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i-mybrunettelady · 2 months

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my future will listen to me

Summary: Alysannyra meets her patron goddess, Lyssa, at long last. Content warnings: None Spoilers: HoT & LWS3 Note: My piece for the @gw2-zine! Go check out the world of my lovely collaborators, and go follow the zine blog! Happy zine release day!

Everyone’s dressed the same, in the same white robe. It’s designed so that it’ll never be worn outside of the ceremony and outside of this one moment in a child’s life, which makes the fine silver embroidery on it that much more meaningful. Alysannyra cannot fathom how it was made - they’d just taken her measurements one day and three weeks later, this gown appeared on their door. She doesn’t even try. Instead, she wears it with as much pride as she can, not knowing where her blessings lie yet. She wears her hair down like everyone else and she tries to not hate how it blends her in with a whole generation of eight-year olds in the watchful eyes of the high society of Divinity’s Reach.

There are two children before her. She can feel the stares of the proud parents in the shadows of the grand church. She can’t turn, not now, because the question she needs to answer can’t be found in their expectant and somber silence. Murals cast a green light on the pale hair of a boy next to her, but he doesn’t seem unsure. Nervous, maybe, but not unsure.

Anyone would be nervous in the presence of gods. Their statues cast large shadows in their absence. And the children are to kneel before the one whose gifts they have and go into their church’s fold. It’s no small task, but if Alysannyra knows anything, it’s that she can’t cower under the burden of it. So she stands with her back straight, in a white robe that tickles her ankles from the early morning breeze, and she doesn’t turn to her family.

Instead, she looks between Lyssa and Balthazar, trying to chase where the feeling in her heart is leading her. So far, the pull’s stronger with Lyssa, but Nyra doesn’t have magic. She isn’t worried. She’s only eight; nobody has magic yet. But some have a better idea of what it might be than others. A child walks over to kneel before Melandru. A priest accepts the handle they’d been carrying and places it by Her feet. Green magic swirls around them and it’s done.

A clicking sound of hundreds of little heels echoes against the stone floor as they all make one step forward.

A choice has to be made, and soon. Alysannyra carries her head high, taller than most other kids already, and stares at Lyssa’s graceful form in the center of the Six. Pinks and purples of the vitrage behind her twin forms cast an inviting light that seems to twist and bend in strange shapes, as if to spite the harmony that doesn’t seem perturbed by them. Balthazar’s helmet feels comfortable; Alysannyra, too, will one day wear a helmet, as a member of the Seraph. Its weight feels irrelevant, necessary, part of the regalia as much as the white robe is. She can almost feel the pressure of the hot metal in her bare hands and she feels the war call to her.

The blonde-haired boy steps forward and steadily walks towards Grenth. He offers the candle, if a little clumsily, and kneels as an unsettling magic twirls around him. Alysannyra watches when his eyes widen just slightly, feeling the magic on his skin, and that is done, too. He is now a member of the Church of Grenth, potential necromancer in the making. He moves away with that knowledge, and now it’s Alysannyra’s turn.

She doesn’t move quite yet. The limited time she had to choose wasn’t enough, but she can’t ruin this. Her family’s reputation, at least for a season, is at stake, and that little feeling in her chest that burns every time someone calls her Lady Ainsaph, too. She takes a deep breath, looks once more, stares into the eyes of the statues, and turns right. She is a daughter of Ascalon, a daughter of war, and Balthazar would be fitting.

She lifts one foot off the ground when something in her gut screams no. She holds her head high as she suddenly turns left and walks down to where Lyssa is, candle in hand. Clamor of the people is silenced by the determined clicking of her heels, but she feels at peace.

Come, daughter, the statue seems to say. Part of her knows this will make people talk, but in a strange way, she looks forward to it. She looks forward to the chaos a slight movement of feet will cause, and lifts her head even higher.

And when she finally kneels and feels the magic seep into her skin, Alysannyra knows she’s made the right choice. Let them talk, let them gawk.

At least she’s not just a simple Lady Ainsaph anymore, even if the rebellion is as small as this.

Lyssa’s Reliquary is a fucking maze. Shelves of stone that house both man and monster shaped horrors would be enough to disorient most people, and such feeling is only made worse by the little portals that pop up like zits in the most random fucking places. Nyra hates them the most, even though she’s trying to stay level headed in the face of illusions that remind her of all the bad things she’s done and all the blood on her hands.

But portals don’t disorient her. The chaos of the reliquary only bothered her for mere seconds before she found the rhythm in this place and she’s been riding it ever since. Renira tries to keep up, visibly struggling. Nyra traverses the sacred space like she was born to do it, and maybe she was. Maybe at birth, Lyssa watched from wherever She is now and pointed Her clawed hand (because in Nyra’s mind, Lyssa’s hands have always been clawed) in her direction so she could pass through Her reliquary once she grew up.

It’s a comforting thought, in a way. It’s the only comfort she has when she slices through a tortured, gruesome vision of Apatia, dead by Nyra’s own hand. It’s the sole thing keeping her sane when she falls through yet another portal to escape the grasp of an illusory Mordrem Trahearne.

“Where to now? How do we get down?” Renira shouts, wiping sweat off her brow. She swallows when she looks down at the ground below, but it’s the only sign of distress she offers. Nyra’s getting just slightly better at reading her. Or maybe she just lets Nyra see. Her eyes, golden like a cat’s in the stifling, dark chaos around them, don’t betray anything but a grim determination.

“I think I know the way down,” Nyra says. “It won’t end with us falling to our deaths, hopefully. I’m getting quite a feel for this place.”

“Of course you are,” Renira replies. “You’re about as chaotic as this reliquary is.” She gives a small smile. “It suits you, after all.”

“Ever the charmer, Sulver,” Nyra shakes her head. In another life, they might have developed a romance following their brief hookup in Ebonhawke years ago, and the thought of exploring this place with a lover sounds romantic until she remembers she killed her actual lover in Maguuma. Now, it's a flaring ache that makes her look away in shame.

“You’re alright, Nyra,” Renira says, strangely gentle. She places a gloved hand on Nyra’s shoulder and though she can’t feel the comfort, she feels undeserving of such sentiment. She’s never really emoted well, but she supposes a lifetime of spying on people makes it easy to identify emotions, regardless of expression or lack thereof.

Nyra shakes her hand off. “Let’s go,” she says. Renira simply nods.

But before they can make a single step, a big voice booms in the wind. “That is, in fact, the correct way, Alysannyra Ainsaf! It’s taken you a lot less time than I’d anticipated, too.”

Nyra’s heart sinks to her feet. She doesn’t need to see to know who it is - the goddess Herself, as much in the flesh as they come these days, and She sounds more than a little smug about it all.

It takes her a moment to find her voice. “Hail, Lyssa,” she says loudly. A part of her hates how uncertain she sounds, but to make up for it, she turns to the direction of Lyssa's voice. She can’t see Her, of course; mortals can’t see gods. Nyra remembers the story of Malchor. She likes her ability to see, thank you very much. She remembers how anguished his ghost was, howling Dwayna’s name like an injured beast.

And maybe she’s like that, too, alive yet forced to walk with guilt and grief eating away at her spirit and her bones. Because she tried to jump into the sea below not that long ago. In Lyssa’s temple, her mind cruelly supplies and Nyra shivers beneath her armor.

Can she even bear to look Lyssa in the eye now?

“Formal,” Lyssa says. “There is no need, daughter. I think you’re right at home. Would you be so formal with your parents?”

Nyra sits down. Renira watches, unsure of what to do, and she signals her to do the same. “If I’m at home, goddess,” Nyra says, “then I’m sure you won’t mind if I bring a guest?”

“Your mesmer friend? She can stay. Her magic is in my domain, though her blessings are, funnily enough, not. What is your name, mesmer?”

“Renira, goddess,” she says cautiously.

“Illusory,” Lyssa replies. “Just like it should be.”

Renira stiffens and digs her nails in her gloves, but her face remains calm. “Yes, goddess.”

Nyra wants to ask what that is all about, but knows she needs to tread cautiously, too. Her head’s too exhausted and heavy for two mind games at once. Besides, she needs Renira as an ally here and she’s not stupid enough to risk it by asking questions like this.

“Lyssa, I have a question,” Nyra says. She swears she can see the wind around them move to face her and tilt a little to the side in curiosity. “You invited me here in a dream. You spoke to me when you sensed that we were backed into a corner in our search, so it stands to reason that you know what we’re after. If I may, what information do you have on Balthazar’s whereabouts?”

Lyssa’s laughter echoes like a thousand drums, and Nyra digs her clawed gauntlets into her thighs to not cover her ears. She can feel Renira looking at her, maybe bewildered, maybe with that ever present calm, but she doesn’t want to turn away now. A part of her knows she should be more humble, now that she has blood on her hands that will never go away as long as she’s alive, but she’ll be damned if she doesn’t answer that little voice in her head that slaps the notion away like a gnat.

“Oh, you’re brave!” Lyssa says as laughter dies on Her windy lips. “Humanity hasn’t produced a person this fearless in a long, long while.”

“That’s what happens when you have nothing to lose,” Nyra says. Her throat becomes tight and her eyes prickle with tears. “I tried to jump from Your temple not that long ago. I think I’ve earned the right to ask questions directly.”

“I know you did,” Her voice becomes quieter. Of course She knows. “Your mind is still in chaos. It will be until your death. You placed any peace for yourself at the altar of glory long ago.” The wind blows forward, and a ghostly hand cups Nyra’s cheek. It’s cold and unsettling and it makes her skin crawl. She breathes out and closes her eyes tightly. Her heart feels like it wants to beat out of her chest. “Was it worth it?”

Nyra’s quiet for a while. Tears slide down her skin, burning, yet the ghostly fingers wipe them away. She feels the heaviness of her armor, the tickling of her hair that was once a flag behind her and that now barely reaches her shoulders. Her shoulder aches from the fighting, her heart aches from the evil she’s done, all in the name of her own glory and this fucking world that she’s judged to be worthy of Trahearne’s life. She feels claws softly digging into the sweaty skin of her cheek, as sharp as the ones on her hands.

Nyra tears light with them and makes it her own. If Lyssa draws blood, that too would belong to Nyra.

Nyra opens her eyes. “Yes.”

Lyssa runs a hand through her hair. “I’d hunt you down if you answered any differently,” She simply says. “I sent you that dream because I knew you would be able to stand up to Balthazar. You, daughter, and nobody else. You will either kill him or die trying.” She then lets go and Nyra catches her breath fully again, like a pressure has been lifted.

“I only need to track him down, then,” Nyra says, with a renewed fire in her chest. “So, tell me what you know, goddess.”

III

She does find Balthazar in the end. These days, the memory of him doesn’t burn so painfully as it did at first. The scars he left on her arms and her legs and on the skin of her stomach and lower back remain hidden under clothes, but Nyra knows they’re there.

She’s used to them, somehow. They’re her shrine to her heresy, after all. In her home chapel, his place is empty because she carries the reminder of him on her skin. And if she, in her grief-induced craze, had her way, she’d bring down every single statue of him in Tyria by hand.

Let her be the only shrine he’ll ever have left, on a wartorn path to erase everything else. Sometimes, she remembers Lyssa asking her if it’s worth it. If she thought she knew pain then, when she stood before her goddess, she should’ve considered her answer a little more.

But Nyra knows pain now. She knows the pain of grief, of loss, of a broken faith, and her answer remains the same. Gods have left Tyria, but this answer is the closest thing she has to a divine oath.

It’s always worth it.

#gw2 #guild wars 2 #inspo birb has come to town #alysannyra #renira sulver #lyssa #gw2 lyssa #coyh zine #gw2 writing #gw2 fic #gw2 commander #:333 ITS OUT LOOK AT MY BABYGIRL SHE'S OUTTT #i need everyone to tell me what they think of lyssa asap #and hers and nyra's relationship #two feral women having a mother-daughter relationship of sorts #gahhh i love it sm #gw2 human #humanposting

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thecleverdame · 4 years

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Gods of Twilight - 24

Alpha!Werewolf!Sam x Human!Reader

Master List

Summary: You marry Sam, The King of Lebanon, as part of an alliance between two lands. You soon discover that nothing is as it appears and that your husband is hiding a secret that may end your relationship before it can begin.

Warnings: smut, dub-con, canon-level violence, domestic discipline, spanking.

Beta: @ilikaicalie

*This story is complete. All 27 chapters are available on Patreon. To get access to this and many other stories, subscribe for a pledge of 2.50 per month. CLICK HERE

You don’t need to open your eyes to experience Sam, you’re connected in a way that’s hard to put into words. His energy vibrates through you like a lightning strike.

“Harder,” you pant against his open mouth. Bringing your knees up as far as you can you squeeze against his ribs.

He grunts, burying his face in your neck and thrusting with such force that you both move up the bed with each stroke. Ever since you woke up two weeks ago you’ve been insatiable. Every morning, every night, even some afternoons you find yourself coiled in a ball of desire. And Sam has been all too happy to ensure your satisfaction. He’s done little other than bed you for a fortnight.

One of his hands cups your backside, holding you in place as he strokes tip to base with every slide of his hips.

“I want another child,” you moan, urging him on. Both of you spurred on at the very notion of his seed taking root in your belly.

Every waking moment you’re not with Sam, you’re with your daughter. She’s a beautiful, perfect little girl who you felt an instant connection with. While you’re sad to have missed the first year of her life, you’re grateful to watch her grow into the precocious little woman that is already emerging.

He grinds forward, smiling against your mouth. “I’ll give you anything you want.”

You climb hundreds of stairs to the tallest part of the castle. From here you can see the entirety of the city below. With your enhanced senses comes a daily barrage of new sights and sounds, but up here it’s muted. The constant chatter and smell of everyone around you fades away and you’re able to relax. Sam has assured you that it will get better with time. You’ll learn how to block out the chaos swirling around, but right now you have to remove yourself to find peace.

For a long time, the whipping wind is your only companion. Closing your eyes you think about your daughter and husband, how different life is now. You miss Golda terribly. News of her death broke your heart and you wish you could have been with her in her final days. You can only imagine how scared she must have been, falling ill and knowing she wasn’t going to survive. You’ve made the journey to her grave weekly and keep her in your thoughts throughout each day. She was a friend you could have shared this secret with, a person to confide in. Phillip tries to be a companion and confidant, but it’s not the same. A man doesn’t understand the nuances your position requires.

Sam is on a hunt. He’s been gone for two nights but will return by morning at the latest. You miss him terribly, the draw to always be close only gotten stronger as you grow into this new version of yourself. You find that in many ways you are stronger, bolder, more confident. But when it comes to your husband, you’re weak. You long to be in his arms, to smell and touch him every waking moment of the day.

He’s all you think about...well, he’s the only person you admit to yourself.

Dean is an ever-present desire and you hate yourself for it. While he’s stayed far away, it hasn't curbed your hunger for him. Your husband’s brother is in your dreams. His smell lingers. You can walk into a room hours after he’s left and still smell his scent, feel it wrap around you.

Sam’s promised to claim you during his rut and it can’t come soon enough. Only a day or two now and you’ll be free of these unwanted desires and bonded for eternity to the man you love.

You smell her first, then your ears hone in on the sound of feet lightly walking over stone.

“Good evening, my queen,” Ruby greets you with a half bow.

“Good evening.” You return, watching her slink closer. She trails a finger down the rampart, studying you.

“They will return soon.” She stands beside you, crossing her arms over her chest. She’s beautiful, there’s no denying that. “Benjamin rode ahead. They’re only a few hours out and coming home with plenty of deer and pheasant.”

“A successful hunt.” You sneak a sideways glance. “I will feel more settled to have my husband home.”

“I’m sure.” She tucks her hair behind both ears, watching the horizon. Both her hands rub over her swollen stomach. It’s hard for you to imagine this devious little woman as a mother. “How are you feeling?” she asks.

“Fine,” you nod. She has checked on you several times since you changed. You want to trust her as much as Sam does. You have faith in his judgment but the Omega in you won’t allow it. She’s competition and you'll never be able to see her any other way. “And you?”

“I always land on my feet.” She smiles to herself, turning to look at you. “The change is horrible, but it’s good to have a queen who understands us. What we are. The pack will always be loyal to the King’s Omega. You’re one of us now.”

“Tell me, Ruby. Will I have your loyalty and devotion?”

“You’ve had it for a long time, well before you became a wolf.” She chuckles dryly, “I tried to save your life. And I would do the same again.”

“Do you mean that?” You watch her watch you, lost in a momentary battle, eyes locked on each other.

“Yes.” She looks away, pressing her lips together. “I’m not sure I will ever have affection for you but I will always be loyal.”

“That’s something I suppose.” You look back out to the city, fighting with yourself.

Should you ask? Would she tell you? You don’t want to think that Sam would lie to you but he’s been avoiding your questions. He did admit to spending his rut with an Omega, a woman from a pack you’ve never met. You accepted this by doing your best not to think about it. He was doing everything he could for you during this last year. As king, but more importantly, a father, he couldn’t risk his life going unsatisfied.

But something about his story doesn’t ring true.

“I’m going to ask you a question and I expect you to be honest with me.” You command.

“I shall.” She’s interested, moving closer.

You look behind you to ensure the two of you are alone.

“I was gone for a year. During that time my husband went through his rut.” You swallow, pushing for the answer. “Did he spend it with you?”

She’s still and quiet. The ever-present self-satisfied smirk is gone as she looks down at the ground.

“Did you ask him?” she asks.

“I did.” You’re already annoyed, answering your question with a question in return. “He told me a tale of an Omega from the southern border.”

“You don’t believe him?”

“I asked you a question.” You hiss, eyes dropping to her stomach.

She stares at you, taking a step back.

“He loves you. His devotion to you is unmatched. He will kill me if I tell you. The man you know is gentle, but the Alpha I know is ruthless. He will kill me to protect his marriage, to be with you.”

Your heart falls out the bottom of your stomach, eyes fluttering closed as you nearly fall over. Bracing yourself on the stone you take a breath to steady yourself.

“And your child?” You can’t look at her, awaiting an answer that never comes.

“He only wanted you. It’s always been about you. Everything he does is to keep you close to him.”

“He lied to me.” Tears prick your eyes.

“After everything that happened, can you blame him?” She looks as sad as you feel. Two women who’ve both been used to satisfy your husband’s needs.“You died. No one thought you would survive the year and yet here you are. You’ve been through more than any woman could handle. He didn’t want to hurt you.”

“And look at me now.” Wiping a cheek with your hand you stare at her pregnant belly. At your husband's child.

“Don’t take this out on him, I beg you.” She reaches out taking your hand. You hiss, pulling away from her in disgust.

“Don’t touch me.”

“He did what he had to do to be ready when you recovered. No one could expect him to tell you, not after everything that happened. After what you did to Golda. It would have been too much to-”

“What did you just say?” You reach out, taking the sleeve of her dress. “You said what I did to Golda.”

She gulps, eyes widening.

“I shouldn’t have said it. He will kill me!”

“Stop it. I won’t tell him who revealed these things. Tell me!”

“You..you were feral. Hungry. She found you locked up in the south tower and didn’t understand why you were there. When she came into your room you...you killed her. Ate her heart.”

“You’re lying!” You shout, shoving her backward. How can this be? You killed sweet Golda and Sam lied to you a second time. What else could he be keeping from you?

“I’m sorry.” She calls after you as you retreat back into the castle.

While you’ve always known there were aspects of Sam that he kept to himself, it never occurred to you that he might not be the man you thought him to be.

But he does have a history of this. He lied to get you here, to arrange your marriage. He’s been deceitful from the beginning. And Ruby was so afraid that he would kill her and her child. What kind of man would slaughter his own baby?

You can’t think, you have to collect yourself. Reeling with confusion and fear you pour yourself a glass of wine and drink it down, before preparing a second.

What sort of man have you been living with? It’s as if you hardly know him.

Your rational mind takes over. You need to confront him. Bringing up Ruby is out of the question. She trusted you enough to tell you the truth and in return, you will protect her anonymity. But there were others who knew about Golda, plenty of conspirators. If you validate that, you will know that Ruby is in fact truthful.

You can scarcely control yourself, pacing back and forth across your bedchambers while you wait on Sam’s return. This is not the time for subtlety.

He opens the door, grinning at the sight of you and untying his cloak.

“Three nights felt like three years,” he says sweetly. “Come here and let me see you.”

“I would like to stay where I am.” You remain by the fire.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“I need to talk to you. It’s of great importance.”

“Anything.” His face drops as you stare at him, refusing to move closer.

“You must not lie to me. I will know if you do,” you warn.

“What would you like to ask?” His eyes narrow, realizing the gravity of the situation.

“Did I kill Golda?”

“Y/N…” his face falls. He steps toward you with a hand extended and you retreat in tandem.

“Did I rip her heart from her chest?”

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he admits, shoulders falling.

“Every time you’ve ever lied to me, you’ve hurt me.” You look at him in disbelief. “What else have you lied to me about?”

“We should talk about-”

“I cannot bring myself to so much as look at you right now. You’ve betrayed me” You feel caged. This powerful new energy is throbbing inside you, making you want to lash out. You need to get away before you attack him.

“Where are you going?” Sam asks, reaching out as you skirt past him.

“I need time.”

“Please. Stay and we can talk about everything. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

“I’m afraid I already know it all,” you squeak, holding back tears until you’re out of the room and running down the hall. Phillip tries to follow you but you’re too fast. You know the castle well now. You take several quick turns and push open a secret door, slipping down a hidden hallway that leads to the servants quarters.

You run. You run as fast and as far as your legs will carry you. Feet hitting the ground, muscles spurring you onward. Even in human form, you’re faster than any human should be sprinting down dark halls and out into the gardens.

In the seclusion of the tall grass and blooming nocturnal flowers, you fall to your knees and cry out as grief racks your body. Only hours ago life held so much promise and now you’re a murderer. A murderer whose husband has impregnated the woman you despise above all others. And to top it off, your own husband has been untruthful, keeping terrible secrets.

With your head in your hands you sob, grieving for the life you thought you had. And just when the pain is at its worst a voice comes from behind you.

“What’s happened?” Dean asks, eyes shining in the dark.

#alpha sam winchester #alpha!sam x omega!reader #sam winchester smut #sam winchester x reader

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gotatext · 5 years

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whats up ! its ur local feral goblin nora ( 23, she/her, gmt ) bringing u yet another baby i dug out of the trash and vomited onto the dashboard. a fake psychic slash rodeo bull sensation studying at hendrix but born in marfa, texas. luvs wearing gingham print dresses and cowboy boots n always in loads of rings and necklaces w flowers in her hair. very into art and pornography, and particularly the combination of the two. wants to do a PHD on gender studies and female autonomy in porn (yeehaw!). this is a pinterest board. without further ado, here’s frida !

hendrix template.

( cis-female ) haven’t seen FRIDA CALHOUN around in a while. the ELIZA SCANLEN lookalike has been known to be (+) SCHOLASTIC & (+) PLUCKY, but SHE can also be (-) DOGMATIC & (-) SINGLE-MINDED. The 18 year old is a FRESHMAN majoring in GENDER STUDIES & VISUAL ART. I believe they’re living in AUDAX, but I popped by earlier and no one answered the door. ( nora. 22. cowboy time. she/her. )

aesthetics.

a red gingham print dress from your childhood that tugs at the seams and hitches at your thighs. brown cowboy boots still thick with the dirt of a marfa desert. stripper heels decorated with hello kitty stickers. a crystal ball you bought for a dollar from a one-eyed woman at a thrift store. dead flowers clinging to the braids of your hair. a rucksack permanently packed for the move. a streak of red across your lips. roller blades, cut knees, not eating your greens. smiling with a mouthful of blood. the female orgasm cut and pasted from pornhub and superimposed onto renaissance art. sweet wrappers scattered over the vinyl seats of an older man’s car. also this pic here is a big frida mood

connection to eva & did they choose her name during the watershed?

study abroad mentor. when frida moved to the netherlands to study, she was assigned a mentor to help her settle into campus life, since she was not of dutch heritage. eva was her mentor for her first few weeks of study, though they weren’t really friends. occasionally they hung out if they saw each other out at night, but they weren’t like... super close.

ok,.... so first up ! despite going to uni in amsterdam, this gal was born and raised in the ole’ U.S of A. she’s from marfa, texas. it’s a very arty place. she was surrounded by art wankers as a child and it kind of educated her to a lot of shit, but also meant she grew up p fast?? like she learned about sex and death and violence from all these art people who thot they were Freeing her Superego n makin a genius child bt rlly.... they shd hav just let her play with dirt rather than showin her artistic representations of the inside of a dead bird.

BACKSTORY TIME.. her mother was from the wrong side of the tracks, wanted 2 go to art school and started working as an erotic dancer to pay for college but then jst.... ended up staying there. one of those girls u see in the documentaries who had Big Plans but ultimately never got to pursue them n jst got.... sucked in by the money

frida was raised in dressing rooms surrounded by sparkly costumes and nipple pasties and leotards and the like. as a kid she’d try to trot about in her moms heels n yearned for the day she’d be able to be on stage.

if you’ve seen pretty baby its a bit similar to tht..... her mom works in a brothel n has her quite young n the expectation is her daughter will probs end up working at the brothel too when she's old enough. no1 really expected frida to get into a good uni or anythin

frida was p much raised by the town, to be honest. most of her youth was spent scurrying about half naked in cowboy boots and glasses too big for her face. a smol feral child

as a kid used to lie about being able to see dead people bcos she thought it’d make her seem cool and interesting to other kids n it got the attention of the girls her mom worked with. but when her mom realised people were willing to actually believe a 7 year old had seen their dead scorned lover, she saw it as an opportunity to swindle some extra cash and registered her as a child psychic n started putting adds out in local papers for palm readings and tarot predictions.

when her mom hit 30s she couldn't hack being a sex worker any more, so she set up her own fortune telling business and hired a load of the girls from the club to be fake psychics. it was sort of a fortune telling parlour slash brothel, bt they kept tht very under wraps. palm reading upstairs, handjobs downstairs. the reason why some of the women from the strip club agreed to work there was because it was a business actually run by a woman who got what was going on, n not jst someone trying to make quick cash out of old men wanking

as a child, frida was on a few tv shows in the netherlands making psychic predictions in front of live tv audiences and attempting to reach out to the spirits of their loved ones. this con continued into her teenage years, she even did youtube videos n had minor success, though she was accused of being a cheap horoscope predicter and packed it in shortly after a twitter backlash.

if pressed, frida still claims to have a gift, but that it's not as simple as switching a light on and off, it comes when it comes, you can't summon it, and that's how she gets out of being labelled a fraud if anyone who recognises her demands a reading.

ws street smart, but also did super well at school? quite charming as a kid and good at winning adults over because of a life growing up basically conning rich white women out of their money just by telling them stuff they wanted to hear. was moved up a grade in junior high and graduated early. attended a summer school, before choosing to study in amsterdam because of the appeal of the red light district. very interested in the lives of sex workers and the way they express themselves. is only a freshman but, is like, 50% through her degree already jst cos she’s..... super passionate about her subject getting recognised as a legitimate brand of academia

she wanted to study gender performativity in the lives of sex workers and plans to do her thesis on the porn industry. it might be because of her childhood, growing up surrounded by sex workers, but she's obsessed with it, looks at mathematical structures and symbols in porn through a lens of politics and art history. very interested in visual art.

some ?mildly amusing? facts

owns 4 tarot decks and a crystal ball she bought frm an old lady with one eye

favourite drink is cherry coke

part of a burlesque collective at hendrix university who run speakeasy nights. is trying to set up her own small-scale grassroots burlesque group in one of the more mainstream clubs along the strip bcos there’s so much money and female tourists go wild 4 it

sells nudes on twitter. whenever she gets low on cash she contacts one of the seedy old men who used to visit her mom's club to venmo her $500 in return for pictures

that girl who’s always harping on about body positivity on instagram while wearing cute underwear and looking absolutely bomb

really good at rodeo bull riding. the club in marfa had one so as a youth she got really good at it bcos she was constantly tryin to outdo her friends on who could stay on for the longest. a video of her staying on one for like 4 minutes after downing several jager bombs went viral once.

smol baby. 5′4. wears a lot of cute summer dresses n big boots. gingham is her usual dress style, or like red plaid, n then she’ll either have big white cowboy boots with spokes on the back or the really long doc martens. also owns a lot of abba-esque gogo boots and 90s creepers. flats?? who are they. has her hair in braids a lot, and usually has flowers or feathers threaded through it to add to her whole “mystic” vibe

micro-doses acid for mild depression bcos she didn’t believe in “that CBT bullshit”, thought that therapists, like her, were jst con artists so always a bit spaced out

her flirting technique is absolutely offering to read your palm. she used to do it all the time at school its how she met most of her eighth grade boyfriends.

volunteers at one of the local galleries but mostly just rants to old white dutch men about how cis white men have dominated art for years :/ is one of those SJW-types but only?? when it comes to art??

has a pet rat called popeye

takes photographs of dead animals to use in her art and often posts them side-by-side with stills of women in porn to show the shelf-life of female sex workers in a patriarchal-dominated industry or some bullshit idk

big into spoken word poetry, even if its shit. likes savage depictions of femininity

wrote a thesis on art as an act of masturbation that got published

big into capitalism and commodity culture. loves it.

wanted plots, fucker

ppl who are also studying @ hendrix but speak english !! bcos frida finished her exams a year early at like 17 n just up and left to amsterdam cos she knew if she got in-state tuition she’d never leave texas, she came to the netherlands with like, 40 dollars and a phrase book. eva was kind of her study-abroad mentor to help her settle into amsterdam campus life

ppl she met at an inter-school maths championship competition or something really fuckin nerdy like that. she probably got entered in a spelling bee or two, she was her high school’s pride and joy until people started calling her a slut in toilet door grafiti

hook-ups !! frida does not do relationships, she had several girlfriends as a kid but she enjoyed the thrill of the chase more than being with one person. pan, but not about befriending straight men. very much fuck-em-and-chuck-em wham-bam-thankyou-ma’am when it comes to guys. that said, if u think ur character cld get under her skin n try n change that by all means be my guest

other ppl who wld be in burlesque with her. also she goes to strip clubs n peep shows like every day, thats basically research for her, so if ur characters would be into strip clubs they might see her there

she volunteers at a few galleries, tht is also a possible place where they cld kno each other from

i feel like she’d be on student council if they had one of those. shes that kind of bitch, turning up like elle woods with a big feather pen or a light-up heart marker, slamming down some truths before upping and leaving to go for her 11am chai latte break

mayb someone she’s trying to coach into being more body confident through self-expression in burlesque.

som1 who attended the art institute in marfa for a summer n maybe knew her when she was a bit younger ??? idk

drama. angst/ horror. someone accuse her of being a fake psychic and she’ll predict your horrific untimely death

nice bike rides in amsterdam please

yea like this if u a) want to plot or b) think the self is as undefinable social construct and i will slide in ur dms to further discus ruckus x x

#water:intro #dropkicks this onto the dashboard x #lick it up like an oasis in the middle of a desert u thots x #depression tw #sex work tw #is tht a trigger??

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whenthemarshmallowmettheslayer · 6 years

Note

Favorite fics you ever written?

Warning this a long post because I've written a lot of fics.

For Harry Potter:

1.) The Definition of Good. Summary: After Chamber of Secrets Harry gives Dobby a place to stay. Everything changes.

2.) Keep it simple, keep it safe. That's all you can do when it's too late. Summary: Harry smiled; it didn't reach his mom's eyes. "There's no need to call me sir professor," Harry quipped once again. This Harry knew. This Harry could take and dare he say it? Liked. Or rather, he liked it compared to the alternative despite his hatred towards the greasy haired wizard before him.

(Harry can't help but remember the chocolate cake slices and hours of looking at photos of Mrs.Figg's cats, the warm - to the point he feels as though they may burn him - embraces from Mrs. Weasley, Dumbledore's soft spoken promises and words that might as well be empty, of Sirius' offer of Harry living with him just gone in a blink of eye because he fell into a veil Harry's godfather could not come out of.)

For Percy Jackson:

1.) I scream too loud when I speak my mind. Summary: Percy Jackson does not accidentally vaporize his pre-algebra teacher and everything else that happens afterward. (I've actually loved writing all the parts of the series but I'm only including this one.)

For Death Note:

1.) To be a Queen. Summary: It's that the queens (Misa, only Misa, because Misa the idiot sees what no one else sees. L says he doesn't swing that way but L wants Light, Kira, but Light is Kira therefore the other king. So duh he can't be L's queen no matter what that pevert wants.) in chess are the most powerful pieces despite the kings (Ryuzaki and Light) being the most important. Because without the king (Kira and L) there's no game, if you defeat the other king you win; Kira wins and he will.

2.) Game over. Summary: Instead of replying to baby Kira Matt takes the cigarette out of his mouth and with a smile (it's weird to smile because Matt never really smiles and it's probably a real ugly ass sight to see) throws his last cigarette onto the Death Note.

Game Over, he thinks and just walks off without so much a word. He wonders briefly what's next. With Light it's easy (boring even). He'd follow his dear dad's footsteps and become a police officer. Probably the best and maybe he'll meet L. Those two assholes deserved each other, Matt decided, but what about him?

(Or the universe gives Matt a restart after dying and he sadly uses his last cigarette on the Death Note.)

For Tokyo Ghoul:

1.) There's a ghost in my lungs. Summary: A series of non-linear conversations where Haise learns about his past, how he became who he was, and people that Kaneki loved. (Haise time travels to the beginning of Tokyo Ghoul. I've only posted one chapter so far.)

For Jessica Jones/Alias:

1.) Rest in pieces our youth (so we might glue it back together again). Crossover with Spiderman Homecoming. Summary: Jessica Campbell and Peter Parker are least likely of friends ever since Jessica came back to school.

For Fullmetal Alchemist:

1.) I've got questions. Summary: Edward smiled thinly, something viscous but not ugly (never ugly, not when it came to her) was the look in his feral eyes.

"Rose," gently, Ed thought, like she was Al or Winry when they were doing stupid shit, "that was a list that represented the complete chemical makeup of a human body for the average adult. It had been calculated to the last microgram, but still there has never been one reported case of successfully creating a human life."

Some people put their faith in gods to be able to live their life; some, like him, lived their life to achieve a goal. There had once been a time when Ed use to pray with mom. He had even prayed after mom had died but had stopped a long time ago.

It wasn't the constant frustration of loose ends (till now, Edward thought, Cornello's ring on his mind). No, he had stop praying even before that. It wasn't even the bastard's sharp jabs that were constant; always there as though Edward would ever let himself forget. What an idiot; how'd that man ever become a Colonel? Besides obviously burning children and women to death that corpses he climbed on to get to the top of the military.

2.) (What is) insanity but the ability to draw the perfect circle? Summary: There's a creak in a board behind him and he whirls around, hands ready to clap. It's Scar. Again there is a difference. Well differences technically. That makes his hand hover, pausing him from clapping. Scar, wearing glasses while inside on a rainy day, stares at the sight before him.

He should take a picture. It'll last longer.

"Are you Edward Elric the Fullmetal State Alchemist?"

Maybe it's because someone has actually him if he's Edward that he answers honestly. "No."

Or Edward is okay with suggesting to partner up with Scar to kill his Fuhrer (who might not be a homunculus in this universe) but isn't okay with Nina going in the rain and getting a cold.

For Star Wars:

1.) Love of a daughter. Summary: "and yet, so far at least we have yet to figure out what you gain from this." It's a question as well as statement. A chance to explain, to come clean on why she - a unknown Sith- had assassinated they're precious, beloved Chancellor (what fools). But how could you come clean when there is so much blood on her hands? Never-mind the sins and blood on Vader and Luke's when her family had been alive.

When she answers it's not because she's announcing her transgressions in hope that her heavy, dirty soul might be saved. One couldn't repent when they didn't feel guilt in their sin.

"For the love of a daughter." Leia pauses and looks back at Anakin and thinks: I did this to avenge you. After thinking that Leia says one more thing - the last thing actually because she nothing else to say after this.

"And you should have been more careful electing your Chancellor. You never know who is Sith." This has double meaning but she's the only person who knows it.

And she's fine with that (no, she isn't).

Leia wonders if her younger self and Luke will ever become the monsters like her Luke had been and the monster she is.

2.) When dreams come true (which they often do when Anakin Skywalker dreams them). Summary:It happens in the day, in the light. A dark masked man with heavy breath that was killing the slave owners and freeing the slaves. No one - not even the Hutts, who were now dead- could stop the droid looking man.

That doesn’t surprise Anakin though. Anakin had seen the stranger’s blade that coated the sands with different colors of blood. A red lightsaber. The man was a Jedi and he had come to free them.

(Or young Anakin's dream comes true just not in the way he dreamt it.)

3.) Nobody does it like Artoo. Summary: Because the droid had just killed Chancellor Palpatine. The man who was the closest thing Anakin had to father.

“Artoo please tell why you just killed Chancellor Palpatine?” He asks, in soft calm voice. He needs to keep a level head. Needs to be the Jedi many claim he cannot be. Deep breathe in. Deep breathe out. He could be calm when all he wanted to do was try to find the person who responsible for rewiring Artoo and show him/or her why it was a bad idea to touch his droid and make his droid kill a person he loved.

Artoo beeps his answer and Ana-

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN PAlPATINE IS DARTH SIDIOUS AND THAT YOU’RE FROM THE FUTURE!?”

4.) Of time travel and relationship blocking. Summary: But he knows the universe is better off by Artoo's travel in time. Palpatine is dead. Artoo had killed the Sith Master that had destroyed too much of his humans’ lives. There was no Empire and Darth Vader did not exist. The twins were raised by their creators. All was good except Leia was coming to age of no longer a child yet not an adult.

Which meant other human boys were becoming attracted to future Senator. Human boys who were not Han Solo. It was becoming rather frustrating - to the point Artoo felt like rolling into a wall- but at least Anakin agreed that these human boys did not belong with his creation. (Sequel to the fic above. Never did write more chapters for this fic but I do adore it.)

For Star Trek:

1.) I appreciate your enthusiasm, but Kodos will not be in this production. Summary: This was not how Jim imagined telling Bones about Tarsus IV. Actually that was a lie. Jim had planned to never tell Bones about Tarsus IV. But so is the life of Jim Kirk (also known as James T. Kirk, JT, Captain, and t'hy'la to Spock and Ambassador Spock who both had yet to tell him what that word meant. A childish part of Jim thinks that Hoshi would tell him if she was still alive before his mood darkens. The memories - the guilt - of that day flashes before his eyes and God does Jim hate drugs.).

2.) Logically speaking. Summary: "Say mother had been," there had been a pause as Spock tried to find the right words to convey his question, "say mother went through unnecessary strife during her adolescent years and somehow you ended up in the past. Do you allow for her to face this to persevere an already faulted timeline or do you save her?"

By then, Amanda had made her way to her husband side so she could look into Spock's eyes. The question was odd and admittedly out there but her son's eyes said otherwise. Spock's eyes could be compared to an open book and that book told Amanda that this somehow was serious and her son was torn.

(Or the backstory on how Spock sort-of got permission from his father to steal a ship from the Vulcan Science Academy through Amanda Grayson's eyes.)

3.) I prefer to have my nightmares with open eyes. Crossover with Black Butler. Summary: Jimmy, JT, James Tiberius Kirk (whoever the hell he truly is) knows what it's like to adapt just to stay alive, to be whoever he needed to be just to survive. Just to eat.

It makes him laugh and JT doesn't know this but he reminds the demon (Sebastian he once was called and will take the name, the mask, of once again) of another young boy who the world had destroyed. Who had laugh a bitter laugh because that was all he could do. Crying, after all, did nothing. (Maybe one day I will write that Shinigami!Jim fic. If I ever do I will gift it to ShortyKatezey.)

4.) I need you, I need you, I need you right now. Don't leave me alone. Summary: It doesn’t matter in the end that this universe’s blue eyed James T. Kirk isn’t Spock Prime’s Jim. He still feels Jim-so familiar to his Captain, his Admiral, his Jim, his thyla yet so differnet, so angry, so broken - death.

It should have been me (it had been him in his universe) is Spock’s first thought after he momentarily gets over the wave, the crash of emotions he feels. His next thought is: I am not fine. (This is Spock Prime reacting to Jim's death in Into Darkness.)

5.) Of bored school boys and a death god. Crossover with Death Note. Summary: Ryuk drops the Death Note and a bored but brilliant beyond his years teenage boy picks it up. Sound familiar? Except it's not. JT is many things but a God complex isn't one of them.

For The Vampire Diaries:

1.) When did you dance with death? Summary: When did they all die? When did this become their lives? Was Damon to blame? Stefan to be blamed? Was Katherine to blame? Or Klaus to blame? Were Klaus' parents to blame for trying to keep their kids alive and eventually making them into monsters? Whose to blame for the fact they're all murders instead of simply, normal teenager?

And you know what? They're going to be dead for sure instead of just their morality and innocence having kicked the bucket. There's no vampire blood in their system that could cure them from what Klaus will inflict; Katherine ran from Klaus for hundreads of years and her family was slaughtered just because she wanted to live. They had killed Kol - Klaus' own brother - and trapped him with the burnt corpse.

2.) Revenge is best served with condoms. Summary: "I know who you are. You're the tasty little thing my older brother has come to truly fancy." Tasty little thing. Caroline froze; those words replaying in her head except in British accent (the only accent she truly had thing for).

For Yuri on Ice:

1.) The downside of love. Summary: Soulmates that share the bruises on their other's skin can have a downside if you haven't met them yet. Katsuki Yuuri learns this the hard way.

#Asks #anon #ao3

0 notes

thecleverdame · 4 years

Text

Gods of Twilight - 21

Alpha!Werewolf!Sam x Human!Reader

Master List (posting schedule is there as well)

Warnings: smut, dub-con, canon-level violence, domestic discipline, spanking. This chapter does contain some non-con elements.

Beta: @ilikaicalie

*This story is complete. All 27 chapters are available on Patreon. To get access to this and many other stories, subscribe for a pledge of 2.50 per month. CLICK HERE

He’s clearly lost his mind, they all have.

You stare at this man who insists he’s your husband, two women, one on either side of him. He must be insane but no one is reacting to these wild tales. You examine him cautiously, trying to determine if this is indeed reality.

They’ve explained this again and again over the last few weeks, carefully laid out the details of who and what you are.

“To be completely honest,” you begin, looking at Sam. “I’m not sure what part is more difficult to accept. That I am a queen or that I’m a shape-shifting wolf. You will have to forgive my disbelief.”

“I understand.” Sam nods agreeably. He’s always quick to assure you, he wants you to feel comfortable.

He cares about you a great deal, that much is clear. The way he looks at you alone is enough to know there’s a long history, many twists and turns in your relationship that you wish you could remember. There are moments like this that you can practically feel his love for you, it’s radiating off him. He’d move heaven and earth to heal your fractured mind.

This man is a king, he should spend his time attending to the many needs of his people, but instead, he remains by your bedside for hours each morning and night.

There a rush, a heat that spreads quickly from your head to your toes making your body tingle and you fall back onto the pillow as it overtakes you. This happens several times an hour, increasing in both frequency and intensity. Ellen has explained that it’s a natural part of the transition and that it’s only going to become more intense as time goes by.

“Are you alright?” Sam’s immediate concern only serves to stoke the guilt you feel every time your thoughts wander to his brother. Dean. You wish Dean would come back to visit you. You want to smell him, look at him….get up close and….no. You don’t let yourself think about that.

This man gripping your hand for dear life is your husband and an impressive specimen of a man at that. What sort of woman are you that you’re unsatisfied with a life most people could scarcely dream of.

“I’m fine. It comes and goes.” You force a weak smile as sweat beads at your hairline. Ellen dips a cloth into the water basin, rings it out and begins to carefully pat along your forehead, then your down your neck and chest. “When can I meet my daughter?”

Your husband’s jaw tightens, his eyes ticking to the side. Martha, the midwife looks displeased, adjusting her stance. You know you shouldn’t continue to push the issue, but you simply can’t contain yourself. It’s a desire that increases with each passing day.

“We’ve talked and we’ve decided you should wait,” Sam explains softly.

“Why?” You look at each of them, unable to hide the sting of betrayal. They have these little meetings where they decide what’s best for you without asking for any of your input. “I want to see my child.”

“And you will,” Sam reaches out, taking your hand again. There’s a low tingle the moment his skin touches yours. A whiz that feels almost like a spark from a dying fire burning your skin. “We think you should wait until you display more control-”

“I have control now!” you hiss, feeling the anger bubbling to the surface. This is exactly what he’s referring to. It’s getting worse. The rage comes on quickly, a deluge of emotion you can’t stop from overtaking you.

“No,” Martha shakes her head, “you don’t have control. But you will, you just need time.”

“Please,” you change your approach, begging Sam. He wants to give you everything and anything you want and you’re not ashamed to use it against him. His face softens, brows coming together.

“We don’t know what kind of reaction the child will elicit,” Ellen speaks up, her tone makes it clear. This is not up for debate. “She could soothe you, or she could trigger a more violent response.”

“I would never hurt my baby.” You want to strangle her.

“I know, but you are not always yourself. Not right now.” Sam tries to explain. He’s gutted as you yank your arm away from him.

“I still have milk,” you grab at your own breasts. “That must mean something! She needs me! We need each other. She’s four months old and doesn’t even have a name. Let me be a mother to her.”

“I’m sorry.” Martha nods with a finality that sets you off.

“I want to see my child! Damn you!” The rage erupts as you lunge forward, arms outstretched to grab at her. You want to tear her limb from limb. Eviscerate her on the floor next to your bed. Sam catches you, wrapping his arms tight around your shoulders, effectively pinning you in place as Martha retreats out of the room. “Let me go!” You scream at the top of your lungs, struggling against him. “I hate you for this. I hate you! Let me go!”

You snarl and growl and wrestle against your husband, trying to kick and bite and scratch your way from his hold but he’s stronger than you are, at least right now. Ellen disappears once she’s sure Sam has you under control. Then it’s just the two of you as you fight in vain.

When he’s not here you’re tied to the bed. These outbursts are becoming a more regular occurrence and he’s not around to restrain you most of the time. Sam visits as often as he can, allowing you time to be free from your bonds.

By the time your rage passes you’re laying under the weight of him, breathing heavy as tears sting the corners of your eyes. You shake with anger, sweating and vibrating as your body purges the surge of fury and you finally give up and fall limp against the bedding.

“I hope I didn’t hurt you,” you whimper with eyes closed tight in a weak attempt to keep the humiliation from swallowing you whole. You’re a queen but you behave like a spoiled child. There’s less and less self-control as the days go by. Sam was right, you are slowly becoming a monster.

“No,” he confirms, lifting his weight off you, but careful to hold you in place, belly down on the mattress. “Are you in control?”

“I’m sorry,” you cry, burying your head. “I can't think when I’m like that. Ellen was right. There is no controlling it.”

“I know,” he whispers, nuzzling his mouth at the shell of your ear. “It’s alright. Don’t cry, my love. This is torture, but it will pass.”

His nose brushes up and down the edge of your ear, hot breath lingering longer than it should. He wants you, you can feel the lust coming off him. The more outraged you become the more the scent of desire wafts out of his very bones.

“I hope you’re right.” You roll onto your back and Sam helps you, hovering above you with a hand on your belly. His pupils are blown wide, betraying his hunger for you. “I’m so sorry I don’t remember you. You’ve been more patient than any man should be.”

“It’s nothing. I would do anything for you,” he picks at the wet hair plastered along the side of your face. “But this will get worse before it gets better. I want you to be ready, prepared for the days ahead.”

He could fuck you if he wanted, take you by force. He’s your husband and king, not to mention a wolf. He could take anything he wants from you here and now. And yet he doesn’t. You’re always surprised by that. While you don’t have specific memories of other powerful men, you do know that men of his stature rarely suppress their own appetites. He is a good man.

“Will you be with me?” you ask.

“As much as I’m able.” He nods as the hand on your stomach fists into the material of your dress. “The rage will consume you, it’s a bloodlust that will take over and for a time you’ll become feral. There’s no way around it. But you’re strong, I know you well. You’ll come out on the other side.”

“You have more faith in me than I have in myself.”

“I’ll have faith for both of us then.” He smiles softly, looking thoughtfully over your face, it seems as if he wants to say something but he remains silent.

“You say I'll become feral.” Your cheeks blush hot fire. “How is it possible you’ll want to see me like that? Like a wild animal.”

“You forget I am a wild animal as well.” He searches your face, his eyes glancing at your heaving bosom for a split second but you catch him. The truth is that being close to him like this makes your heart speed up too. It leaves a neediness between your legs that aches long after he’s gone.

“I feel a strange sensitivity when you touch me,” you confess, watching his eyes go dark.

“You are an Omega and you’re meant to be mine.” His voice is low, eye roaming over your face. “My touch will elicit certain...sensations.”

“Because you’re an Alpha,” you finish and he nods in confirmation.

For a moment you lose yourself in the fantasy of what Dean’s touch would feel like. The weight of him between your legs, the scent of his skin and the feeling of his teeth sinking into your neck.

“Where did you go just now?” Sam asks. He’s looking at you like he knows, knows all about your adulterous fantasies. “What were you thinking of?”

“You.” You lie, breathing in his scent and allowing yourself to focus solely on your husband. The more you breathe in his scent, the easier that becomes. You wonder if you’ve always been this much of a wanton woman before, or if it’s the bite that brought it out of you. “May I make a confession?” you whisper.

“Of course,” he murmurs, settling in as his hip presses against your thigh.

“Would you think me a whore if I told you I dream about you touching me?” It’s partially true, you do think of him, but you leave out the part about his brother. “I imagine what it would feel like.”

“Of course not,” he licks his lips, eyes fixed and focused on yours with a burning intensity. “You are my wife. I could never think of you that way.”

“Yes, but to me you’re a stranger and yet I find myself wondering about the feel of your hands on my skin.” He ruts his hips forward, unable to control himself. “What sort of proper woman would entertain such thoughts?”

“It’s perfectly natural.” His eyes drop to watch your mouth. “You’ll go through a heat soon and my rut will come not long after.”

“Ellen explained both to me.” You bite your lip, thinking back to the conversation. “You’ll knot me?”

He swallows hand, grunting in response. “Yes.”

“And you’ll claim me?”

“Yes,” he answers. His large hand spreads out wide over your stomach, sliding upward until his fingers are fanned out under your breasts, pressing lightly over your ribcage.

“And we did all this before?” You blink as a drop of sweat rolls down the side of his face. “When I was human?”

“Yes,” he nods slowly. “You were so beautiful that first time. You’re always magnificent, but it was a moment I’ll never forget.”

“Would you like to touch me now?” You’re nothing more than instincts at this point.

“Do you want me to?” He’s shaking with restraint, his hand trembling against your ribs.

“Very much,” you stare into his eyes and spread your thighs as wide as possible, the overwhelming lust overtaking any sense of propriety. “If you want me, you can have me.”

Sam stares at you as his hand disappears under the hem of your nightdress. He doesn’t respond, instead strokes the rough pads of his fingers up your inner thigh, wandering closer and closer to your sex.

The tips of his fingers ghost over your cunt, hardly a touch but it’s enough to bring your hips off the bed in search of more. He was right. Your body is responding to his, excitement sputtering to life inside you in the form of sexual desperation.

“Please,” you whisper, feeling sweat sliding down your temple.

“Shhh,” he hushes, his mouth nipping at your jaw as his thumb finds your clit. He rubs up and down over your bud, at the same time sinking two fingers into your pussy, sinking into wet and slick up to his knuckles. The fingers inside you feel good, but it’s the attention to your swollen nub that controls every inch of your body. He works you with an expert touch, he must know your body well because each pass of his finger manages to combine perfect timing and pressure as your orgasm builds.

The world fades away. There’s no anger or sadness, only the two of you in this moment.

“Sam,” you pant, eyes locked on each other.

“Alpha,” he corrects you. “Call me Alpha, Omega.”

“Alpha,” you breathe, the title ending in a moan as his fingers twist deeper, thumb moving faster, sliding easily again and again.

A few more strokes and you cum around his knuckles, shoving your cunt toward his hand to try and take him deeper. Pleasure spills out in every direction, back arching, toes curling as the wash of satisfaction consumes you.

And yet you want more, it doesn’t feel like enough. Blinking up at him you reach for his trousers, but he pulls your hand away. Wet fingers curling around your wrist to keep you from getting to his massive erection straining through his pants

“You don’t want me?” you hiss.

“I do,” he nods. “But it’s not time. You need to complete the change first.”

“Why?” you protest, struggling against him once again.

“Because we’re going to do this the right way.” He kisses your forehead, a simple distraction as you feel him wrap the restraint around your wrist.

“Please, don’t tie me up,” you plead, yanking at the rope. “I’ll be good, I promise!”

“Don’t struggle.” He’s always crestfallen when he has to leave. He hates this part as much as you do. “You’ll hurt yourself. Just try to be patient. I’ll come back in the morning.”

“You always leave me.” You go limp, looking away from him, knowing full well it breaks his heart to do this. He’d stay with you day and night if other responsibilities didn’t call him from your bedside.

“I am sorry.” He brushes a finger at your hairline and then he’s gone.

“Hello?”

A timid voice wakes you from your dreams. You blink awake, the early morning sunlight streaming through the window.

“Y/N?” The voice calls again.

There’s someone at the chamber door.

“Yes,” you call out. “I'm here.”

You can hear her heartbeat before you see her. The thump, thump, thump echoing in your ears.

A woman slips inside, looking around. Her eyes bulge at the sight of you, apparently horrified at your appearance.

“My God,” she clutches her hands over her chest. “They have you tied up.”

While you have no memory of her, she does feel familiar and apparently doesn’t understand why you’ve been tied up. You’re not stupid, you’re aware that they have you tucked away like a dirty secret in the far tower of the castle.

Your senses are stronger this morning. You can practically feel the warmth coming off her skin and smell the milk and eggs on her breath from her breakfast.

And her heart, that wonderful, arousing sound beating faster and faster.

This could be your chance.

“Will you help me?” You look from her to the rope secured to the heavy bed frame. “I’m a prisoner.”

“I knew something was amiss, my lady. Forgive me for not finding you sooner.” She rushes to the bed, working at the ropes. “Once I discovered where you were kept, I had to sneak past the guards.”

“You’re here now,” you mutter, staring at her neck. You swear you can see the blood rushing under the surface of her skin. And that thump, thump, thump is loud enough that you’re surprised she can’t hear it too. “Please hurry!”

“I’m trying!” She finally manages to untie one arm and moves on to the next. “I was so worried about you, my lady.”

“You know me well?”

She stops what she’s doing to stare at you.

“I’m sorry,” you try to look apologetic while fixating at the pulse point at her neck. “I seem to have some holes in my memory.”

She looks as if she’s about to cry and takes your hand between hers. “I’m Golda. I came with you to Lebanon when you married the king. We’ve known each other our whole lives.”

“God bless you,” you grip her wrist, pulling her even closer. “My husband is keeping me here. He refuses to let me see my child.”

“I’d heard the rumors, but I never imagined this.” Golda throws herself at you, hugging you tight. The flowery smell of her skin wafts upward, filling your senses and you yank your other arm free from the rope, holding her close in return. “I thought perhaps he had killed you.”

“I’m alive,” you murmur into her hair, rubbing your nose over her neck. You arms squeeze around her, tighter and tighter.

“Please stop,” she squeaks and you realize how hard you're embracing her. She pulls back, gulping at the sight of your face. “What’s wrong with your eyes?”

“Nothing,” you feel the sudden urge to sink your teeth into her shoulder.

“Please let me go,” she tries to pull away but you have a grip on your arm. “You’re hurting me.

“She calmed down after I left?” Ellen walks beside Sam as they make their way toward your room.

“For the most part,” he looks forward, afraid that if she sees his face she’ll know about his little tryst with his hand up your skirt. He couldn’t help himself. He desired you before the change but now that you’re an Omega his self-restraint is failing. “She begs me not to tie her up. I can hardly stand it.”

“It’s for her own good,” Ellen assures him. “You remember what Dean was like when he got free? A holy terror. We can’t have her running the countryside, killing farmers and gutting townspeople.”

“I know.” Sam bristles at the thought of you nothing more than a savage animal. “When she pleads to see the child I-”

He stops, Ellen slows beside him, both of them looking at the open door to your bedchambers.

“Did the midwife check on her this morning?” he asks, afraid of the answer.

“No, I spoke with Martha this morning. She’s planning to come this afternoon.”

They both hesitate, Sam takes a breath before pulling the door open.

“Oh my God!” he yelps.

You’re in the middle of the bed on your hands and knees, bent over a dead Golda who’s chest has been cracked open. You look up, eyes burning orange. Your mouth and body are covered in her blood and what’s left of her raw heart is in your hands as you take another bite, staring at Sam in pure mania. You flash a smile, looking proudly from the body to him, and pulling the heart into your chest as if he might try to take it from you.

“What have you done…” he whispers, eyes fluttering closed.

“Alpha,” you grin, kneeing you way around Golda’s body and toward him. You tip your head from side to side, appraising him before extending your arm and offering him Golda’s half-eaten heart.

#alpha!sam x omega!reader #alpha!sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester smut

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