her grace cannot be pregnant, surely?” Alicent questioned, eyes narrowed. She didn’t dare look over at the pale figure in the cot, knowing it to be Lyanna. She wasn’t ready yet to see such pain once more. 

“The Queen is… was… roughly five moons along,” he explained softly, “Her chamber maids found her semi-conscious in a pool of her own blood, the room a mess— she… is fighting, surely. But the babe won’t be viable.” 

Alicent blinked profusely, searching the healer’s face for any sign of a farce. “You say she was pregnant?” 

“A matter of speaking, your grace. She is… laboring as we speak. The babe is stuck, however— at an odd angle.” 

“… what does that mean for Lyanna?” she asked, leaning forward. Alicent knew what it meant, of course— death was in the room with them, waiting. 

The maester gave the queen mother a hard look and shook his head. “Keep her in your prayers. The King… should be notified.” 

— 

Alicent sat by Lyanna’s bed, hand in bloody hand with her. The poor girl’s beautiful face was so pale, the blue veins in her half-drawn eyelids were visible. 

The labors weren’t much of a ruckus as they usually would be— Lyanna was severely numbed by milk of the poppy, and the maesters pulled out the babe. Alicent caught sight of it— its skin was gray and scaly, with a ridged tail and little budding horns, as well as a pair of perfectly miniature wings. It didn’t breathe, nor cry. 

“A son, your grace,” the maester announced solemnly.

The sight made Alicent want to vomit, but she swallowed it back, focusing on Lyanna. “You did so well, my love,” she cooed, dabbing her forehead with a damp cloth, “You did so well.” 

“See… may I… see the… the babe?” Lyanna asked, her voice so quiet that only Alicent could hear. 

Alicent’s heart clenched, brow furrowed. “Not yet, sweetling. They’re wiping him off now. Do you have a name in mind for him?” 

“Aeron,” Lyanna breathed, “For… Aemond… and Daeron…” 

A tear rolled down Alicent’s face as she leaned close to Lyanna, pressing their foreheads together. “Oh, my sweet girl,” she whispered, “My sweet, sweet girl. You’re the purest of us all, my love.” she cried fully now, eyes closed. She cared so deeply for the Queen, as if she were her own, or mayhaps more, and seeing the girl in pain agonized Alicent. 

Alicent Hightower wept for Lyanna, Aemond, Daeron, and Aeron. 

— 

Aegon did not arrive until hours later, after he’d been found. He bursted into the room like an ignited dragon. “Where’s my wife? My son?” he demanded. Otto followed behind him. 

Alicent stood up, her white nightgown stained in a bit of blood. She stared at her son, eyes narrowed with a fury she hadn’t felt in so long. “Out, Aegon— she’s asleep, finally, out, out!” she hissed, turning the King around and shoving him out of the chamber, closing the door behind them. 

SMACK.

Alicent laid a firm slap across Aegon’s face. “What took you so long?! Your wife was bleeding out, laboring your babe into the world much too early! And I saw the marks on her— she isn’t one of your whores, Aegon! What in the Gods’ names are you doing to her?” 

Aegon’s eyes immediately watered and he was the very image of a pathetic little puppy. He sniffed. “I didn’t— ‘twas part of our game, mother, I swear!” he simpered. “I never meant it… in a bad way.”

“Your game? Your game? Marriage isn’t a game, Aegon. Sex isn’t a game. You’re the only one she’s ever laid with and that is how you treat her?” Alicent was beyond fuming, not only for her good-daughter, but something within herself that has been long locked away. “Like some toy? She doesn’t know that it’s supposed to be gentle and loving— she must think that it’s normal to be treated in such a way.” 

The king shifted uneasily back and forth, looking down at his feet. 

“You never learn, do you? You’re just like your father.” she finally spat, eye to eye with her son. Her brown eyes were eclipsed with rage, lip curled before she descended back into the room to sit by Lyanna once more. 

Aegon didn’t follow— but he didn’t leave the Keep, either. Later that eve, the outside of his chambers was littered with discarded wine bottles, broken glass strewn about. 

— 

It was a week before Lyanna finally came back to herself— she was mostly coherent, eyes flitting about the room. A chair, now empty, was set next to her cot. 

There was another chair on the other side of the bed, which was filled. A tiny blonde head bobbed up and down behind a book. 

Jaehaera. 

She was reading, outloud, from a children’s book, legs kicking softly as she read. “It’s said that beyond the wall… there are dragons made of ice. They do not breathe fire, but blow frost from their gullets. Giants with feet as large as…” she paused, squinting, “wheelhouses, are said to ride the ice dragons to battle.” 

“Do you believe that, princess?” Lyanna murmured, her voice hoarse from disuse. “Ice dragons and giants?” 

Jaehaera blinked, her eyes going wide as she realized that her audience was awake. She ducked behind the book, crossing and uncrossing her legs. 

Lyanna hadn’t spent much time with Jaehaera, to be truthful. She didn’t wish to force herself upon the melancholic girl and wished for her to take her time to open up. The young princess had attended breakfast with Lyanna and Alicent a number of times, but usually didn’t speak, unless whispering something to Alicent. 

Jaehaera peeked over the book, her violet eyes looking at Lyanna cautiously. “… yes. I believe in ice dragons. Grandmother says…” she giggled softly, pulling the book down further to reveal a small smile, “that they aren’t real n’ the book is made up. But I know the truth.” 

“And what is the truth? You must tell,” Lyanna hummed, shifting herself in the cot so she was facing Jaehaera, giving the young girl her full attention. “I must know.” 

“They’re real n’ just sleeping beneath the snow, and they lay their eggs in the giant wall in the North. But… they take two… hundred years to hatch!” 

“Two hundred years? That’s quite a long time to wait for a baby dragon.” 

“Yup. I’m patient, though. Grandmother says it's my best… quar-lity.” 

“Quality, sweetling.” 

“Qual-ity.” Jaehaera repeated. 

Lyanna gave a reassuring smile. “You look quite deep into the book— how long have you been reading for?” 

“I came with grandmother… five days ago n’ started reading this to you… four days ago. I thought it might be nice to listen, even if you were sleeping…” she nods to herself, slowly coming out of her shell. “Sometimes, when I sleep, I hear stuff around me and it enters my dreams.” 

“Thank you for reading to me, sweet girl. I thought I recalled hearing about ice dragons in my dreams,” Lyanna chuckled. “Will you keep reading to me? Even if I’m not asleep?” 

Jaehaera looked down at the book, swinging her legs again. Her cheeks puffed slightly and she looked a bit bashful. “Uhmmm… maybe. Did… you still want to hear it?” she peered at the queen, head tilted. “… I don’t get to do much with friends anymore… they’ve all gone. Grandmother likes my reading but… sometimes she starts crying n’ I have to stop. Father is… too busy.” 

The queen felt her heart clench. Out of all of the victims of the Dance— Jaehaera, in her mind, had suffered the most. She lost nearly everyone. “Of course, I’d love to hear you read more. I’m quite interested in what else is beyond the wall, and I simply won’t believe what anyone else has to say about it, it must be you, dear princess.” 

The little princess gave a little giggle before she continued to read. 

—

The queen and the princess were inseparable for the next moon– as they had found some sort of comfort in one another. Lyanna would stop to Jaehaera’s chambers and escort the young girl to Alicent where all three of them broke their fast together.

It was certainly an odd feeling for Lyanna, as she never had been really good with children, so to speak. But after Aeron, she felt something was lost from within her. She only remembered glimpses of her son before they took him away. The sight of him, so tiny and riddled with golden and red scales like a little lizard, with a tail and leathery wings. The sight of him had sickened a few of the attending maids, causing them to vomit and clutch their proverbial pearls. 

She thought him a beautiful little boy and wished to know if he had his father’s violet eyes, or her brown. 

In her dreams, he had a curly mop of white blonde hair and brown eyes with flecks of violet, like wisteria petals upon a pond, shaded by a tree. He would speak to her in hushed tones, holding and tugging on her hand, babbling all sorts of nonsense like children do. She never saw beyond the confines of the small garden they would be in, the outskirts of her vision creeping in lilting black and hazy purple. 

But, nevertheless, it was an oasis, bright and sprightly like the first warmth of spring’s sun, warming their skin as Lyanna held Aeron to her hip, peppering him with kisses and love, while they watched ducks swim around in the petal speckled water. Dipping their toes into the chilled pool, a figure would approach. Another crop of blonde hair, somehow so familiar to Lyanna. The shape and gait of the shadow would liken itself to Aegon, but Lyanna could never see his face. He was dressed in black and green, with the crown of the Conqueror upon his brow, the indent of a smile perked upon his silhouette as he sat beside them. 

Aeron would be between them, speaking a language that Lyanna didn’t understand, but it sounded similar to High Valyrian. Aegon’s shadow would converse back, but his voice sounded so far away and disjointed, like a distant memory. The specter of the king would take off his crown, and hang it upon Aeron’s curled mop, flashing a toothy white smile and singing praises. A smile Lyanna longed to see. 

But it wasn’t real.

None of it was.

Aeron would never grow to be that sprightly little boy, and Aegon… the version that she’d concocted in her head of him didn’t exist. 

It likely never would.

These dreams, ever repeating ever since she lost Aeron, would make her wake in a cold sweat, already crying, her nightgown clinging to her like a second skin, sticky and itching. She would get up and pace, trying her best not to wake Jaehaera, who had snuck into her rooms more than once when she had a nightmare, a frequent plague for the young princess.

Some might consider Lyanna’s dreams something of joy– but they seemed like a nightmare to her, an illusion that made her feel like she was going mad. It felt so real, that when she awoke, she could feel her fingers grazing through Aeron’s curls, the soft smell of him was alive and well in her room. Until a gust of wind would dissipate it. 

And she would be alone with her thoughts, her longings and her dreams once again. She would crawl back into bed and wrap her arms around Jaehaera.

One eve, late into the night, Lyanna felt the indent of weight upon her bed. She didn’t open her eyes, as she was still flitting between consciousness and sleep– but her hand wandered over, expecting to feel Jaehaera. “... bad dreams, Haera?” she mumbled, her hand searching for the little princess’ own.

“... ‘tis not Jaehaera.” a voice murmured. Aegon.

Lyanna’s eyes snapped open, turning towards her husband, whom she hadn’t spoken to or really seen since Aeron’s passing. “Aegon?”

“... yes.” he whispered. He sounded small, like his vocal chords were stuck in a shell, echoing and far-flung from his usual cocksure smugness. 

“Are you… alright?” she asked then. She should be angry, she really should– but she had just had her dream again, where he had been so alive, so lovely and right that she couldn’t be mad at him in the moment. Her mind was still swimming with the illusion she’d created of him.

“No,” he breathed, shifting closer to her slightly. “Something is wrong with me.”

“Are you ill? Shall… I get up and call a maester?”

“No–” he pressed, his hand reaching out to grasp Lyanna’s wrist. It wasn’t harsh or forceful, but urgent, like a plea. “Stay. I… I need to explain myself.”

Her muscles tensed for a moment as she felt his hand upon her. It was warm and slightly calloused, but familiar nonetheless. “... okay.”

“I haven’t… picked up a bottle in near a moon, nor… touched a whore. I-I’ve been good,” Aegon whimpered. “I’m so sorry, Lyanna. For everything– Gods, I’m a fucking monster. I-I don’t know why I’ve done the things I did or said. It’s eating me from the inside like a sickness,” he took a shaky breath, sniffling all the while. He was crying. “I-I… I wanted to push you away. The moment I saw you with your… big brown eyes, so close to tears– I felt sorry for you, to be paired with me. You were good and pure and innocent– you didn’t deserve any of this– if I hadn’t been such a fucking coward, you… might still be carrying our son.” 

Lyanna didn’t say anything, but her breath hitched slightly at his words. They were clear and concise– tear laden and full of sorrow but it was the most sober she’d ever seen him, the most lucid.

“I can’t feel that it's my fault. Because I was too weak to say no to them, to put my foot down and refuse. I basically killed them all,” he continued. “I’m just a Godsdamned coward and I should be put down like a dog for what I’ve done, for what I allowed to happen– my entire family save for three people who don’t see me as anything more than a disappointment are all dead, Lyanna– I could’ve… I should’ve… I should’ve kicked and fought against it, told them to fucking stick the crown where the sun doesn’t shine. What kind of brother usurps his sister’s throne? What… why did I let that happen?” his hand was shaking against her wrist now, his voice breaking into small blubbers. “I’m a fucking Kinslayer, Lyanna.”

She didn’t know what to say, truly. But the sheer ache she felt in the depth of her chest caused her to reach out her free hand and thread her fingers into his hair, pulling him closer to her as he cried, his entire body violently wracked with his sorrow. 

It all suddenly made sense to her– the drinking, the whoring, the violence, the barbed words. He was punishing himself, his damnation pushing away everything that may even be a little good in his life. He was sentencing himself to a life of ruination until it consumed him completely, leaving nothing left behind but a husk; all because he thought he deserved it. Because he thought he killed everyone he’d ever loved.

It made sense. 

Lyanna held him close to her chest, hushing and soothing his sobs. He had let go of her wrist to wrap his arms around her in turn. “I know,” she breathed, holding him like she had wished to in her dreams, tightly as so he wouldn’t disappear. “You only tried to… please… them– didn’t you?”

He nodded slowly.

“You just wanted to be loved.”

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #aegon ii targaryen fanfiction #aegon ii targaryen smut #aegon ii targaryen angst #aegon ii targaryen fluff #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii #aemond targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon #my writing #wine red tears gold

[arkhammaid]

— ˚₊‧⁺˖ REUNION AND REINTEGRATION.

fandom. honkai star rail

pairing. jing yuan x fem!reader

content warnings. fluff & nsfw, MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DNI, heavily inspired by this fanart, general!jing yuan coming home from war, husband!jing yuan, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal sex, jing yuan calls you petnames (rose, wife, etc.), not edited/proofread

word count. 1.6k

notes. the moment i saw this art, i went feral and knew i had to write smth... i didn't think it would take me so long, very sorry about that ;-; if the ending is a bit choppy, no it's not!! (i couldn't give it a proper ending without banging my head against the table, pls don't hate me for that aisudhfisdh)

It’s already past midnight, when you hear how someone enters the Estate, lightning up the long hallway. You rise from the sofa, book abandoned, while you pull the light blanket over your shoulders. 

Your naked feet leave no sound as you walk towards the light, towards the man who finally came home. He greets you with a soft but tired smile, uniform still pristine and the massive coat protecting the white cloth from any dirt. 

“General,” you greet him with a teasing smile, leaning on the doorway while you watch how he slips out of his black boots, made out of the finest leather— as a man of his rank deserves. 

“Wife,” he greets you back, the grumbling voice making you pleasantly shudder. He smirks at your reaction, of course he does, eyes lightening up and brightening the whole face of this beautiful man. The man who is yours, General Jing Yuan, your husband returning to your waiting arms. 

“Let me,” you ask, stepping near to take off his heavy coat, rimmed with black fur and decorating stitches on the back. Once you’ve taken it from his shoulders, his uniform is revealed to you, the very uniform you’ve clothed him in when he left you to go to war. 

All his badges and cords are on their right place, setting an example of what a commander should look like, and yet he doesn’t utter a single word of complaint when you gesture him to follow you to your bedroom, where you would remove them piece by piece. 

His uniform is his armor, shielding his mind and heart from death and misery, and once he’s finally home, he can shed said armor, revealing vulnerable skin and muscle. He only does this at home, the safest place he knows, because you’re here, waiting for him to return. 

With keen eyes he follows how you move around in the bedroom, carry over the coffer which usually holds all of his military badges and start to take them off with the utmost care. You do your duty silently but gladly, your heart filled with happiness now that your husband is finally back home. And Jing Yuan watches you with a smile on his face, his tensing shoulders slowly slacking and lowering the longer you’re near him. 

The soft smell of roses clings onto your hair, freshly washed and still a bit damp. Your skin seems to glow beneath the creams and serums you always put on, while the rest of your body is hidden behind your nightgown and the thin blanket that still clings onto your shoulders. 

You just pinned the last badge in the cushion of the coffer, when suddenly Jing Yuan takes your face in his hands, still in the fiery red gloves, to draw you close. Your breath hitches and you have to climb on his lap, hold yourself on his strong arms to find your balance. He doesn’t care, nuzzling you and peppering you with featherlight kisses, murmuring how much he missed you. 

“My sweet, beautiful rose,” he murmurs close to your right ear, immediately dipping his head to claim your neck with his lips, teeth gently scraping over your skin while you shudder in his arms. 

“Do you know how much I love you?,” Jing Yuan asks you, only to press his lips onto yours, gentle and sweet, while pulling you closer. You try to protest, still mindful of what he wears— you didn’t want to have to wash his uniform simply because the two of you were not careful enough. 

“Jing Yuan,” you whisper against his lips, eyes already lidded while you lean onto his touch. “Your uniform–,” you try, only for him to shush you with a forceful kiss. It makes your mind spin, to suddenly have him so close again, so close and so much of him, his scent and his body enclosing yours. 

“As if my uniform is more important to you than your husband,” he teases you, fully knowing how you would flush at the needled teasing, eyes wide and oh so pleading. “Don’t mind me, dear, I shall help you to take my uniform off. Four hands are faster than two.” 

And so you slid from his lap, lips red and hands trembling when you stand again, your husband following your action. A sly smirk is on his face when you start to remove the golden cords, start to unclasp his decorative belt, as well his sword belt. With a shaky exhale you also open his garter belt, his thigh muscles hard beneath your warm hands— oh how you wanted to ravish him, tumble into the marriage bed as you’ve done many times. You wanted to kiss and mark him, cling onto him while ruining his oh so perfect hair, all while he would pound into you and make you scream—

A chuckle rips you out of your thoughts and you immediately duck your head, but it has no use. Jing Yuan can only guess what filthy thoughts just crossed your mind and by that growing tent in his white pants, he approves. Your fingers skim over it, light and teasing, and the way he buckles his hips closer to you— a gasp leaves your mouth when he lifts you suddenly and almost throws you on the bed, patience running thin the way he shrugs off his pants, no longer caring for his uniform. 

The upper part of the pristine white clothing follows, the metal, worked into the cloth, clanking on the floor the moment he drops it. He kneels on the bed, his thigh muscles clenching and it leaves you thirsty. The way he moves, almost prowles, dangerous and seductive, a predator on his hunt. 

His undershirt follows, you’re pretty sure there is some ripping but you no longer focus on the clothes— no, now you only focus on him, muscles taunt, eyes glinting, his whole focus on you. 

Almost subconsciously you crawl to your usual place, in the middle of the giant bed, amidst a massive amount of pillows. You start to shrug off your nightgown, the thin blanket long forgotten on the floor, while Jing Yuan frees himself of his last restrictions. He helps you in the end, truly ripping the sheer cloth of your nightgown, making you shudder beneath him. 

“Hello, wife,” he greets you, once you're naked just as he is, his breath brushing over your stomach up towards your breasts, a breathless moan escaping your lips when his hands follow. You mumble a greeting back, feeling shy thanks to his intense stare, but he doesn’t mind. 

Not when you’re here, beneath him, naked and ready to be ravished. 

Oh, you are, readily spreading your legs, parting them to give way to him. You’re already wet for him, folds glistening as he brushes his fingers against your clit. Leaning back, you watch how Jing Yuan continues, slowly dipping the tip of his finger in your cunt, leaving you wanting. He knows what you want, try to urge him closer, but he only hums and leans his head on your thigh. With unblinking eyes he stares at you, the intense gaze making you blush. 

“You’re so beautiful, do you know that? Beautiful and mine,” he murmurs and then presses a kiss on your skin, hands cupping the back of your knees. Peppering more kisses on your skin, closer and closer—

And when he finally licks a board stripe between your legs, you try to hold back the moan, only to fail when he gently sucks at your clit.  

With your head thrown back and hands in his hair, Jing Yuan ravishes you, slurping you up while keeping your legs wide open. He has always been talented with his tongue, but today you’re especially sensitive, having been separated for far too long. It makes you cum faster than you wished, the orgasm knocking the air out of your lungs and your thighs shudder. 

His kiss brings you back to your senses, his warm body shielding yours, hands wandering and circling across your skin. Long ago you’ve lost your embarrassment when he kisses you with that tangy taste on his lips, only moaning when he pries your own open with his tongue. A choked whine leaves your lips when two of his fingers finally slip into you, preparing you for his cock. 

And when he finally does, hips draw to yours, filling you, making you choke on nothing, you cry out. Tears gather in your eyes, overwhelmed with Jing Yuan being finally in you again, overwhelmed with all the attention and loves he gives you— simply overwhelmed. 

Clinging onto him, you gasp and moan, scream his name, while his hips work against yours, his strong thighs holding his body up and preventing you from being crushed. Being in his embrace fulfills you, makes your daydreams come true once again, and you let him know. 

The moans, the gasps, the screams, it makes Jing Yuan shudder in your arms, greedy lips taking any skin you’re offering, fingertips leaving traces, everything to mark you as his. His wife, his love, his rose, you’re his. 

And he’s yours, your husband and general, the man you love and how you love him. 

You love him so much that you don’t complain when he simply sags against you, completely spent when he cums inside you, while your cunt tightens around his cock. You only grumble a bit, mind still hazy with another incredible orgasm he just gave you. 

But he rolls off you, not minding the mess he made out of the sheets and you, wrapping his arms around your warm body and pulling you close. You snuggle against him, head on his chest, heart and mind relieved that he’s finally home again. 

taglist. @themercyverse , @lem-hhn , @stellumi , @auraxins , @lupicalbestwolf

DO YOU WANT TO JOIN THE TAGLIST? please send a non-anon ask to be added to the taglist. taglist can be general taglist (all fandoms and all works), fandom taglist (all works within the fandom), series (all works for specific series) or nsfw taglist (all nsfw works and all fandoms).

ARKHAM MAID 2023

#honkai star rail #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x you #jing yuan x female reader #jing yuan smut #honkai star rail smut #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail x reader #— ˚₊‧⁺˖ creations #after dark <3

[sihtricfedaraaahvicius]

The Goddess

Note: requested by @foxyanon! I really hope I did justice to your idea.

Warnings: 18+! smut, primal play, sex magick, knife play, blood.

pairing: Modern!Sihtric x you (f)

summary: you and Sihtric did a new ritual together.

wordcount: 2,2k

Masterlist

You and Sihtric simply couldn't get enough of each other. You had just moved into your first home together. The furniture was scattered all through the apartment, as were unpacked and half unpacked boxes. The only room that was completely finished was the bedroom. The walls were painted a pleasant colour of green, while the cabinets and decorations were a mix of golden and rose. The colours represent the goddess you both honoured, Freyja, for whom you also had made a little altar in the corner of the bedroom. You and Sihtric had done rituals together to honour the goddess and to ask for her help, and with her help you had managed to successfully obtain the wonderful apartment you now called home. So when you told Sihtric a ritual was in place to thank the goddess, and also to ask her to bless your relationship in this new phase of your lives, he immediately was onboard. And it wouldn't be just any ritual, no, it would be the first time you performed sex magick together.

The bedroom was smoke cleansed earlier that day, and now incense burned and the scent of amber spread in the air. Flower petals were scattered on the floor and candles were lit in safe places. All the lights were switched off, your new home was completely dark, apart from the several burning candles that were safely placed in every apartment room. You and Sihtric had both taken a cleansing shower, separately, before you met again for the ritual in the darkened bedroom. You were dressed in a silky white, short nightgown while Sihtric was wearing just his grey sweatpants, comfortable and light clothing were important because you had to feel at ease and not restricted.

Sihtric's dark, shoulder length hair was still damp and pushed behind his ears. The scars on his face, arms and torso were visible as the candles casted a faint and romantic glow. Your almost dried hair was tied back into a bun and you were both barefoot as you sat on a large blanket made of black feathers, which you had spread out on the wooden bedroom floor. Next to you, on the feathery blanket, was a round wooden plate on which an athame was placed. The silver double edged dagger had a black handle and runes carved into the blade, and it was purely used to draw blood or cut flowers and herbs during rituals. Next to the athame was an amber necklace and a first-aid kit, just in case, but you trusted each other and knew you both would be careful when it came down to using the blade.

Sihtric's Mjölnir pendant dangled as he leaned in to secure the amber necklace around your neck, which would later be an offering to Freyja. He then sat back and mirrored your position. You had thoroughly discussed the ritual beforehand and were clear on what you wanted to manifest and achieve. Sex and magick had never been an issue in your relationship, but combining the two was new and you were both filled with adrenaline. You both sat back on your heels, knees touching, and you lightly held each other's hands and looked into each other's eyes. Your breathing slowed down, as did Sihtric's, and soon you both breathed calmly and in sync. You gazed into Sihtric's mismatched eyes, one light and one dark, and your focus was purely on him, his body and your own body. You felt your muscles relax and your thoughts stopped racing, a trance like feeling washed over you, nothing but calmness, safety and love. Pure, primal, raw, real, deep, lustful, passionate and honest love. That is what you felt for each other and that is how you planned on honouring the goddess as well as each other.

You felt your heart begin to beat faster while your breathing stayed calm, but became heavier, and your lips parted slightly while your relaxed state slowly filled itself with desire. You saw Sihtric's eyes darken after he experienced the same feeling, and he slowly but firmly rubbed his thumbs over your hands. You both smiled softly while your eyes wandered all over each other, and the loving gazes transformed into lustful gazes. Sihtric slowly licked his lips, then his teeth, and he swallowed hard to keep his breathing steady. His eyes darkened even more and then he slowly got up on his feet. He held your hands and helped you up to stand in front of him, he turned you around, your back towards him, and he slowly trailed his tattooed fingers up your arms and to your shoulders. He lightly touched the amber necklace around your neck and, when he leaned in as he towered over you, you felt his cold bronze pendant touch your back. It sent a pleasant shiver down your spine, and your breath hitched in your throat when you felt his warm breath on your neck.

'Hide, my little bunny,' Sihtric whispered, his lips grazing your ear while his low voice made you shiver with anticipation. 'Run and hide,' he chuckled playfully, 'and I will hunt you like a falcon. And when I find you,' he husked, 'you're mine to play with.'

You held your breath until Sihtric stepped back, and you felt his hands slowly pull away from your bare arms. Then, when you lost his touch… you ran. You ran as fast as you could through the dimly lit halls of your apartment, away from the bedroom, and you began to tip-toe through the half dark in search of a hiding place. You hid between a few unpacked boxes in the spare room, knowing that if Sihtric stepped into the room you could escape through a second door that led to the storage room next door. You listened carefully for any movements, but Sihtric was quiet and had no trouble sneaking around. He had done it often in his own home, when you stayed over, just to scare you. But now it was different. Now you were hiding from him because you knew he was sneaking around, and you knew he would carry the athame that had been in the bedroom. It was all part to honour the goddess and to become even closer to one another, through exploring sexual desires without fear and shame and to be aware of all your senses.

You felt the excitement in your body; in your core, as it tightened like a spring that needed to be released. You shuddered when you suddenly heard your boyfriend's light footsteps nearing the room you hid in, and you had to bite down a nervous and elated giggle.

Sihtric quietly entered the room after he had searched the living room and the kitchen, but there his instincts told him to look in the spare room, and once he stepped through the door he smiled. He chuckled softly, the sound of it setting your lower abdomen on fire. He chuckled because he knew you were in the room. He knew he had found you, because he smelled you. He smelled the scent of your body lotion, which he loved, but there was another scent he caught which he loved even more.

'I know you're here, bunny,' Sihtric purred, 'I can smell you, darling. I smell the scent of lavender and eucalyptus,' he inhaled sharply and smacked his lip, then exhaled slowly, 'and the scent of your soaked pussy,' he almost growled. He pulled away the box you hid behind after you let out a soft moan at his words, and you jumped up. You laughed and screamed, then tried to run to the second door but Sihtric was fast, like a falcon, and he grabbed your arm. He yanked you towards him and pushed you down on the floor, where he crawled on top of you. Sihtric was just a shadow above you, as the candle casted its glow from behind him, but he could see your eyes widen with arousement and anticipation, and he laughed threateningly as he leaned in. You caught a glimpse of the blade in his hand as he held it up, and then you felt the cool steel being pressed against your throat.

'You're mine now, little bunny,' Sihtric cooed in your ear.

You then felt his tongue on your neck, licking up to your earlobe which he bit teasingly while his free hand moved up your thigh and underneath your nightgown. He trailed his fingers up between your thighs, lightly teasing your folds which he had free access to as you wore no panties, and he then smoothly pressed one finger inside you. You didn't speak, but your heavy breathing and the wet fluid that coated his finger told Sihtric all he needed to know. He got up and swiftly threw you over his shoulder, and he gave your ass a hard spanking as he carried you back to the bedroom. You pretended to fight his grip on you, just to rile him up, and it worked. Because he threw you on the bed and smoothly cut through the silky fabric that covered you up with the ritualistic dagger. Sihtric tore off your ripped nightgown and he was fast to remove his sweatpants. He then pinned you down on the bed again, the dagger held lightly against your throat. Sihtric's breathing was heavy and he bared his teeth at you, he then removed the blade from your neck and his lips took its place, sucking your sensitive skin, marking and claiming his prey.

You felt his markings as he made them, and you raked your hands through his wild, loose hair. You pulled his locks, hard, to which Sihtric growled like a beast and began to tease your pussy with the tip of his hard, leaking cock, his pre-cum mixing with your own arousal. You moaned and dug your nails in his back, clawing at him and scratching his back while he sunk his teeth in your shoulder, leaving his teeth marks. Strangled moans and heavy grunts left his lips when you began to push your hips up against his, desperately wanting to be taken by the man who owned your heart. You wrapped your legs around his waist, another silent beg for him to take you. He then flipped you over, on top of him, while he laid back on the bed and looked up at you with hooded, adoring and lustful eyes. His big, warm hands grabbed your hips and he grinded you down on his cock.

'Ride me,' he commanded, yet half begged.

You obeyed and sunk down on his twitching length. You both gasped softly as you took him all in, and you felt his fingers dig into your skin, holding you with a bruising grip. You began to rock your hips, slowly at first and gradually speeding up. The candle flames flickered as you looked into each other's eyes, both completely in awe with one another and so in love. Sihtric smiled at you, sweetly, and he bit down on his lower lip as he hummed in pleasure, watching you bounce rhythmically on his cock while your hands were placed on his broad shoulders. You dragged your nails down over his muscular chest, leaving red marks and drawing tiny droplets of blood from him, with which you painted your fingertips and you then brought your hands up to your neck and trailed them down your breasts to your stomach, painting yourself with light and thin strokes of his blood, until you reached your clit and began to stimulate yourself with your reddened fingers. 

Sihtric took your free hand and kissed it, then licked and sucked his own remaining blood off each of your fingers while he watched you pleasure yourself as you rode him so perfectly. He carefully took the athame and he made a light, shallow cut on the palm of your hand and he pressed it onto his chest, his heart, which you owned, and your blood left a mark before you smeared it over his torso and then onto your own thighs. And as you continued to make that raw and passionate love, you both envisioned yourself together in the future. You were manifesting your wishes, dreams, desires and goals while you made love. And when you both felt your climax approach, Sihtric cut the amber necklace around your neck with the silver blade and you both held it in between your blooded hands, as they were pressed together, coating the amber with the colour of two lovers who were destined to be together.

And as you both came, your desperate gasps and moans and his groans and deep grunts mixing together, your fingers locked even tighter as you held each other's hand. And Freyja's offering, the amber necklace painted with blood and charged with the energy of both your orgasms and love, was held tightly as you both came down from your highs. And once cleaned up, you and Sihtric would place it on the little altar for the goddess, and afterwards you would fall asleep in each other's arms; safe and loved. Forever.

taglist: @clairacassidy @finanmoghra @uunotheangel @hb8301 @bathedinheat @neonhairspray @anaeve @bubblyabs @travelingmypassion @sylasthegrim @andakth @succnfuccubus @willowbrookesblog @lady-targaryens-world @skyofficialxx @elle4404 @alexagirlie @sweetxime @solango @gemini-mama @cheyennep3107 @little-diable @jennifer0305 @drwstarkeyy @mrsarnasdelicious @verenahx @urmomsgirlfriend1 @foxyanon @djarinsgirl27 @sigtryggrswifey @diiickbrainn @sihtricsafin @lexwolfhale @dixie-elocin @m-a-s-h-k-a

#sihtric x reader #sihtric x you #sihtric kjartansson #the last kingdom #sihtric #tlk #the last kingdom fic #sihtric fic #modern!sihtric

[fieldofdaisiies]

Azriel x Reader | The Secrets We Hide

type: angst warning(s): this is a heavy topic, please don’t read if you don’t feel comfortable, talk of child loss, potential second child loss, blood; also for personal reasons this is a topic that matters to me a lot, writing it down was hard but this is also why it is very honest and emotional, so pls be kind with feedback word count: 3.1k words request: i had an idea for an azriel angst. one where the reader gets pregnant but doesn’t tell him, so he only finds out later on? but i feel like the reader had valid reasons as well shdjks@moonlightazriel thank you once again for helping me find a name.

-all rights reserved-

A tear slides down your cheek, tasting salty in your mouth. You meet your empty gaze in the mirror, dead, dull eyes staring back at you. The skin around them, red, puffy, swollen. Your throat feels dry, burning with a scream that moments later silently slips through your dry lips. You feel so empty, so worn out, so robbed of life. 

Your hands tremble when you lift them, the blood on them looked smudged through your teary vision.

A ragged sob rips itself free, the thick red liquid such a stark contrast to your white bathroom.

“Please, Y/N. Please open the door.” Azriel’s voice is so soft yet stern, his knocking loud but gentle. 

Air wheezes in and out of you lungs when you try to calm yourself down. It does not work. Your heart beats in your throat, your lower belly aching so terribly bad, it makes you grind your teeth.

“Y/N!” Azriel’s voice now louder, he pounds against the door. When he casts his glance down to the floor, he can see small droplets of deep red blood. His heart started racing, cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck, on his back, his palms clammy.

“Open!” he pushes again, pounding harshly, loudly, agony and dread colliding inside of him. Horror takes root in his chest when fear and panic seep into every fiber of his body. “Y/N,” Azriel pants, leaning his forehead against the door. “Please, let me in. I just need to see if you are—“ The door slowly opens, making him tumble slightly, but he catches himself, catches you. The shadowsinger wraps his arms around your trembling figure, your body so cold, so fragile in his hands.

Azriel pulls you to his chest, your shoulders shaking, soft sobs leaving your mouth, your chest heaving against his. He is careful to not put any pressure on your front, only embracing you softly while curling his arms around you. The shadowsinger kisses the top of your head, one hand brushing through your damp strands of hair. They are damp with sweat. That sort of liquid that builds up on your skin when you are in a state of panic and horror. 

“I am so sorry,” you whisper against his chest, voice raspy, breaking at the last syllable. Your body trembles in Azriel arms when a shudder courses through you before let yourself fall against his chest. A sharp pain pierces your lower belly, like a bolt of burning fire, and you release a dreadful scream, pulling backwards. 

Your breathing once again quickens when you glance downwards, to the little bump, barely noticeable, and your blood streaked nightgown, the thick red liquid running down your thighs. 

Azriel grabs your upper arms, shock having widened his eyes. They pierce into yours, but you cannot hold his gaze. Tears build up in your own, toppling over the edges, running down your cheeks where the previous tears have just dried. Your eyes burn, your lips are dry, your nose feeling clogged. Just like your throat where another loud sob rips itself free. 

“Don’t apologise,” Azriel whispers, although his heart shatters into a million of pieces. “Madja is on her way. Everything will be,“ —Azriel swallows thickly, his own throat burning, lashes dampening— “you will see, it will all be fine.” He doesn’t know that. And that uncertainty and horror filling every fiber of his body is worse than anything he has ever felt before.

You are carrying his child, god forbid—were carrying his child— and he has only found out about that minutes ago. All emotions of shock about, this sudden knowledge, have vanished, being erased by the feeling of utter and pure pain about what has happened to you just a moment after you have jerked up from bed, screaming from the bottom of your lungs and putting the cards on the table. Azriel has been shocked first but then everything has become a blur, you getting up, you falling, and suddenly there was blood. So much blood and is has been everywhere, is still everywhere.

Your bedsheets are still stained a deep red when Azriel guides you to the bedroom, holding you tightly by your arms, weak steps carrying you over to the bed. He doesn’t want to pick you up, although it would make it easier for you. But he does not know if it would hurt you even more and so he rather supports you like this, helping you climb on the bed on his side, so you wouldn't lie in your blood. Azriel kisses your brow when he pulls the sheets over your lower half.

He does not care about the blood getting everywhere, he just wants Madja to come and her to take care of you. He wants you to be fine. He does not want to see you hurt, in pain, crying.

You wince when icy hot pain fills your abdomen, your fingers curling towards your palms. “Sshh,” Azriel whispers, his hand brushing up your cold arm, over your shoulder until he places it on your neck and leans in.

Azriel’s brows are on yours, his warm breath caressing your skin, his scent and his presence the only thing that calm you at least a little bit.

Pain splits your heart open, cracking it in half, but you try to hard to focus on your mate, on him being here with you and how he holds you. Sweat has dried on the back of your neck, feeling clammy. So do they insides of your thighs and when you think about it you can already feel the burn in your throat again. A sob leaves you, scratching over the insides of your throat like sandpaper. You cry out, tears, although you have thought there were none left, building up in your eyes, rolling down your cheeks. Your hand curls around Azriel’s wrist, the other holding the bedsheet when you weep.

“Please, calm down. Madja will soon be here,” Azriel says, panic and sadness filling his tone even though he tries so hard to be strong. To be strong for you. For the two of you. You are what matters most to him, his number one priority, and seeing you in so much pain is the worst sort of torture he could have ever witness. A small part of himself believes that he might deserve this for all the bad things he has done, but you…you don’t deserve this. Any of this. You are good and kind and warm and something like this happening to you…how could someone do such a thing?

The shadowsinger curses the Mother and the Cauldron but the thought of mother rips his heart into shreds, leaving open a wound which your loud sob rubs salt into. 

And then thoughts bubble up, getting so loud, so unbearable. Only if he had known. Why did you not tell him? Maybe he would have noticed that something was off and could have acted earlier. He has this selfish thought that he hates himself for, but if he had known he would have had time to be happy about becoming a father. It is selfish but it hurts so much, that he wasn't allowed this happiness, after everything that has happened before.

So before he can stop himself, a tear from him falling onto your skin, he says, “Why?”

Azriel swallows around the lump in his throat, his eyes burning, so he clamps them shut while your own open. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

A breathy weep parts your lips and you give your head a little shake. Regret and sorrow and also hate towards yourself fill every fiber of your body, making icy fire blaze through your veins. 

“I couldn’t tell you. I wanted to wait until it was safe that we would not lose another one. I did not want to—”

“Y/N,” Azriel says softly and brushes his hand over your head.

“I did not want to hurt you again. I did not want you to have hopes again and I ruin it. That I ruin it again.”

“Y/N, you are my priority. And yes, I wanted to be a father, but you come first always. You ruined nothing. This wasn’t your fault,” Azriel says and wipes his thumb over your cheek, the skin under your eyes swollen and red, so are your eye lids.

You meet his gaze through a blurry vision, your lip quavering and finding yourself unable to answer. Because you blame this on yourself. Your belly, your female belly, cannot carry a child.

You are a woman who cannot carry a child and this hurts. You can never make Azriel a father, you can never see his happiness about being a father. First you haven’t been able to conceive for three centuries, you have nearly given up until one day the news came: you were pregnant. Both Azriel and you were euphoric and anticipated the birth of your child until the fatal day where your life and happiness and anticipation were crushed like a beetle you step on. You haven’t tried for a child for a long time after that. Until you started trying again. 

And now…now this was all again for nothing?

Your whole body shakes when you draw in a deep breath. You feel like such a failure. The one thing you have wanted so much, to become a mother, it is all taken away from you again? How do you deserve this? How does Azriel?

You feel his lips on your forehead, his thumb brushing over your skin, soothing and slow. 

“I want you to be safe and happy. This is what matters. And if we can’t have children we—“ “Don’t say that!” you say loudly, panic ringing in your voice. You tilt your head back slightly, needing some distance between you and him, between you and what he has just said. What he has suggested. That you aren’t able to carry children. 

“I am sorry. I didn't mean to say that.” The shadowsinger leans over you, kissing your forehead, his fingers intertwining with yours. 

“But you did,” you bubble and bring your other hand up to wipe over your nose. He has said the one thing that has always been locked away behind iron gates in your brain. This one possible knowledge that you might not be able to carry children. That your body isn’t able to do.

And now that he has spoken them out loud, they hollow through the room, through your mind, stretching out and nearly suffocate you. You suck in sharp breaths of air, chest heaving rapidly when awareness downs on you what he has suggested. Azriel has given up. He has given up his hope. He thinks you aren't able to carry out a child, you have failed him. You cannot be a mother but he…he can be a father. With someone else. You would allow him that. You know he wants to be father more than anything else you would allow him—

You barely feel the hands on your chest, on your cleavage, holding you down. Azriel’s voice seems so far away over the blood rushing in your ears, the rising panic inside of you.

Only when his face is mere inches from yours, you can leave your thoughts and focus back on your mate.

“Please, calm down. I didn’t mean to say it like this. I mean that I will love you no matter what. Please, my love, please calm down. I—“ A knock sounds from the door and when Azriel gets up everything comes crashing in on you. You scream, thrash your hands against the mattress, crying and sobbing loudly.

Madja, let in by Azriel, rushes into the bedroom and before doing anything medical related, cradles your face inn her hands and forces you to look at her. “Look at me, Y/N. Look at me. I am here, we are going to fix this.” This is truly the worst kind of torture for Azriel. He slumps against the wall, shoulders hunched, crying, air wheezing in and out of his own lungs. He regards you, how Madja slowly peels back the sheets, examining your legs and wincing only the slightest bit. And even if it was just a barely-there wince, it hasn’t gone unnoticed by Az. And somehow, somehow he knows what it means. What she will soon tell you...

“For how long has the bleeding been going on?” she asks in a calm voice, gentle and empathetic.

You shake your head, having lost ever sense or space and time. Azriel needs to be strong for you, so he comes up to Madja and you, bracing one hand on the bedside table to steady himself. 

“Since half an hour, maybe an hour I would say,” he informs her, his own voice trembling.

“Hm, I see. Please, may I?”

Madja motions for you to lift your hips and even though it causes you excruciating pain you do as told. She peels the bloody piece of undergarment down your legs and places it on the floor next to her, no sign of disgust on her face. Her eyes fall to you centre, only looking for a moment, sometimes glancing at your belly. She presses her lips in a firm line, wiping her bloody hand over a cloth she has brought and then reaching over to the bag that is standing on the bed next to her. 

“Azriel, be so kind and prepare a cloth and a basin with some luke warm water.”

While Azriel hurries of Madja pulls all the tools she needs out of her bag, placing them on the mattress next to her. She softly brushes her hand over your knee, before helping you spread your legs a little further. “I will soon give you something for the pain, I just have to do some checks first.”

You give your head a nod, biting down on lip when it starts to tremble. “Is the baby alive?”

It is then that Azriel returns and Madja blinks her eyes for a long moment. “No!” you shriek.

No answer is also an answer and so you can assume what her silence means.

Azriel crouches down on the floor, next to the bed and you, his hand moving to yours while Madja leans in, softly inserting a tool. 

“I will see about that now, Y/N,” she says and adds, “but I have to warn you, this will hurt now.”

Nothing will hurt more than hearing the words again: I am so sorry, but...

The one hand holding the cool tool inside of you, the other moving over your belly. You cry out, your heels pressing into the bed when your back arches and your bottom lifts. This pain is even worse than what you have felt before. 

“One more time,” Madja says. “And this will hurt like hell, but I can comfort you, the baby is alive.” It is the only thing you needed to hear, the only thing that matters to you. And now that you have this knowledge, all the pain will be fine, all the pain will be alright. You take it all, accept it all.

Your scream of utter and pure pain fills the room, hollowing of the walls. You still feel it seconds after, still as strong and poignant as before. But slowly, really slowly it starts to vanish. 

“The baby is fine?” Azriel asks like he cannot believe it, damp strands of hair toppling over his forehead, his skin covered in a thin film of sweat. He looks between Madja and you, disheveled, broken but starting to heal.

“Yes, what you felt, Y/N,” —Madja removes the tool from inside you, wiping it and then her hands clean on a new cloth— “was a wing.”

She uses the basin with the warm water and the cloth to clean your core, your thighs and your lower belly, softly and carefully running it over you.

“The baby has wings?” Azriel queries, his eyes going wide. 

“Yes, the baby has wings. And one of them got stuck and when the baby wanted to turn the talon, that has already formed as it is usually one of the first things, has cut into your womb, ripping, rather it open. That is where the bleeding and the pain came from. I pushed the wing back in now, it should hopefully stay there.”

You cannot comprehend anything, relief and happiness over this baby inside you still breathing, still living, still developing, eroding every other thought and emotion. 

“You will need quite some medication that I will bring around later and you are bound to the bed for at least a week or so so this all can heal, Y/N.”

You nod at the healer, squeezing Azriel’s hand. “I know you have a high risk of losing your child, but you have surpassed week fourteen, I am almost positive that you are going to bring this child into this wonderful world.” Letting go of Azriel’s hand, you take hers into yours instead, holding her tightly, crying tears of relief. 

The shadowsinger releases a loud breath and bows his head at Madja. “Thank you," both say in union.

With Madja’s help Azriel has managed to change the sheets, she has left then and returned already few moments later to bring you all the medication needed. And although she was positive this time it would work, you still have to risk which means that you should not do anything that would be too exhausting or too strong. 

Azriel carefully heaves your top half onto his chest, his arm curling around your waist, softly placing his hand on your belly that now no longer hurts so badly. It still hurts, but the soft brushing of Azriel’s fingers over the membrane soothes the pain. He hums when you bury your face in the crook of his neck.

“I am sorry for not telling you.” “I doesn’t matter anymore. You are healthy and safe. And so is the baby. That is what matters to me.”

You kiss the side of his neck, your hand moving over his heart. "I love you and you will be an incredibly father, Azriel.”

“And I love you, Y/N. I will continue to love more and more with every struggle we face and once this child is here you will be the best mother in the entire world.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ tags (crossed-out I couldn't tag) : @juulle987 @marimorena06 @danikasthings @younxii @nightcourtwritings @mrofontaine @lunalilyf @whor-3-crux @tired-all-the-time @anni-was-here @ummmmmwat @azbracadabra @j-pendragonx @hollyismentallyillhelp @famousbasementpainter @bsenpai @lena-davina @red-highlady @thesugatoyourtae @azrielsbabyg @aroseinvelaris @moony-thoughts @wrensical003 @cherryjain17 @moonfawnx @crushedcloudsx @devilsfoodcake22  @valeriedarkness @azrielscertifiedslut @mulansaucey @cynicalpotato95 @hanasakr @high-bi-andreadytocry @eerievixen @feyretopia @moonlightazriel @randomness-it-is @brekkershadowsinger @eliieee23 @girasoli-e-sorrisi @illyrianvalkyriecarynthian @kennedy-brooke @highladyofillyria @theworthlessqueen @marina468 @topaz125 @illyrian-dreamer @azriels-mate123

#azriel x reader #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #acotar x reader #acosf x reader

[cassieoz]

Maternity

Amelia panted heavily as the intense pain returned with brutal force. Feverish, her body trembled with the unyielding pressure. The tightening in her core crushed violently as the surge increased in power. The mother to be squeezed the damp sheets as the contraction rose to its ultimate peak. Breathless, she ached herself up and cried out wildly.....

"I can't do this........I can't.......it's coming again......I have......to.......PUSH!"

The mounting tension between Amelia's thighs erupted as the need to bear down completely overwhelmed her. She growled loudly as she strained downwards. The birther pushed with all her strength. Sweating profusely, she gasped for air between efforts. She grunted strongly as more pain exploded between her folds. Her tremendously baby was fighting to come out of her laboring frame.

"Help me.....it's not stopping......it's too much......PUSHING!"

Wet hands clutched the bed clothes as Amelia's white nightgown clung to her damp, contracting belly. It was rock hard as it squeezed with torturous severity.

The birthing fever consumed Amelia as the immense tip pounded downwards. Every strenuous attempt expelled the gigantic dome further through her opening. The midwife was supportive but could only encourage her through the process. There was no way of stopping the bombardment of delivery.

"Its fighting me......it's too much......it won't come out.......need to push.......AGAIN!"

Amelia could see stars as her vision blurred. The enormous head filled her vaginal cavity to its ultimate point. With every push now, her nether region denotated with explosive force. It was coming fast! It was coming fully!

"I am having it.....I can feel it......I am about.....to GIVE BIRTH........PUSHING!"

The biggest explosion erupted as Amelia surrenderd to the worst pain of her life. An intense combination of birth pain and orgasmic release torn from her laboring state. A deafening roar filled the room along with the arrival of a newly born child.

"I did it! Its over! I had my baby! Oh my sweet baby! You are finally here!"

[honeyblonde8929]

Pulling The Reins.

- Ellie x Reader Fanfiction.

Warning: NSFW wlw, Smut, Lemon… whatever you wanna call it😂 and swearing!

• I see lots of fanfics of Ellie being dominating towards the reader, but what if we switched that round. I mean, I’d like to experiment with that…

-

“You okay? Ellie?”

You rubbed your aching eyes, what time was it? 2am? The timer was blurry and you couldn’t be fucked to focus on it. Something was up with your girlfriend, she was sitting by the windowsill, gazing at the stars that were twinkling amongst the the misty horizon. She didn’t take her eyes off until-

“Babe, shooting star! Come look.”

She curled her fingers, wanting you to join her. You sluggishly got up and stretched your back out, ouch, almost pulled a muscle. You joined her side, wrapping your warm hands onto her shoulder and slowing moving it up and down, creating friction on her freckly skin.

“Why are you up at this time? I’m surprised I didn’t wake up, especially if you moved my legs out of the way.”

She smiled and turned her head to you.

“Yeah, you like to put your whole body weight on me, like a pillow.”

Ellie twiddled with her thumbs, remembering how much she enjoys rubbing your back while you snore in your sleep, though you always denied her accusing you of that.

“Oh yeah? Like this?”

You sat on her right leg which wasn’t leaning against the window, you licked your lips in excitement, trying to hold back your yawn from only getting a few hours sleep so far.

“Babe.”

She brushed her cold fingertips against your tangled hair.

“Go back to sleep, we can do this in the morning.”

You definitely didn’t want to now.

She kissed you gently on your lower lip, your arm hairs were dancing from her saliva leaving a mark on your chapped lips.

“No, Ellie, I wanna mess around a little~”

“Oh, a little? I’ll show you a lot, baby.”

She took her plaid jacket off and threw it onto the wooden floor. You yelped slightly as you swooped you into her arms and carried you onto the thin white sheets. You bounced a little on the bed and Ellie looked at your see-through nightgown, your nipples erected, she loved seeing you turned on in as little as 5 seconds.

“Mmm, you are quite a sight, Princess.”

You smirked at her compliment, it really made your confidence spike through the roof. You sat up while leaning your body weight on your hands.

You tickled her ear as you whispered to her;

“Then why don’t you take me, now, my strapping Knight.”

It normally takes two rocks to make a spark, but this matchstick set a striking fire between you two.

And the heat was building up quickly.

Ellie listened to you, and took you in a more aggressively passionate manner. Before you could comprehend, she lifted your nightgown and placed it on the bedside table. Your breasts jiggled as she grasped onto them and pulled your nipple while biting the side of your neck.

“Mmm, oh~ Ellie~”

She sucked onto your protruding veins, like a thirsty vampire, her canine teeth leaving marks and little hickeys that were flushing up your skin. Damn it, she’s a natural.

She went down and circled her tongue around your right nipple, then looked up.

“I swear they have grown a little.”

She squeezed your tits, feeling the weight enveloping her hands. You started to feel the motion swirl down into your underwear. You had a few stretch marks on them, but Ellie didn’t care. She worshiped your body, and knew exactly how to tend to your soul.

“Well, there’s more to play with, I guess.”

You chuckled at what you said, then gasped at her teeth pulling and sucking the ends. Your voice slightly cracked as her wandering hands ventured down into the soaked fabric below.

“Hey! Where’s your treatment, El?”

You grabbed one of her hands, the ends of her index finger wet from tracing circles from your damp opening and you sucked on her fingers. Looking into her mesmerising eyes and freckled cheeks, you wanted to tease her too.

“God, that never gets old.”

She exhaled deeply, you wondered what was going through her head, nothing pure or innocent, you suppose. Good, you want her to give into your power.

Your tongue parted her fingers, making an “eating out motion” towards your girlfriend.

“You ready?”

Ellie looked a little surprised at your comment.

“What? Babe-“

You want her. Right fucking now.

You pushed her into the bed and locked her into position, sure, she was physically stronger but your mental capacity to take control took her breath away.

Ellie’s breathing quickened as your pulled her trousers down and left them hanging on her ankles, less movement, smooth thinking.

You didn’t break eye contact, how could you, she’s everything you could want.

And everything you’d want to devour.

You swiftly pulled her boxers down and put your hand onto her ass, now stuck in between her skin and the bed.

“Woah, someone’s desperate.”

You haven’t taken control in a while, it’s normally her doing the work.

“Nope, I’m just hungry for your moans… and that.”

Without any further thinking, you kissed her folds, revealing her wet insides slowing dripping on your lips.

“Fuck…”

“Mmm… i’m starving, Ellie.”

You spat on her clit and began licking in a circular pattern. Your damp nipples rested on her thighs, the hairs pricking your skin. You could easily be as assertive as she is, but she’s still your angel.

And she needed that heavenly orgasm.

Her abs poked out from leaning up from the bed, her moans vibrating in her croaky throat as she stroked your head. Her way of praising you. You loved her pubic hair tickling your nose and the smell of her sweat coming from her inner thighs that glided onto the top of your ear. Your hair was brushing onto her hips, adding more heat to the flame erupting inside you. Ellie gripped into your hair roughly with each tongue flick, and more so when your fingers entered her insides.

“Baby! Fuck fuck fuck! Ahhh!”

That’s exactly the chorus you wanted to hear. The sweet melody singing from each thrust you pushed, deeper and deeper. The blush tinging your rosy cheeks flushed onto the side of her pussy. The radiating sensation and her insides clenching your fingers only bought more raised howls of pleasure, echoing onto the walls.

“Jesus… baby goddamit.”

Her moans transformed into her catching her breath from all the cries she tried to keep in, but you bought it all out, and very easily you might add. It didn’t take Ellie too long until she was going to-

“FUCK i’m gonna fucking cum…. ugh…”

She was groaning now, her voice almost broken from the gasping moans. Sweat dripped down from the forehead as she abruptly clenched the sheets, holding them for dear life, making her toes crunch up, you nodded at her, not stopping for a second. You curled your fingers inside of her, focusing on her G-Spot that you could feel as your fingers also felt her cum flooding past, that was always a bonus when it came to taking control. Ellie’s eyes looked at your frazzled face, like a doe giving her all to the stag.

You have certainly given her some competition.

She had to cover her mouth with the hand, otherwise she might as well moan your house down. Her thighs were now covering your ears, clenching between your head, muffling the exasperating cries you heard that escape from her throat.

You slowed down gently, making the most of her sweet surrender. If you could capture a moment, you’d surely take a polaroid picture, but some things are best leaving an impression in your mind.

Oh, now you owned her. She can put you in her place, but it’s your moment of dominance, for now. Like a dog on a leash, you can pull her in the right direction.

A seductive, enchanting one.

“Huh…. God…. I’m speechless…”

She laid down, exhausted from it all.

“I thought I was going to make you cum tonight?”

You tutted and licked her juices, swallowing the thick excess down. Ah, there was your reward.

“Expect the unexpected, Ellie.”

You wrapped your body beside her.

“You’re all I’ve got, and i’m not letting you go.”

You lifted her chin up towards your dripping lips.

“I’m all yours.”

#ellie the last of us #ellie tlou #ellie williams #fanfic #fanfiction #the last of us 2 #tlou fanfiction #tlou2 #ellie x reader #ellie x you