#Iron Curtain Trail

[kilometermacher]

Abenteuer Polen: Letzter Tag und Heimreise

[friedelio]

Eigentlich wollen wir ja nach Prag …

… aber gekommen sind wir nur bis Thüringen. Bodenfelde an der Weser bis Dorndorf an der Werra240 KilometerGefahren vom 10. bis zum 13. September Wir finden: Neben dem Mai ist der September ist doch eigentlich die schönste Reisezeit. Es ist nicht mehr so heiß, meist trocken und das Licht ist anheimelnd. Auch sind weniger Leute unterwegs und die Campingplätze nicht so voll. Traditionell haben wir…

[littlexdeaths]

i get off - e.m.

perv eddie munson x perv fem reader

you don’t know that i know, you watch me every night…

18+ ONLY MDNI

warnings: voyeurism, masturbation (f & m), eddie is lil peeping tom but reader loves it, they both steal each other’s shit, oral (f receiving), fingering, cum eating, choking, spanking, dirty talk, mean!dom eddie, unprotected piv sex, cream pie, squirting, they both are nasty freaks

a/n: this is another edit and repost from my old account. it’s one of my favorite fics so i had to move it over here. enjoy freaks xx. 😘

based on i get off by halestorm

word count: 3.8k

you’re sprawled out on your bed, fingers running through your drenched folds. clad in only an oversized iron maiden t-shirt and a pair of knee high socks, you’re everything he’s ever wanted. plucked directly out of one of his dirtiest fantasies.

you can feel his eyes on you, you always do.

not that he realizes that.

and while you’ve lived barely ten feet apart for your entire lives, eddie has never had the courage to make a move.

so he settles for this— watching you through his bedroom window.

fantasizing that the delicate fingers now dipping inside you were his. and the fist currently wrapped around his thick cock was smaller, softer. yours.

the first time he witnessed you like this it was a complete accident.

you had been pent up all day, and didn’t think to shut your bedroom curtains before slipping your hand inside your panties. the bedside lamp bathing your room in a muted yellow hue. eddie had been working on a new song, guitar perched on his lap.

he was frustrated with trying to string together this new melody, glancing up in utter annoyance. that is until his gaze drifted towards the window, his eyes widened and his cock stirred in his jeans.

you looked beautiful, you always did. however this was the most vulnerable state you could be in, and the fact that he got to witness it— made you all the more enchanting to him.

he’d be embarrassed to admit that watching you touch yourself made him cum in his jeans, completely untouched. and that first time you were none the wiser, not noticing the dark eyes that were trailing your figure. but once eddie had gotten a taste he couldn’t get enough.

eagerly waiting by his bedroom window to enjoy his new favorite nightly program… you.

you weren’t sure exactly how long he’d been doing it for, but the night you caught him in the act, it awoke something within you. while eddie made sure to keep his bedroom light off, the moonlight was not on his side that night.

it had filled his room in a soft white glow, highlighting his pale skin. his naked form perched on the edge of his unmade bed, stroking his shaft in tandem with each thrust of your fingers.

his moans are what gave him away, as your eyes were squeezed shut in pleasure. but he’d gotten a little too carried away, thinking about how pretty your pussy would look stuffed full with his cock.

the thin walls of the trailer doing nothing to conceal his sounds. when your eyes finally opened, you were met with the most glorious sight you’ve ever seen.

eddie fucking himself into his fist, his head tilted back as he spilled all over his ringed fingers. the image alone had your eyes rolling back, body shaking as your orgasm ripped through you. one of the most intense you’ve ever had, and from that night on you always kept your curtains open.

desperately chasing that euphoric feeling again.

while you didn’t always see him, you knew he was there. the feeling of his greedy eyes on you was enough to have you cumming harder than you ever have in your entire life. your whimpers were muffled but still rang through his ears as he’d make a mess all over his hand and chest.

different images of you— on your knees, on top of him, taking you from behind, or his favorite with his head buried between your thighs.

it was slowly driving him crazy, and he couldn’t seem to get enough of you. he needed more. he quickly found himself staring out his window any chance he could. gazing longingly as you floated around your bedroom.

he watched you change, get ready for the day, study with your college textbooks. your pencil resting in between your teeth. eddie knew it was wrong, that if you ever found out you would be revolted.

if he only knew it was the exact opposite, and how you couldn’t finish without feeling his eyes on you. but you also needed more, desperate to feel his weight on top of you. his mouth trailing over your skin, his cock stretching you out perfectly.

so you became bolder, going as far as to leave your bedroom window open. letting your moans drift through the night air, teasing him further.

and when you noticed some of your panties had gone missing it only heightened your desire for him. knowing he was in your room, touching your things… holding your panties up to his nose as he came all over himself.

grunts of your name escaped his pouted lips, and his left yours as you drenched your fingers. but it wasn’t enough.

you needed him.

fueled by your insatiable lust you found yourself gazing at him more and more. as he sat on his messy floor, playing guitar or working on a dnd campaign. focusing intently on his fingers, and imagining just how good they would feel inside you.

but your favorite was when he was fresh out of the shower. his dark curls were drenched, water dripping down his inked chest. the patch of hair that disappeared beneath his towel drove you absolutely mad.

so you took a play out of his own book, sneaking into his room while he was working at benny’s. or coming home late from a gig at the hideout, surrounding yourself in everything that was so distinctly eddie.

eddie honestly wasn’t concerned when a few of his shirts had gone missing. or a pair of his cum stained boxers, a guitar pick… as he lost things all the time. he simply chalked it up to his forgetful nature, either he misplaced them or lent them to someone.

that is until tonight, as he peered through your window for what felt like the millionth time. his heart was in his throat as he instantly recognized the iron maiden shirt adorning your frame as his.

the realization dawns on him that you knew exactly what he’d been doing this whole time… and instead of being disgusted or upset, you liked it. enough so that you began doing the same thing to him.

that epiphany made any reservations or fears he still had fade into nothingness. the male decided that he couldn’t sit back and only watch you anymore.

he had to have you.

the brunette rose to his feet, pulling a pair of sweatpants over his long legs before slipping out of his bedroom window. quickly dropping onto the ground as he walks the short distance to your adjoined trailer.

his large hands grip the bottom of the window sill, pushing it open the rest of the way before he’s hoisting himself through it. a small gasp leaves you as he tumbles inside and onto your bedroom floor.

eddie is quick to get up onto back on his feet, as you eagerly eye the obvious tent in his gray sweats. he licks his plump lips as he practically sizes you up. he stalks forward like a predator, slowly crawling onto your bed and between your spread legs.

the male grabs your wrist, coaxing your fingers out of your drenched cunt. raising them up to his mouth, slipping them between his lips with a deep groan. “such a dirty little girl, aren’t you?”

for once you’re speechless, his actions jumbling your already fuzzy thoughts. you never imagined he’d actually come through your window, like you’d been dreaming about for weeks.

“speak for yourself, munson…” your confidence suddenly comes rushing back, pushing your fingers deeper into his mouth. feeling your wetness pooling onto the bed sheets as he swirls his tongue around them.

“guess we’re both a little dirty, huh baby?” eddie chuckles as he removes your fingers from his mouth, now leaning over you.

letting yourself fall back against the pillow, his face mere inches from yours. this is the closest you’ve ever gotten to him, now noticing the light freckles dotted along the bridge of his nose. the dimple that indents his cheek as he smirks down at you, little things that you found utterly endearing.

his hands begin drifting down your sides, his smirk only widening as you shudder beneath him. “is that what does it for ya? you like being watched, sweetness?” he grips the fabric of his shirt, starting to push it up your torso.

you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him flush against you. “i get off on you…” you slowly trail your lips up his throat, sucking harsh bruises onto his pale skin. the male letting out a husky moan as you nip at his ear, “getting off on me.”

eddie curses under his breath before he’s pinning you down against the mattress, his lips crashing against yours. your fingers tangle in his wild curls, kissing him back just as forcefully. all the pent up sexual tension and desire now spills from both of you, as his hips rut into yours. you can feel his hard length pressing onto your thigh, causing you to moan into his mouth.

your impatience seems to get the better of you as you grip onto one of his wrists, guiding his large hand in between your thighs. a not so subtle way of telling him exactly what you wanted, the male nips at your lower lip before he’s leaning back onto his knees.

he spreads your thighs even wider, as his dark eyes zero in on the mess between them. his fingers dip between your folds, gathering your sticky nectar on the digits. swirling them around your swollen clit before moving lower.

the metalhead teases you as he circles the tip of his middle finger on your entrance. barely pushing it inside you before removing it, a wet squelch filling the room. “oh listen to her purr for me, baby… you want my fingers inside you?”

you nod frantically, lifting your hips up in an effort to get him closer to where you needed him. but he pulls them away immediately, causing you to whine from the loss. eddie grabs your cheeks in his hand, squishing them together as he meets your hooded gaze. “i asked you a question, sweet cheeks.”

he watches as your eyes glaze over more, the dominance he was exuding turning your brain to mush. “and i expect an answer, or is that pretty little head of yours too fucked out for me?” his tone is condescending, borderline rude but it only seems to fuel the fire in between your legs.

you let out a soft whimper, the male letting go of your cheeks to trail his sticky fingers down your jaw.

“need your fingers, eddie…” the male chuckles, wrapping his hand around your neck. hovering his face over yours, his thumb stroking the column of your throat.

“need them where, hm?”

you’re quickly becoming impatient, and he can tell from how your lips jut out into a pout. thighs closing in around his own, in an attempt to feel some kind of friction.

“come on now… don’t ya wanna be a good girl for me?” he can see the effect those words have on you, your pupils dilating and your breath hitching in your throat.

“put them inside me.”

while your tone is meant to be demanding, it comes out as more of a plea than anything else. your heart is racing in anticipation as his fingers trail down your stomach. cupping your cunt in the palm of his hand, “and what do good girls say?”

you now realize your mistake, the male raising a brow as he awaits your answer. “please touch me.” eddie is quick to reward you, plunging two fingers into your awaiting heat.

“see? now you’re learning,” another string of curses leaves his mouth as your walls tighten around his fingers and a high pitched moan falls from yours.

“shit sweetheart, you’re so fucking tight.” he curls the digits up, watching in awe as your back arches off the mattress.

“fuck i need to taste you,” he mumbles more to himself as he lays between your thighs. his tongue darting out, encircling your clit with an urgency you’ve never experienced with anyone else before.

the noises you’re making are music to his ears, and while he’s heard them before— you’ve never sounded quite so needy. pride blossoms in his chest knowing it was because of him, you needed him. he was making you feel this good.

your thighs begin to tremble as he increases the pressure of his tongue, pumping his fingers faster.

“m-more need more.” while eddie wanted to reprimand you for not using your manners, he’s been waiting to have you like this for far too long.

but he’d make sure you didn’t forget next time… if there was a next time. he hoped there would be.

he slips a third finger inside you, the long, thick digits reaching places you never realized existed until now.

and now that you knew what they felt like, your own would never suffice again.

“aww pretty thing, you gonna cum?” he chuckles mockingly as the sound vibrates against your core.

the feeling only aiding in bringing your release that much closer, as your eyes flutter shut. a harsh slap on your thigh has them flying back open, your eyes meeting his as he looks up at you from his position between them.

“eyes on me,” his tone is stern, commanding as his tongue returns to assaulting your swollen bud.

as you start to grind your hips up against his mouth, it pushes his fingers even deeper inside you. hitting that sweet spot that has you crying out a broken, “oh god, please.”

eddie hums against you, increasing the speed of his fingers. “i prefer master… but god has a nice ring to it.” if you weren’t on the brink of an orgasm you might have found that funny, not registering his soft laughter as he sucks harshly on your clit.

the sensation is what finally sends you over the edge, your thighs squeezing around his head and trapping him there.

not that he would ever dare complain.

once you settle back into the mattress is when he pulls away, crawling back up your body towards you. your excitement covers his chin in a light sheen, now tasting yourself as he kisses you with a bruising force.

you reach for the waistband of his sweats, tugging them down his legs. feeling his cock rubbing against the bare skin of your thigh, and you want nothing more than to feel it hard and heavy on your tongue.

“wanna taste you too, eds,” you whine as he trails his lips across your jaw, sucking onto your skin. as much as he would love to have you gagging on his cock, his impatience had reached its peak.

“next time, sweetness… need to be inside you.”

you clench around nothing at the thought of him filling you up. the promise of a next time making your heart flutter beneath your ribs.

eddie unwillingly untangles himself from you, now standing at the edge of the bed to remove his sweats. his cock stands at full attention as you sit up, eagerly crawling towards him. your mouth waters at the sight, finally able to admire him how you’ve been dying to for the last few weeks.

you wrap one of your hands around the base of his shaft, glancing up at him as you lick up the pre-cum that was smeared across his pink tip. the male grips a fistful of your hair in his hand, tugging you off his dick as a small whimper leaves you.

“hands and knees— now.” he nearly growls at you, releasing you as you continue to look up at him in a daze.

“don’t make me repeat myself, baby.”

and as much as you would love to test how far you could push his buttons, that would be saved for a later date. so you do as you’re told, crawling away from him now on your hands and knees.

feeling his eyes trailing over the plush skin of your ass, “take a picture, munson, it’ll last longer.”

what you don’t expect is to hear the snap of your polaroid camera, whipping your head around to see the shit eating grin he was sporting. setting the camera and picture down on your dresser once more, “just following orders, sweet cheeks.” he chuckles, crawling onto the bed behind you.

eddie lands a firm smack on your ass, his chest now draped across your back. his hot breath fanning over your neck as he leans forward to whisper in your ear, “face the mirror, you aren’t gonna wanna miss this, baby.”

your thighs clench together, now turning to face the full length mirror that stood across from your bed.

you glance at yourself briefly before your eyes trail upwards, now meeting his in the reflection. a cocky grin tugs at the corner of his mouth, his hands now roaming the full expanse of your ass.

feeling the tip of his cock brush against your core, pushing your hips back so you could feel more. eddie’s calloused hands grip you tightly, stopping any further movement on your part.

“don’t be fucking greedy, you’ll take what i give you.”

you squeak out a small apology, keeping your eyes focused on him as he rubs the tip of his cock through your folds. gasping once he slowly pushed himself into your awaiting heat, a strangled moan tumbling from his lips.

his eyes squeeze shut as he bottoms out, his balls flush against the curve of your ass. you feel incredibly full, the stretch so divine it makes your head spin.

“eddie, please.” you mewl, watching as his brown eyes meet yours.

desperate for him to do something— anything.

eddie’s rings dig into your hips, his eyes glancing down to watch as he slides his cock back out. groaning as you’ve already coated his length in your arousal, a sight he’d only ever seen in his dreams.

“gonna give you everything,” he grunts before slamming himself back inside, knocking the air out of your lungs as you fall forward onto the mattress.

you grip the edge of it for support as he continues to rock his hips into yours, this new angle allowing him to rub against your sweet spot perfectly. keeping your eyes locked on the mirror, the image of him behind you— thrusting into you will be seared in your memory forever.

the black ink swirling on his skin, the light sheen of sweat on his chest. the veins in his forearms that are much more noticeable as he grips you tighter. he looks more like a greek god than anyone had a right to.

your jaw is slack, mouth hanging open as you continue to watch him. the little ‘uh uh uhs’ that leave your lips mix with the sound of your skin slapping together. now filling the quiet space of your bedroom.

“taking me so well— this pussy was made for me.”

eddie moans, completely distracted by the way your pussy flutters around him. the creamy ring that’s formed around the base of his cock expanding with each thrust of his hips.

“look at me,” you whine, that signature smirk returning to his features as he meets your eyes in the mirror once more.

“aww poor little, baby,” he coos, slipping his hand between your thighs and landing a harsh slap on your already sensitive bud. “always need my eyes on you… don’t you?”

a string of curses slips past your lips as you nod your head. “need it,” you whimper as his calloused fingertips circle over your clit. “need you.”

your words seem to have quite the effect on him, a low growl leaving him as he fucks into you even harder.

“what do you need me to do, pretty girl? tell me.” it takes you a minute before you can answer him, the male having fucked any coherent thoughts from your head.

“n-need it inside.” is the best you can manage, but eddie understands all too well.

it’s what he had hoped you would say, “yeah, you want me to fuck you so full? ruin this pretty little pussy for anyone else?” your eyes roll back in your head, as the male wraps his other hand around your throat.

he handles you like a rag doll as he pulls you up, your back now flush against his sweaty chest. the action forces his cock even deeper inside you, brushing against your cervix. his hand that was wrapped around your throat is now cradling your jaw, guiding your gaze back to the mirror.

your half lidded eyes watch as he leans forward, his lips grazing the shell of your ear, “this pussy is mine now, got that, sweetness?”

it’s suddenly all too much, the rubber band in your middle finally snaps as your body trembles in his embrace. cries of his name and ‘yours yours yours’ tumbling from your mouth.

the brunette watches in amazement as you drench his thighs, your bed sheets— the pressure almost forcing him out completely.

the metalhead curses as he continues to bounce you on his cock, the wet squelching of your pussy finally sending him over the edge. grunting as he pumps you full of his cum, your body falling limp against his chest.

you’re both panting as you come down from your highs. his touch on your hips is much more gentle than before as he coaxes you onto your back.

you hum contently, eyes fluttering shut as exhaustion hits you. eddie cradles your face in his palms, pressing soft kisses to each of your eyelids before his touch suddenly disappears.

your eyes fly open in alarm, reaching out for him as he presses a kiss to your knuckles, “don’t worry… you aren’t rid of me just yet.”

eddie chuckles as he spreads your thighs apart, his dark eyes watching intently as his cum drips out of you. pooling onto the bed beneath you, making an even bigger mess of your sheets.

his head dips lower, inhaling as he gathers the mixture of both your arousal onto his awaiting tongue. moaning before diving in deeper, “shit, we taste good together.”

“too much,” you whimper, wiggling your hips away from his eager mouth due to the oversensitivity.

eddie presses a kiss to each of your thighs before he joins you once more, collapsing next to you with a boyish grin on his face. you reach out to trace the stubble along his jaw, your fingertips brushing over his plump lips.

you feel him release a shaky breath against your fingertips, the look he’s giving you makes your stomach do a little flip.

“so… is it too late to ask you out on a date?”

[fanaticsnail]

Dreaming of You

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 1,100+, 1,700+, 1,700+, 1,400+

Synopsis: They couldn't help it. You looked so heavenly in their dreams. The way they had you wrapped around their body as a marionette in their minds, dancing for them as they awoke to sticky blankets when they jolted upright. Their thoughts got the better of them, and they are wracked with guilt. Sir Crocodile, Buggy, Dracule Mihawk

Warnings: wet dreams, afab!reader, swearing, masturbation, dub con (Using your image to masturbate to), suggestive content, feelings, all individual 'x reader' drabbles, same reader!insert different outcome, chop-chop fruit shenanigans, angst, romance, smut, kissing, NSFW, 18+, MDNI.

Notes: Dreaming of You Masterlist Here, Please read the warnings. I am having a lot of fun with this series, but this one got away with me. They're only meant to be silly little drabbles between larger fics. Sorry for the lengthy read! Enjoy playing the part of a marine spy for Cross-Guild!

Tag list: @sordidmusings @nerium-lil @feral-artistry @since-im-already-here @writingmysanity @indydonuts @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @carrotsunshine @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @lostfirefly

Hips pressed against one another, huffing pants and gasps were collected in one another's lips and skin as he pinned your back against the wooden wall behind the burgundy curtains of the tent door. Legs collected over his hips, he held your left thigh in his right hand, his forearm caging you by slotting up between your right shoulder and the cool surface. 

Lusting and passionate, he drew intentional thrusts that were slow and deliberate enough to brush at your g-spot and mold your pussy to the contours of his thick cock. He slacked his jaw, his eyes swimming with emotion as he ground his pelvis against your clit with every heavy thrust. 

Your voice whimpered for him, stifling your mewls of pleasure by biting down into his shoulder and crying as he bullied his cock into your needy pussy. He groaned with you, rocking his cock in slow, languid thrusts up into your body. 

“Please,” you begged him, desperately clawing at his back and peppering his shoulders, neck and jaw with enthusiastic kisses, “We don't have long until the others come back.” He growled at your words, offering you a particularly mean thrust forward and a cruel bite against your neck. 

“A-Aah!” you gasped in shock, biting your lip and digging your nails into his shoulders harder. He sheathed his entire length greedily into you, his shaft twitching in bliss the moment he felt his blunt tip brush your cervix. His hips stapled yours against the wall he was bullying you against. 

“I don't care if they hear,” he barked against your neck, tracing his tongue over the bruise forming from his bite, “I don't care if they see.” He pulled back his hips only slightly before immediately propelling himself forward and forging his body against yours like soldering iron to a hot blade. 

“Let them hear,” he admitted, huffing against your neck as he rocked his hips into yours, removing his hand from hooking around your thigh to grip your neck and bring your gaze to meet his. “Let them see.” He plastered your parted lips with his own, desperate with tongue and teeth as he released your neck to hold your thigh once more. 

“I want them to hear,” he groaned into your mouth, rolling your cheek with his chin and kissing down your jaw, “I want them to see.” He trailed his needy kisses down your neck as he doubled his effort and sped up his rhythmic thrusting. 

As your core sucked him in each time he retracted, his mind was lost to him and was filled with primal desire. He needed them to hear your sweet moans and whimpers. He needed them to see who was making you feel this good. He needed you to know who you belonged to. 

“Say you're mine,” he growled, his lips mouthing up your neck, over your jaw and to your cheeks, “Say it.” He sped up faster, his cock hammering into you with every cruel, frenzied thrust. His hair was sticking to the dewy sheen of sweat against his forehead and neck, his brows furrowed as he glared into your eyes with an intensity he had never felt in life prior. 

“Say you're mine,” he barked at you, commanding you to fulfill his desires as his cock twitched within you. Your walls beckoned him closer, the thump of your ecstasy wringing his cock as he pistoned it within you had him desperately whimper and whine your name. 

“P-Please say you're mine,” he implored you in desperation, his fingers clutching your thigh in a heaping fistful as he continued to chase your mutual highs, “Tell me. Tell me your mine, and I'll be your slave.” He begged, kissing your lips and panting through his thrusts, “I'll be yours. Is that what you want?”

He chased your mutual high faster, rocking and pummeling into you with his heels digging into the floor. His belt buckle jingled atop his pants pooling at his ankles, your own pants discarded beneath you long ago. Leaning down, he took your peaked nipple into his mouth and rolled it over with his tongue.

A string of saliva attached from his lips to the puckered bud when he pulled away, huffing and panting at the lustful display of your breathing hitching. Body bouncing in sultry ripples with each thrust, he groaned as he felt his abdomen tighten with a familiar call of his imminent release. 

“Yes,” you whispered his name suddenly, clutching his neck and carding your hands through his hair, “Yes, I want that. I want you-...” You whined his name as he pistoned his length deep within you, “Please, I'm yours. Only yours.” 

He growled his pleasure at hearing your words into your lips, tongue lapping with yours and his hair brushing against your forehead. You hastily tugged him away from your lips by gripping the scruff of his neck and pulling hard. 

“W-What? Why are you-?” He began, his words halted by the intensity of your gaze. Your lips were parted, face flushed from a higher rise of hazy temperature, and skin forming lustful bruises and mapping his treasure with his marking kisses. 

“Make me yours,” you gasped at him, panting as your lust eclipsed your eyes, “Cum in me. I want it. Need it.” His eyes widened, and his jaw fell slack as his hips staggered their vicious thrusting deep inside you. 

“Fuck, I-I’m gonna-...” His abdomen tightened further, his eyes glowing black with luminescent lust as his seed spilled inside you with hot spurts, “I'm cumming-... hhah-... I-I’m cumming…f-f-fuck-...” Rope after rope of translucent cum released within your walls, the rhythm of your own ecstasy milking him with squeezing grasps on his throbbing cock. 

You called his name, throwing your head back as he trailed his eyes over your skin with adoration within his bliss. He couldn't get enough, reaching forward to collect your lips beneath his in a scorching mess of lips, tongue and teeth. With a desperate kiss to mold him against you completely, he forged an unspoken covenant to ensure you knew you were his and he was yours. 

Opening his eyes, the image of your blissed out afterglow faded from his vision. All that he was met with was the ornate ceiling in his bedroom, his cock twitching through the final waves of untouched pleasure. 

“No,” he growled, removing his duvet with his right hand and glancing at the lustful dance his swollen cock twitched with. A last spurt of cum spilled from the glossy slit and he immediately thrust the ruined blanket on top of his stomach to shield it from his sight. 

“Fuck.”

Sir Crocodile 

He balled his right fist, slamming it into the mattress beside his hip with a rumbling growl in his chest. Inhaling deeply, holding it for a few seconds, and exhaling slowly had him assess all that occurred to him with his night vision moments ago.

“Please say you’re mine. Say you’re mine and I’ll be your slave,” his own voice echoed in his mind, “I’ll fall to my knees and worship you in all ways. I’ll treat you like the deity I know you to be, showering you in praise and praying at your altar. Please.”

“I’m yours,” you whispered with half-hooded lessons, “I’ll only ever be yours, Sir Crocodile. Only yours.” He snapped his eyes awake, clenching his jaw impossibly tight and drawing his brows down in fury.

“I begged?” he snarled, reaching for a cigar and his flint-lock lighter, “I begged to claim you as mine?” He clicked his tongue before biting down on his cigar, lighting the end with a small flame and sucking in a sour lungful of smoke, “Utterly ridiculous.” 

Pulling the duvet away from his lap, he growled at the sticky ooze pooling at his abdomen before squaring his shoulders and walking to the adjoining ensuite in his master bedroom. The Cross-Guild tent did not have many luxuries, but he refused to go without simple pleasures while working with the disgusting clown. 

A bath was one such pleasure Sir Crocodile would not live without.

Running the water, he dropped each foot into the tub and sighed out at the contact of the freshwater rising to his thighs. The heat and steam eradicated his shame from his abdomen without much effort, melting it down and washing it away beneath the water. Groaning, he looked to his absent left hand and gazed down at the scarred stump. 

“We don’t have long until the others come back,” he heard your voice echo within his mind, drawing himself back to the dream and causing him to grimace in annoyance. He circled his palm and fingertips over his left forearm and molded the flesh within a firm grip. 

The pains on his phantom limb had returned, his mind racing and attempting to draw up distractions by any means necessary. Your midnight illusion was simply the latest commodity to preoccupy his attention with lustful desires, is how he rationalized such a shameful intrusion. 

He was a fourty-six year old man, not some prepubescent teenager so consumed with the need to fuck that their minds dreamed it into an untouched and sticky reality. The pain intensified, his teeth clamping in a rough hiss as the illusionary throb of his hand caused him to shake his arm from his grip. 

This was going to be a long and tiring day.

At the meeting, he was being short and harsh with anyone and everyone to cause him displeasure. His teeth snapped barks, his chest rumbling his fury and his hair was beginning to become disheveled. The clown was aggravating, and the swordsman’s silence was not as refreshing as it was under usual circumstances.  

His right hand only ever left his left forearm for the chance to draw up a cigar, yet the sour smoke did very little to soothe his pain, and his hand only seemed to make the intensity of the throbbing worse. As Mihawk and Buggy stood to leave the room, he remained behind and he finally hissed out a lengthy growl behind his clenched teeth at the pain. 

There was not a sound in the room, a slight ringing in his ears as the pain reached his head and dizzied his mind. Eyes scrunched tightly shut, he had no context for a gentle touch on his hand over his forearm until he snapped his purple eyes up to meet with yours. 

“Allow me, Sir Crocodile,” your smile illuminated your face, gently suggesting with your touch to remove his right hand from his left forearm. He attempted to fight the urge to bark at you, snap at you and give in to his desire to have you touch him. 

“And just what do you think you’re doing, Marine?” he growled, eyes narrowing and lips curling up into a deep snarl, “Who gave you the right to touch me-?”

“Oh, shut up. You've been horrendous today and I refuse to have this continue to be cause for your disgusting attitude,” you bit back, your own lips pulling back to reveal your snarl, “Let go of your arm and let me help you, damn it.” He immediately dropped his arm in favor of gripping your neck in a tight choke, bringing your face closer to his. 

“You dare to give me orders, Marine?” he roared at you, your teeth gritting back the pain and glaring into his eyes. “I was a former warlord, little spy. Now I hunt and kill your kind for a living.” As Sir Crocodile monologued, he remained ignorant of your hands working to find the clamps of his prosthetic hook and releasing the golden cover from his arm. 

“And now you touch me, spy? Offering me what, exactly?” he continued monologuing as you removed his hook and rolled up his embroidered sleeve. The pain in his forearm was so intense he could barely feel any relief of tension come from releasing his limb from the confines of his hook. “How are you going to help-... A-ah!” He gasped, his brows tugging up in the center of his forehead as he glared at you. 

Immediately releasing your neck, he looked down at his bare forearm within both of your hands and bit back a whimper. In his own grip, his scarred forearm felt hot and throbbing beneath his cooler temperature. In your warmer hands, his arm felt encased in an encumbering embrace like hot stones sizzling on a damp surface. 

Your thumbs traced the contours of his muscles, dipping between his bones and rolling his muscle between your fingers. The heel of your palm added a tight pressure to his ache, his breath coming out in rough pants the longer you held him in a tight grip. His eyes softened, his scowl loosening from anger to pain. 

Hissing and panting, an uncharacteristic whimper fell from his lips as you silently focussed on working the flesh within your skilled grip. Circling your thumbs and contracting your hands, you instructed him with calming and soothing words. 

“Deep breaths now,” you whispered in a slow and intentional hum, “In when I squeeze, and out when I release.” He nodded his head, feeling the soft roll of your hands over his skin. As you tightened his grip, his chest expanded with a lengthy inhale and exhaled as you withdrew. 

Repeating that motion, he felt the tension in his mind begin to release him from his illusions. Focussing on your movements as your voice soothed him with each direction, he didn’t expect his emotions to overcome him at such kindness. Your hard contractions over his arm eased up, your fingertips tracing the scars on the vacant nub and causing his flesh to tingle beneath it. 

“Better, sir?” halting your soft motions, you gently placed your hand on his forearm and held faint pressure over his skin. Reopening his eyes, he felt tangible relief wash its way over his face. Gazing into your eyes, you held nothing but empathy and gentleness in your twin orbs. He leaned down over your face, bringing contact between your two foreheads and offering you the slightest of smiles. 

“Why would you do that?” he whispered in an uncharacteristic soft voice, “Touch me like that? Offer me such kindness after all that’s occurred between us?” He raised his right hand and cupped the back of your head in a firm grip to hold you against him. 

“You didn’t kill me the moment I stepped into the red tent,” you smiled warmly at him, “Nor did you kill me any day thereafter.” Giving his arm another gentle squeeze, you glanced down at his missing limb and offered him a melancholy smile. He growled at your confession, searching your eyes for a further explanation. You huffed out a sigh, smiling further with a soft twitch up your cheeks. 

“I used to do this for my friend back at the marine base,” you offered him a glimpse at your history with your explanation, “Did it all the way up until the day she died. Said something about my hands feeling warm against her skin, different to her own temperature. Soothing.”

He chuckled at that, nodding against your head and closing his eyes shut in momentary bliss. That was why you felt so good on his skin, your skilled motions causing him aid and relief. You have done this before, and were offering it freely to him. 

“Oh?” he asked, his smile tugging at his cheeks and elevating the scar over his face, “And did she manage to say what she did without you by her side to aid her?” You laughed at him, breaking away your contact from his forehead and scrunching up your nose playfully. 

“I was always by her side, sir,” you confessed to him, nodding as you spoke, “She and I were inseparable, even in cabin quarters.” He nodded in understanding, looking down to his limb and back up to your eyes. 

“Well, if that’s the only solution for the pain I’m encountering,” he uttered, his lips curling into a wide smirk, “I would see you gather your personal effects and move into my cabin beside the tent, immediately.” You laughed at him, rising from his side and beginning to leave the meeting room. 

“I hardly think that would be appropriate. Don’t you agree, sir?” you question him, collecting your bag from the circular table in the center of the room. As you moved to leave the tent, a strong forearm snaked around your chest and grasped your shoulder, tugging you firmly into a broad chest. 

“Wasn’t a suggestion, Marine,” he whispered into your ear, the smooth rumble of his voice shooting tingles up your spine and causing you to gasp. “You’re mine now. Hear me?” He grazed his lips over your cheek and down your jaw in a slow motion. 

“Mine.”

Buggy

“Oh, what the fuck?” his nasally voice huffed, his makeup free face flushing with a hefty sprinkle of dark blush, “You’re fucking kidding me.” He reached down to his cock and fisted it in a pistoning motion. 

“Had to be you, didn't it?” he cursed your name in a pouty snarl, “The fucking spy.” He swirled his cock in his palm, growling at it before he simply detached it with his balls and brought it up to his face. He frowned in a deep scowl, drawing up his heckles as he began chastising his cock. 

“C’mon, man! How could you do this to me?” He growled at his cherry-red knob, choking it in his fist, “You think this is fucking funny? You think I want to see ‘em like this?” He drew up his other hand and slapped his knob, his pelvis wincing in response. 

“Out of bounds,” he berated his cock, “The spy is out of bounds. You know the spy is out of bounds.” He pinched his knob, choking it and only making his pleasure heighten. “N-Nnngh-... Not for thinking about, not for trying to fuck.” 

He whimpered, his priorly ruined orgasm still gluing his duvet to his stomach. He growled, hocking a wad of spit behind his lips. He spat on his cock in an attempt to degrade himself further, only leading to lubricating his ministrations and causing him to throw his cerulean colored hair back into his plush pillows in bliss. 

“Hhah-... The spy is not for you, you fucking idiot,” he gulped his confirmation, his cock thrusting itself in his fist beside his head as he frowned at it, “Think about something else,” he closed his eyes, meeting the thrusts of his cock with his hand as he tried to think about anyone else he could sheathe himself in. 

“Buggy, I-I’m gonna c-cum-,” he heard your voice whimper at him, his cock twitching in his hand beside his face, “Buggy, please can I cum?” He shook his head, attempting to picture anything else. Faceless breasts bouncing, ripples of an ass jiggling, parted lips panting and huffing with eyes scrunched shut-... Your voice calling his name with adoration pouring from your lips like honey. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted, shaking his head and attempting to go back to the earlier images. He only pictured your hair, your skin, your perfume, and your lips behind his eyes. Those lips used to spell secrets, split in a perfect ‘O’ as he pictured you slicking his cock up in your needy cunt with your erupting ecstacy milking him of his heaping load. 

“Fuck! No, no, no, no, n-oooh!” He threw his cock away from his face to not shoot himself in the eye with his release. It spattered the wall in a secondary wave of sticky cum like a grenade exploding on impact. “Nnnngh-... F-Fuck. Fu-uck-... C-cumming-.” His abdomen contracted as he rode the remaining waves of his orgasm untouched and unstimulated. 

Ropes of guilt shot out of his small slit and coated the wall and floor in a sticky pile of pearlescent cum. He groaned your name, huffing and panting as his hips bucked up in an attempt to stimulate his detached cock. 

“N-... No…” he whimpered, bringing his palm up to his face and clapping it over his lips. “Not the spy. I can't-... I can't have the damn spy. They're a bloody marine, you fucking idiot,” he degraded himself further, rising from his bed and wiping his abdomen of the solidifying globs of sticky cum with his duvet. 

He reached his cock, staring at it as it looked like a pathetic, slobbering drunk as it lay in a pool of its own drool. He clicked his tongue at it, picking it up and dusting it off before reattaching it to his pelvis. Readjusting his balls, he found his red jumpsuit and messily thrust it over his body in one swell motion. Instead of throwing his arms through the sleeves, he tied the material around his waist and offered to remain shirtless. 

“Not the spy,” he whispered to himself as he exited his ornate living quarters at the Cross-Guild base. Making his way to the kitchen, he was halted by a soft hum reverberating around the room. 

A familiar somber tune painted the air with its melody, his eyes shutting and the corner of his mouth ticking up as he listened to the lyrics. Stepping into the room, he attempted to mask his nerves with his signature mischief written on his face. 

As he drew his eyes over your features, your back facing away and staring out the window by the sink, he couldn't help but have the mask of protection slip away. Your lips whispered the lyrics, your heart carried the tune. You were not in your marine uniform, nor were you adorning the attire Sir Crocodile purchased for your protection. 

You were dressed in simple, gray-coloured slacks that hung loosely around your hips. The top you were wearing was a cropped t-shirt with his Jolly Roger printed on the back. His lips parted in shock as he drank you in, listening to your soft singing and closing his eyes to experience it fully. 

Before he could manage to say a word to reveal his presence, your hums ceased and your voice lowly uttered your apologies. 

“Sorry, Captain Buggy,” you bow your head to him in greeting, “I was not assuming the three of you to be awake so early. If I bothered you with my noise, I apologize.”

“N-No bother,” he huffed your name and hastily gave his reply to you with a soft blush, “I-... I haven't heard that song since the old days. Way back when-... When Roger…” He trailed off, looking at a point just beyond your hips and against the sink beside you. 

“I love the old shanties,” you chased his gaze with your own, angling your chin down and attempting to pry his eyes up to meet yours, “They're either about drinking, fucking, or grieving.” Buggy met your gaze, grinning up at you with his teal eyes beaming. 

“Ah, two of my favorite pastimes,” he added his commentary, leaning in closer and a cheeky smile pulling at his cheeks, “I’m not one for fucking.” He shot you a wink, prompting you to laugh at his joke. Your laugh was music, each soft teeter was as radiant as a lilt from heavenly minstrels. After teetering off your laugh, he offered you a soft smile with his eyes wide and curious. 

“Would you mind…?” Buggy trailed off again, nervously clutching the back of his neck and cringing through his smile, “...Could you perhaps tell me why you decided to join us, again?” He released his hand from his neck and darted his eyes between yours. 

After taking a moment to collect your breath and mull over what it was he asked of you, shrugged and offered him a simple answer. 

“The Berry is good, and it’s mutually beneficial,” you nod at him, smiling with your answer, “You were the one who offered me a choice, remember?” Crossing your arms, you leaned your hips back on the sink and glared at him, “It was either: spy for the marines as a triple agent for your Cross-Guild with a livable wage, or have Crocodile or Mihawk take my head. I chose you, Captain.” 

As Buggy was reminded of his prior actions and offered you a sheepish smile in response. Stepping forward, he reached for your forearms and waited for you to flinch away or chastise him for such a soft gesture. In the wake of such a softness, he was pleasantly surprised when he felt your fingers interlace with his own and hold them beside him.

“You know, ‘m sorry ‘bout that,” he mumbled, looking to his toes and pouting his unpainted lips, “Didn’t mean t’ have it sound so bad.” You smiled in response, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze and angling your chin down to look at his uncovered fingers. 

“You know, you’re actually quite handsome,” you confessed in a breathy whisper, “The infamous Captain Buggy D Clown, genius jester, king of fools, and calamity of chaos.” You named his titles with a soft smile, looking up into his rainforest-colored eyes with such gentleness. 

“You-... You think I’m handsome?” He asked you, your soft laughter prompted his own to slip freely into the air. You unplaced your right hand from his left and cupped his cheek within your palm, running your fingers through his hair. 

“You’re usually dressed in makeup, with your long hair tucked under your hat,” you collected a strand between your fingers and rolled your thumb over the lengthy blue locks, “And, you usually don’t have this much skin revealed.” Looking down at his chest: his messy blue hair trailed down his chest, tapered off at his stomach, and picked up again like a cerulean trail leading to the assumed treasure beneath his red jumpsuit. 

“I’m not used to seeing this much of you, Captain,” you muffled, drawing your gaze back up to his with a rapidly broadening smile, “And I’m not mad about it.” Your eyes creased at the corners as you offered him a toothy grin in response to his vibrant blush.

The hue of his cheeks rivaled that of his nose and jumpsuit, his eyes almost weeping from the rapidly rising blood pooling in his face. His Adams apple bobbed at the compliment, gulping back a dry pit in his throat and swallowing it. 

“Y-You know,” he stuttered, chuckling to cover his nerves and squeezing your remaining hand in his in two short motions, “I… I take back my earlier sentiment, uh-... If you’re interested?” He continued stuttering and choking on his words as he clumsily cartwheeled around his intentions.

“Oh?” you smirked at him, raking your fingers through his hair and darting your eyes between his, “And what was your earlier sentiment again, Captain?” You trailed your fingers down to the end of his lengthy locks. 

He gulped his terror and humbled himself by offering you a short, huffed laugh. After taking a moment, his eyes twinkled in mischievous hope as he rejoined your eyes in a smiling gaze. 

“I am one for fucking…”

Mihawk

Amber eyes stared in horror at the ceiling, wide and unblinking as he replayed the final moments over and over again in his mind. He drew his right hand down to grasp around the steel girth of his deflating cock and wield it in his firm grip. 

“I want that. I want you, lord Mihawk,” You whined his name as he pistoned his length deep within you in his mind's eye, “Please, I'm yours. Only yours.” His breath hitched in his throat, his eyes twitching but remaining staring vacantly at the ceiling. Thumbing over the prior release, he hissed in agitation the moment his fingers collected his viscous eruption. 

“How fatuous,” he snarled, raising his duvet once more from his waist, “So puerile.” His face remained vacant, his eyes holding only a touch more agitation than his usual persona as he walked to his ensuite shower. Turning the taps, he didn’t wait to feel the rise in water temperature. 

Stepping into the freezing water, he made no reaction as the icy liquid pelted at his skin; not even blinking to dampen his rapidly drying eyes. The water began to elevate in temperature as he released his cock from the grip. Gathering his sandalwood soap bar in his hands, he began lathering himself in foamy suds and washing over his body with his shock and shame still evident on his features.

The only time he closed his amber eyes was when he washed over his face, scrubbing at his whiskered chin and massaging his cheekbones. As soon as his eyes closed, he only saw your face contorted in pleasure, your ethereal moans freely haunting him in his ears. Shaking his head beneath the water, he only saw your face and imagined your hands clawing at his back beneath the water. 

Horror and shock eclipsed his eyes upon reopening, his eyes remaining that way as he concluded his shower, dried himself off, applied his cologne and skin care products, and dressed himself in his pants and greatcoat. His fingers stuttered over the lacing on his outer greatcoat, his lengthy necklace almost choking him as he placed it over his neck.

Almost stumbling into the dining space, he searched in his mind for a reason something so juvenile could occur for someone of his age, standing, and stature. He had gone for so long without taking a lover, he barely felt any lusting urges overcome him anymore. It didn’t suit his routine, his monotony, or his lifestyle as a former warlord. 

His apathetic and bored stature coming from a place of loneliness in his sovereignty as World's Greatest Swordsman. His achievements were already so vast, and he had nobody to share them with - nor a desire to begin a courtship with someone akin to his title. He had no time to take a lover, no time to indulge in whoring as it took away from his duties tending his garden in Kuraigana, and his bounty collecting as Marine-Hunter for Cross-Guild. 

So, why did his mind replay your pleasure over and over again in a loop of falsified memory? The marine spy, the confidant to cross-guild, the whispering oathbreaker; all the titles he sought to bestow you with. His hands reached for the bottle in front of him, clasping the green glass in his hands and uncorking the waxy tip. Pouring the rouge liquid into a crystalline glass, he felt a presence to the side of him.

“Could you spare a glass for me, my lord?” your soft susurration drew his attention back to the present, prompting his eyes to flicker to you. He witnessed your soft smile, your gaze assessing his face and shoulders.

Wordlessly, he reached for another glass and began readying it for you. The dry liquid coated the glass, a soft drop spilling from the rim and down the stem which caused you to knit your brows in concern. 

“Everything okay, my lord?” you asked, reaching for a napkin and beginning to clean up the mess, “You seem out of sorts this morning. Berry for your thoughts?” You dabbed at the table with the wafer-thin paper and tidied up his spill without a second thought. His eyes followed your motions, almost viewing the dabs in slow motion the longer your hands lingered near him. 

His silence seemed to perplex you further, turning your shoulders and leaning your hips back against the marble counter and staring up into his unblinking eyes in response. His shaking hands reached for his wineglass and drew it up to his lips. His mustache dipped into the liquid, messily staining his upper lip with the tart tannins. 

Gazing at his shoulders, you noticed a loop of his shoulder straps seeming to bubble within the corseted lacings, your hands absentmindedly straightening the bonds without much thought. Mihawk choked on his liquid the moment your hands brushed against his shoulders. 

Feeling the warmth float from your fingertips to the exposed skin beneath the weighty jacket, his eyes widened briefly and his pupils narrowed in an accusatory glare. Huffing a nervous laugh as his soft choke and shaking your head, you reached behind you to the pile of napkins and began to raise it to his face and lightly pat at his stained skin. 

Reactionary, he immediately placed his glass down behind you with his right hand, his left clapped around your invasive wrist in a circled vice-grip. Your breath caught in your throat, darting your eyes around his face with your eyes wide and panicked. He immediately drew his face forward and captured your lips beneath his without restraint. He hummed into your lips, raising his right hand and carding his fingers through your hair to deepen the passion.

Lips, tongue, and teeth pulled and tugged at your mouth from the swordsman, his gentle moans and sharp breaths depicting his wanton need to join himself with you immediately. He was pent up for so long, restrained for so long, and his body betrayed him in a shameful display in his dreams as proxy to such desire. If his overnight visit from you as his midnight muse spoke for anything, it was that his needs were now becoming more insistent, prominent, and desperate to be satiated. 

And you were who he wanted to aid him in such a task. 

Your hands raised defensively beside you, your eyes were wide and staring at his furrowed brow and tightly clamped eyes. He continued pressing heated and passionate kisses against your lips with gusto. Not giving you time to adjust or react, he anchored himself between your legs and pinned you against the marble dining station. Lips trailing to your cheek and down your neck, he bit, nipped and sucked at your revealed skin. 

His hands looped around your neck and shoulders, drawing you against him with an incessant need to depict to you his desires with his unyielding grip. You gasped as his lips traced up your skin and returned to your lips, your hands dropping to brace yourself beside you on the marble surface. 

Pulling his lips away, he held your face stationary by palming at the scruff of your neck and holding your attention with his honey-colored eyes. His predatory gaze narrowed in on you as his bruise-kissed lips ticked up in his signature smirk. 

“There,” he snarled at you in soft agitation, before releasing your neck. He collected his wineglass and green bottle from behind you, keeping his face in close proximity. His smirk drew up further as he turned to walk away from you. 

Calling over his shoulder, he snickered his taunting remark at you before leaving through the door, “Now I can occupy your thoughts the same way you've been tormenting me in mine.” 

You stood there stunned, frozen in place as your lips still tingled with the feeling of his against yours. The silky scrape of his neatly cropped beard tickling your cheeks, the way his tongue brushed with yours, and the animalistic desire to consume you with his lust had your soul ignited. 

Turning to the marble bench, you claimed your wineglass and raised it to your lips, immediately gulping back the tart liquid in a heaping swig. Placing the glass in the sink, you stared at the door Mihawk just left through, your thoughts spiraling and sifting through all the possible scenarios of what his words meant, and what the kiss means for you now. 

Only Mihawk knew what he intended with the kiss, and after the morning meeting, he was going to give into his desires further and offer you a place in his bed to have his dreams become reality. 

[sophie-looks-at-stuff]

Hi love! I hope you are doing well ☺️

If possible could I request a Aemond X reader? Maybe something where he takes notice of a hobby reader likes and surprises them with something related to it?

Piece de Resistance

Pairing: Aemond x Wife Reader

Summary: Aemond stumbles upon your love for the arts, painting, drawing, sketching, and the like. <3

Warnings: none I don't think, Aemond being a cute and supportive husband. a good moment of domesticity :)

AN: Hello! I absolutely love this request! I hope I did it justice haha. Thank you so much for submitting it! The picture is from Pinterest! It's St Augustine by Philippe de Champaigne.

It wasn’t often you got a moment to yourself nowadays. With your husband acting as Prince Regent in his brother’s absence, you and he both were kept rather busy. Him with the Small Council and issues of the realm, you with the petty social gossipings and happenings of the Court. So rare moments of peace and quiet like this were highly coveted.

Your marital chambers echoed with emptiness as you entered and looked around. The curtains you had chosen fluttered in the breeze. Aemond had not wanted them, but ultimately he conceded, never being able to say no to you. 

He must be in a Small Council meeting, you thought. Or perhaps training with Ser Criston, letting off some steam. Your husband seemed to have an ever-constant knot of stress in his shoulders and neck. You’d tried to massage it out many a time, but it never seemed to budge, or it ended in a much different sort of activity –

Under your armoire, lay a dusty, maroon-red box. You bent down, moving to pull it out of its little hiding spot. You had snuck it under there after you had moved into Aemond’s chambers. The day after your wedding. Aemond had insisted that you move to his quarters as soon as possible. He didn’t like being separated from you more than necessary. If he could, he would have you seated on his lap in Small Council meetings or even when he sat on the Iron Throne. But alas, that was a touch too far, and people would talk. As they always do –

Your husband was kind and dotting, if not overprotective and possessive of you. You had known one another since you were children. Your house and family coming to visit the Court, your mother and the dowager Queen had been friends since their youth. They had hoped that you and Aemond would get along well, and you did, famously so. When he had lost his eye, you had come to the Red Keep, to offer him comfort and company. You had never left after that. 

Your fingertips graze over the top of the box, as you rest it on top of your bed sheets. Leaving an empty trail in their wake. The lock lay rusted and golden on the front, pulling a small key from the pocket of your skirt, you unlock it. A small, soft resounding click bounced off the walls. As you gingerly opened the lid, the stale smell of linseed oil filled your nostrils. Small metal tubes of colorful paint lay untouched in the box. Clean bristles and dirty brush handles scattered about, small rolls of blank canvas. All of which lay, unmoved, unbothered, from the last time you had used them. 

When you were little, you had complained to your mother once about the bore of your lessons. For your tenth name day, she had brought in a painter from Highgarden to tutor you. He had taught you how to mix colors and paint the prettiest flowers. As you grew older, he taught you more complicated things, like ladies in bushy skirts, and golden dragons in the sky. An odd prophecy of your future.

Taking some basic colors, red, blue, yellow, and white, some brushes, and a small roll of canvas, you set up shop at your dressing table. For the time being, altering it into a makeshift desk. Deciding to paint what you knew best, you began to sketch out a dragon among roses, with some charcoal that you had borrowed from Aemond.

He wouldn’t miss it, you thought. He had a small goblet full of charcoal and quills, hiding amongst the piles of books and scrolls on the table. Which he used to plot his war games, or occasionally take dinner with you. When you both grew tired of his family and their bickering. 

The dragon began to take form on the canvas, it looked slightly like Vhagar, large, old, and wrinkly. Her age showing in her face and eyes. Around her, you drew roses, peonies, daffodils, lavender, a great colorful bouquet. Once you had begun mixing the paints, on a makeshift pallet made of spare parchment paper. The other sounds of the world seemed to fade away, the monotony of the act being therapeutic. A much-desired mindless activity in the middle of the war you all found yourself in. You would never voice this to anyone, but it was silly to you. The hubris and hypocrisy of your husband's family was vast and great, and deadly at the worst. The blood of the dragon ran thick and hot, volatile and dangerous. 

You had become so absorbed in your work that you hadn’t heard the door open, the faint call of your name. Lost on the wind perhaps. Aemond stood, leaning a shoulder against the door frame, a small smile playing at his lips, watching you, intently. He knew and had seen you become absorbed like this in a book or some piece of writing, but he had never seen you do this before. Paint.

The colorful oils stain your fingertips and wedge themselves beneath your nails. The same stale smell of the linseed oil met his nostrils.

 An odd sort of smell, he thought. He crept a bit closer, as close as possible not yet wanting you to know he was there. He silently rested his sword on the bed, the sheets muffling any noise it may have made. You were humming softly to yourself. An old hymn your mother used to sing to you. 

As he crept closer, Aemond could make out the picture you were working on. The colors came to life before his eyes, the eyes of his dragon staring back at him. 

“Gevie (beautiful)” He muttered, under his breath.

Startled, you jumped a bit, smudging one of the petals on the peony you were working on. “Shit” you breathed out.

“Aemond, Husband, I had not heard you come in!” You stand, turning to face him, stepping in front of your work as if to hide it.

Aemond chuckled a bit, noticing the pink tinge to your cheeks, embarrassed at being caught. He lifted an eyebrow, and gestured to the painting behind you, 

“May I see it?” He asked, his gaze meeting your own. After a slight pause, you stepped aside. Aemond walked past you, placing a loving hand on your waist, holding you to him slightly. Aemond has developed a habit of always having a hand on you, as if scared you were going to be snatched away, stolen from him. 

Again, he muttered a “Gevie” under his breath. He turned to look at you, your face twisted in anticipation of what he may think. You had hidden the hobby from him not out of malice, but rather out of embarrassment. Other ladies and some lords of the court had mentioned that painting was a poor man's job and that someone of “noble blood” needn’t concern themselves with such silly things. You had been worried that he would have agreed with them, not liking it. 

“I didn’t know you painted. This is lovely,” The hand on your waist moved to tuck a stray tendril of hair behind your ear, it had fallen loose from your braids. 

“I was afraid you would disapprove –” 

“Why on earth would I disapprove my love? This is beautiful, you have a talent”. Your cheeks turned impossibly more pink at his praise and approval. 

“Actually, I would like it very much if you were to paint something on my sword. Vhagar perhaps –” He trailed off thinking, “Or maybe the seas or those flowers are quite lovely too–” You had placed a finger over his lips, laughing. Aemond stopped talking, kissing the digit instead. 

“Yes husband, I would love nothing more,” Your smile matched Aemond’s from before. 

“I would like to show it off–” He murmured against your finger, kissing it again. You moved your hand to his cheek, cupping it lovingly. This small moment of domestic bliss was needed, for the both of you. 

“Well then, go and fetch it, and I shall get to work,” With the excitement of a little boy, your husband retrieved his sword from the bed, unsheathing it, placing it on the desk in front of you. The previous painting moved to the windowsill, to dry. Aemond pulled up a chair, sitting beside you. 

He rested his elbow on the corner of the table, chin in palm. The only free spot on the table, not littered with paints and brushes. You began to work, and he watched you, with nothing but love and admiration in his eye. He could sit here, happily, forever, watching you work, with the setting sun twinkling on the ocean water outside of the windows. Your delicate hands painted the hard metal of his sword. He would let you paint the whole damn keep if it made you happy. And now, with the conqueror's crown resting upon his brow, maybe he would –

Tag List:

@helaenaluvr  @anukulee   @stuckinaf4nfiction

@darylandbethfanforever9

[jenscx]

FALLING — kim minjeong x f!reader

marriage life was great. minjeong was the best wife you could ever ask for; she’s sweet, caring, patient… the list goes on. she’s your favourite person, even when upset, you still think she’s the cutest.

TAGS — fluff, zero angst, ceo!minjeong, arranged marriage!au, established relationship, jealousy, continuation of daydreamin’

WORDCOUNT — 3.7k

being married to minjeong was like a dream. you had to constantly remind yourself by staring at the gleaming diamond ring wrapped around your finger. the weight of the ring on your finger never fails to bring a smile onto your face. already grinning at the thought, you turn your whole body, watching it shine in the moonlight.

unfortunately, turning to face the window meant turning away from the warmth of a body— minjeong’s. the girl stills in her sleep, groaning slightly and snuggling deeper into your hair. you take a peek at the sleeping girl, but take no action in turning back. seemingly upset, minjeong’s face furrows into a look of displeasure. slowly, her hand trails along the naked skin of your waist exposed by your sleep shirt riding up. a firm grip of your waist and you’re pulled back into her embrace. it was ironic that the cold girl was an extreme cuddler in her sleep.

she lets out a sigh, relieved that you were finally back in her arms. you retract your hand from admiring the ring in the moonlight back down to rub small circles over the back of minjeong’s hand. your wife doesn’t make any more movements, signalling to you that she’s finally fallen into deep sleep. it makes you content that minjeong is getting the rest she needs. after a rather exhausting day at the company, minjeong had come home, hair tousled and eye bags deeper than usual. you couldn’t help but notice the tremendous amount of yawns she let out during dinner.

if it wasn’t for her growling stomach, you would have immediately put her to bed. yet, she seemed equally hungry and tired. it had been a few months since she first brought up the deal with one of the businesses in china and minjeong had told you that they finally sealed it this week. you couldn’t believe your wife was the ceo of a company when she was jumping up and down joyfully. if she had a tail, it would be wagging.

(“minjeong, has anyone told you that you look like a puppy?”

“are you calling me a bitch? and yes, yizhuo said i look like a dog.”)

you were glad minjeong was such a competent worker who only strived for perfection. her work ethic was insane, and the company’s success spoke proudly of it. however, you just wished she could take a break sometimes. it seemed like her mind was overtaken with business and work. maybe your wife was a workaholic. that didn’t stop her from leaving the company building at exactly 5pm to get home to eat dinner with you though.

it only made your feelings blossom even further for her. kim minjeong, who cannot stay away from her job for less than a day, comes home on time to eat dinner with her wife. it was endearing. a whiny groan from minjeong makes you turn your head to her. minjeong had somehow burrowed her head even further into the crook of your neck, cheeks squished between the pillow and your shoulder.

ah, kim minjeong was so cute.

smiling softly at your wife, your eyelids flutter shut, relishing in the warmth that minjeong provides, for both your body, and your heart.

the ray of sunlight beaming through the slit of the curtains is the first thing you see. it hits your eyes directly, forcing you to turn away from the window. the second thing you notice is that the warmth previously surrounding your body is gone. frowning, you open your eyes, disappointed that minjeong wasn’t by your side anymore. yawning and stretching your arms out, you peer around the room. the duvet has been neatly folded to cover your whole body and the pillows on minjeong’s side of the bed are tidied up against the headboard. you get up from the bed and quickly brush your teeth and shower.

fresh out of the shower, you notice the bedroom door is slightly ajar, leaving a crack for the aroma of pancake batter to seep in. your stomach gurgles unintentionally at the hint of breakfast, and your heart lightens when you realise minjeong’s probably in the kitchen and you can spend extra seconds with her.

padding your way to the kitchen down the stairs, the sight of minjeong with her now blonde hair tied sleekly back. her body is adorned with a cute, frilly, white apron that is knotted at her waist. it makes you swoon.

your wife is humming a familiar tune, you deduce that it’s one of the many harry styles songs she’s made you listen to. slowly, you walk closer to minjeong, who’s still unaware of your presence.

“mindoongie,” you greet, “good morning.”

minjeong jumps, gasping as the spatula in her hand falls onto the counter. she turns to you, eyes wide.

“you scared me, baby,” she sighs, picking up the fallen spatula and transferring the last pancake from the hot skillet onto a plate, neatly decorated with an assortment of various fruits. you giggle apologetically, “sorry, i thought you heard me coming.”

your wife shakes her head and carries the two plates to the kitchen island. you take a seat on one of the barstools, eyes laser-focused on the dripping maple syrup cascading down the pancakes like a waterfall. your mouth salivates.

“this looks so good.”

“I’m glad,” minjeong takes the seat next to you, gently slicing through the pancakes and tasting it, “i think i’m getting pretty good at cooking. maybe we won’t need mr park anymore.”

mr park was minjeong’s private chef, one that her father had hired.

“mhm,” your cheeks are stuffed full of pancake, “it tastes really good. but mr park makes the best soybean noodles.”

minjeong’s eyelashes flutter as her gaze lands on you, “really? i think the one you make tastes better.”

“you’re just saying that, you flirt,” you swat at her shoulder. your wife pouts and it’s adorable.

“i’m not,” and god, minjeong whines. it’s seriously harming you with how cute your wife is. is it possible to fall in love with someone twice? you might need to look it up. maybe you had an obsession— it would make perfect sense. everything that you see, touch, feel, they all instantly connect back to minjeong. you eat at a new restaurant; minjeong would like the tiramisu here. you hear a new pop song on the radio; minjeong would like this song. you see a pretty dress while shopping; minjeong would look amazing in it.

everything reminded you of her.

was that a blessing or a curse?

you hoped it was the former, but with the way she’s almost given you heart attacks with her puppy eyes, perhaps it was the latter.

a poke is felt on your cheek, distracting you from your imagination of minjeong’s puppy eyes. your wife stares at you cheekily, fingers squishing your face, “what are you thinking about?”

“thinking about you,” you answer honestly.

minjeong laughs, “seriously? that’s so cliche.”

you shrug. she only repeats, “what are you actually doing?”

“i’m doing something cliche,” you retort, stuffing a piece of pancake soaked in butter and syrup into your mouth. minjeong merely scoffs, not out of annoyance, maybe out of disbelief that you were still so cheesy.

“i have something to ask,” minjeong says out of the blue. you’re chowing down the last piece of delicious pancake and savouring the flavour when she suddenly springs a question.

“i have a company banquet i’m obliged to attend. will you be my date?”

you hesitantly nod. minjeong’s whole face brightens up, “really?”

“uh, yeah sure.” sensing your reluctance, minjeong slides a comforting hand over yours. “you can always say no if you want.”

swallowing, you reply, “it’s okay, i want to go with you. i’m just worried that i won’t be that extroverted or eager in making business deals or whatever.”

minjeong guffaws, “baby, all you have to do is be right beside me and i would be the happiest woman alive.”

“okay, romeo, you don’t have to flatter me, i’m already going.” minjeong just shrugs, “is it really flattering if it’s the truth?”

you take a large gulp of water.

“when’s the company banquet?”

minjeong flashes you a bashful smile.

“tonight.”

“kim minjeong—”

you pull the hem of your dress to cover the skin of your thighs. minjeong had picked out a black, fitting dress, akin to the one you wore to the family dinner a few months back. staring at the mirror, you take a seat down facing the vanity desk.

“baby,” minjeong calls out from the walk-in closet, “can you come help me?” you stand up, peering in the closet. your wife was facing a full length mirror, her body adorned by a two piece black pantsuit. it matches your black dress rather well.

“do you think this looks good?” she asks. you brush at her shoulders, admiring how good your wife looks. you run your fingers through her messy blonde hair, trying to calm the locks of golden.

minjeong sighs into your touch. “you’ll look great in anything, but this makes me want to jump you.” your wife preens at the praise, like a cute puppy.

“c’mon, let’s go already, it’s almost 6.”

you pull minjeong’s arm, dragging her to the front door. the chauffeur is waiting patiently on the driveway. after getting in the car, minjeong whips out her phone, fingers rapidly working against the keyboard. curious, you peek at the chat.

“it’s jimin unnie,” minjeong explains, “she’s going to be there too. along with some of my other friends.” nodding, you let your head remain hovering above her shoulder. minjeong glances at you.

“you can sleep if you want to. it’s a twenty minute drive,” she whispers, gently moving your head onto her shoulder. drowsy, you let your eyelids close, your hands instinctively going to rest on top of minjeong’s lap. you feel her hand slither into your palm. grasping the warmth, you eventually fall asleep, blonde hair and lopsided smiles burned into the back of your mind.

the comfort disappears soon after. your eyelids flutter open as minjeong brushes the stray strands of your hair out of your face.

“we’re reaching soon,” minjeong murmurs. you nod, your hands flying to the seat to support your body. her hands fly to wrap around your waist, humming softly. enjoying the solace of minjeong’s embrace, you lean into her touch for a few more minutes.

“mrs kim, we have arrived,” the chauffeur announces. minjeong lets out a little whine as she separates herself from the hug. “thank you,” she clears her throat, “i will inform you when to pick us up.”

your wife exits the car gracefully, unable to resist running to the other side where you were seated to open the door.

“charming,” you remark. minjeong has a hand out to steady you, a goofy smile on her face, “anything for my wife.”

you smile back and accept her hand. your jaw nearly drops at the sight. a stunning, white stoned mansion. small engravings of gold studded into the pillars on the patio. outside, the house was surrounded by neat and carefully trimmed hedges. the driveway was crowded, luxury vehicles dropping off their clients, who were decked in even more luxurious outfits. minjeong tugs at your hand. your eyes follow her movement.

“is it pretty?” she asks. you nod meekly, slightly intimidated by the grandeur of the mansion. you couldn’t believe someone would even hold a company banquet here. if it were you, you wouldn’t even allow anyone other than family and friends to enter such a home.

“do you like it more than the penthouse?” your wife asks again. your eyes widen, “no, i would feel really lonely in such a big house.”

minjeong nods, “but you have me. why would you ever feel lonely?” your heart melts.

“on business trips, honey. but i like our house more, feels more cosy and like home.”

she brightens up at the answer. you can’t help but giggle at her cuteness.

“if you said you liked it more, i would have bought it for you,” minjeong says offhandedly. you wonder if it’s possible to fall in love twice.

a security guard greets you at the entrance. while you admire the intricate detailing in the doorframe, minjeong converses with the guard.

“mrs kim minjeong and mrs kim y/n,” the guard repeats, looking up from his clipboard, “you may enter.”

minjeong leads you into the main hall. awestruck, you gape at the soaring ceilings and marble floors. a glimmering chandelier hangs from the ceiling, shining brightly. your eyes wander around, amazed at the sweeping staircase, adorned with ornate mouldings. the room is filled with crowds of people, murmurs bouncing off the walls. at every corner, a table, wrapped with white cloth, holds refreshments.

“kim mindoong,” a hand twirls you and minjeong around. yu jimin stands behind, grinning as she sips from a wine glass.

“jimin unnie,” you greet, smiling widely. the woman was wearing a beautiful black dress, frills of sheer black cloth embellished around the fabric. her sleek hair was tied up into a bun, accentuating her sharp jawline.

“y/nnie! you look amazing,” jimin gasps, eyes roaming down your figure. minjeong’s grasp tightens around yours.

your wife shields you playfully, “don’t look at my wife like that.”

jimin rolls her eyes, “i’m just admiring. is it illegal to look at people now? anyway, i heard aeri will be here too.”

minjeong scoffs, “dressed up nicer for her?” you laugh, thinking about jimin’s crush on your mutual friend. the mentioned girl only smiles wider, “why? do you think she’ll like it?”

“you do know she still thinks you’re with jaewook, right?” minjeong asks, “don’t you think she’ll be put off by you?”

you think back to a past conversation. minjeong had told you about jimin’s ex, or rather ex-situationship. honestly, you had no idea if jimin was purely straight or she just liked aeri. you thank god every day that you didn’t have to go through drama to be with someone you loved.

“ugh, i forgot about that. whatever, i’ll just have to show aeri what she’s missing out on,” jimin winks as she twirls away.

minjeong stands rooted to the ground for a few seconds, sighing, “i can’t believe her.” as you and minjeong venture further into the room, minjeong says, “if i were aeri, i would literally rip jimin’s head off the moment she told us she was seeing jaewook.”

“really? why?” you ask curiously.

your wife laughs, “why would i want to see the person i liked being with someone else? that’s lunacy.”

you nod in agreement, eyes drifting to minjeong’s side profile. your brain already starting to imagine such a scenario; minjeong being jealous. you could visualise her furrowed brow and the purse of her lips. she would look extra attractive when mad. this, you couldn’t deny.

“what are you thinking about?” minjeong’s soft voice floats into your ears. her face is positioned above your shoulders, staring at you with a curious gaze. you shrug, “i’m thinking about you.”

“cute,” minjeong smiles, “i need to go talk to hanbin about branching out into china, wait here for me?” a waiter swerves by, you reach out to grasp a glass of champagne. “of course, go be a ceo.”

minjeong grins at you one final time, and she disappears beneath the hoard of people. you sigh, taking small sips of the champagne. from the corner of your eye, you could spot jimin and aeri conversing. they were in a deep, heated conversation, borderline argument. soon after, they both slipped away from your gaze. you don’t bother looking for them. most likely, jimin would be grovelling while aeri watches.

at the other side of the party, you make out yizhuo’s figure, clinging onto the arm of a woman you don’t recognise. yizhuo was dragging the woman around, probably introducing her to numerous investors and executives. as you watch yizhuo and her guest, a figure shows up next to you.

he clears his throat.

your eyes flicker to meet his.

“hello,” you say slowly. you don’t recognise him either.

the stranger, fitted in a tailored suit, smiles, “hello, why are you standing off in a corner? not interested in talking to the big guys?”

you raise an eyebrow.

“no, not very.”

he flashes an even wider smile. your eyes drift to his hair, black, gleaming, probably run through with heavy amounts of gel.

“i’ve never seen you before,” he notes, “is this your first time attending such a banquet?”

“yes, it’s my first time.”

“i’m sim jaeyun, but call me jake,” he thrust out his hand. you grip his hand in a firm shake, “i’m kim y/n.”

jake’s eyes widened, “kim? are you part of kim minjeong’s family?”

you smile, thinking about your wife, “you could say that.” jake looks blown away, you wonder about the power your wife has.

“she’s kind of a big deal, ceo and all.”

“i’m aware of that.”

“how are you related? have you met her? are you guys close?” he rambles. you're slightly taken aback by the number of questions he throws at you. overwhelmed, you just stare at him.

slowly, he regains himself, coughing into his hand while fixing his hair, “sorry. i shouldn’t have… that was rude of me, but she’s extremely private about her life. i was shocked that a family member of hers would show up here.”

“it’s all right.”

“ah, to make up for my haste,” jake smiled bashfully, “could i offer you dinner?” you halt, gears turning in your head as you make out what jake is implying.

“no, actually i’m already here with someone.”

“i can’t charm you away for a few hours? surely they won’t miss your presence too much seeing as they left you here alone.”

you force a smile, irritated and through gritted teeth, you reply, “i said no.”

“really? who’s the person that brought you here? i’ll just let them know that you’ll be coming with me.”

a hand slithers around your waist, you lean into the familiar touch.

a sweet, honey-toned voice says, “good evening, mr sim. i’m glad you have met my wife, y/n.”

honestly, if it weren’t for the pity you felt for jake, you might have bursted out laughing at his reaction. yet, the humiliation of having hit on a taken woman seems to overwhelm him.

“your wife,” jake repeats.

“i’m afraid she will not be going to dinner with you, as she will be going home with me,” minjeong sighs, rather apologetically. you know this is all a facade. minjeong was just acting.

jake blushes, “i’m sorry, i didn’t know she was already taken.”

minjeong just smiles.

“have a good evening, mr sim,” she waves goodbye, dragging you away from the corner she left you in. her firm grip on your wrist doesn’t deter you from feeling relieved. fear bubbles slowly in your stomach at what minjeong might say. she pulls you outside, eyes narrowed and lips pursed, just as you imagined.

“y/nnie,” minjeong turns to look at you and god, the girl is pouting with full-on puppy eyes, “you let him flirt with you.”

fuck, why was she so cute? all your fear disapparates instantly.

“mindoongie, i wasn’t flirting with him,” you extend your hand to squeeze at her cheeks, “and why are you being so cute? you know i like you the most, right?”

“you didn’t reject him.”

“i was trying to be nice! what if he was a potential business partner for you?” you try reasoning with her.

“i don’t deal business with jerks who go after taken women, and especially not my woman.” minjeong’s jealousy and possessiveness was kind of attractive, you couldn’t lie.

you roll your eyes playfully, “it was just a possibility, and i didn’t do anything to encourage his behaviour.”

minjeong’s pout only worsens, “but you weren’t rejecting him.” you can barely hear what she says, her cheeks being squashed beneath your palms.

“i did reject him, minjeong. he was just insistent,” you explain, “he asked if i was related to you.”

just remembering jake’s surprised face makes you chuckle. minjeong arches an eyebrow, “related to me?”

“am i not your wife, mrs kim?” you pinch her cheek. minjeong winces, grasping your wrist again, “a-ah, yes you are!”

you let go, smiling cheekily at the red mark of your fingers left behind.

“baby, it hurts,” minjeong whines. your first instinct is to lean in, pressing a soft kiss onto the reddened skin. your lips touch her cheek in a feather like movement, softly and slowly, your lipstick covers the previous mark. minjeong stares at you, eyes blown open and a hand cradling her cheek. you pull back, admiring the way her skin flushes again, like wine spilling into her veins.

minjeong is the prettiest this way. all flustered and vulnerable, just for you.

“you’re so cute, mindoongie,” you blurt out. it’s crazy the way your wife has changed; from the brooding, gloomy ceo to the silly and affectionate puppy she is now.

“y/n, it hurts here too,” minjeong pouts, pushing out her lips. you swat at her shoulder, well aware of what she’s trying to imply. “stop it, stupid.”

“but it really hurts!” minjeong’s a second away from stomping her foot and throwing a tantrum. you gaze lovingly at your wife. her eyelashes flutter, big, brown eyes begging for a kiss.

you can’t resist leaving a quick peck on her lips. minjeong sighs happily, pulling you closer.

“only i can have you like this,” she says, more to herself than you.

nodding, you caress her cheek, wiping away the lipstick mark left there. your other hand tugs at her blazer. minjeong leaves slow kisses on your face, from your forehead down to your jawline. you let minjeong have her fun, occasionally letting out sighs and teasing remarks. minjeong just ignores you and continues.

seemingly finished, minjeong rests her head on your shoulder, nuzzling the crook of your neck.

“i love you, kim y/n.”

being married to kim minjeong was great, you would say.

“i love you too, kim minjeong.”

[eetherealgoddess]

can you one with mikey where he is deeply in love with reader but she is oblivious and one night his dark impulses take control of him and he fucks he in her sleep??? love your content btww

thank you!! hope this turned out the way you wanted!! <3

ꨄTemptationꨄ

Oneshot - Yandere Mikey Au

❦You didn’t know how tempting you were to those dark eyes❦

Sano Manjiro x Reader

Not fully proofread!

MY TR FANDOM WORKS ARE ONLY ON TUMBLR & AO3 UNDER EETHEREALGODDESS! REPORT IF YOU SEE IT POSTED UNDER ANYONE ELSE BUT ME!!!

I apologize if I get any Japanese etiquette or culture wrong, I literally have to research the culture for some of my fandom stories so if anything is wrong, please excuse my ignorance.

Notice:

✩Y/n is 18+. I picture her as a black female but you can see her however.

✩Some parts of the story may not be realistic or factual. After all, this is a work of fiction.

✩Although it's a dark 'romance,' I do not condone any of the behavior displayed.

✩Dark content such as: gore, violence, triggering topics, graphic scenes, vulgar language, explicit sexual content, etc.

✩There may be scenes that involve non con and/ or dubcon so don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable

✩That being said, this story is for 18+ only.

Enjoy!

Temptation

The moonlight gleams through the cracked curtains, shining over the bed as a figure lies underneath the white comforter. You slumber, snug and warm as you lie on your stomach, one leg lifted as well as both of your arms though with bent elbows. Your other leg is planted straight down as your cheek meets the pillow. Light snoring echoed throughout the room as well as steady breathy. You were oblivious to the eyes gazing over your limp frame. He’s kneeled on the floor as his head lies on top of the arms that are crossed on the mattress in front of your face. His blonde strands hovering over his face, disheveled from his lack of care considering his sleepless nights.

Ever since he found a way to break into your room despite you still living at home, he hasn’t been able to keep himself away. He likes to visit you at night. It helps with easing the dark thoughts he succumbs to when he tries to fall asleep. His past haunts him, entrapping his mind with nothing but dark whispers of various impulses. The intrusive thoughts sneak up on him as a snake would before snapping the venom in their prey, trailed by the shadows of darkness looming over his back and reminding him that all he is meant to experience is suffering.

Ironically, sneaking into your room at night gives him a sense of normality. He can’t help but to live in the moment once you’re in the picture. A sane person wouldn’t think twice of you, having accidentally bumped into one another which resulted in you apologizing before running off. It didn’t make sense why he decided to follow you the rest of the day or command one of his gang members to search for more information about you. It doesn’t make sense why there isn’t a day he goes without thinking of you.

Maybe it was the sense of normalcy or distraction from his inner world. Maybe it was the qualities you had as a person that he found interesting after looking into you. The fact is that he is mesmerized by you. It’s been months since you first met, the accidental shove forever leaving a ghostly tingling sensation on his arm. He sits up for a moment, resting his elbows against the bed as both of his hands tangle through his hair, holding up his head as he eyes you with a half lidded gaze.

After a moment he stood up before slowly pulling the cover back, deciding to see more of you to get his fill. He gazed at your body that only consisted of a t-shirt and shorts. He loved to see the fabric of your bottoms wrapped tightly around your curves which is why his favorite nights are when you have them on.

He figured out that your sleeping habits vary. Sometimes he’d get there and you were in the middle of changing, scrolling through your phone, or… sometimes even catching you in the middle of a session with your sex toy. The tree next to your window and the space in your walk-in closet as well as the placement of your bed from across made those specific nights a lot easier to observe.

He uses a hand to caress your back gently before slightly lifting your shirt to reveal the skin on your lower back. His palm rubbed along the crease in which your derrière and back meet, squeezing your side before continuing his strokes, staring at your face cautiously. He bit his lip as he squeezed you once more, firmly as he watched your nose scrunch. He released your skin as he felt a tightness form in his pants.

It wasn’t his first time gaining an erection simply from gazing or touching you. In fact, there have been times he had rubbed his tense cock in your closet as you were watching porn, both of you orgasming together as he edged himself until you were ready for release. He’s used your clothes as towels and stole them. He’s also jerked off sitting right in front of you as you sleep on the bed, imagining all the different ways he can have his way with you.

The way your legs tense when the toy hits that spot that sends you into convulsion, your moans filling the air as well as the curses as you grind out your orgasm. Sometimes you’ll even repeat your sessions back to back, in search of the relief he wants to provide for you. He palmed his bulge as he reminisced those favorable moments. He looks down and gazes at his own hard on, his hair hovering over his face with his lips slightly parted as a red hue forms on his cheeks.

“Shit.” He whispered, feeling the overwhelming urge to climb on top of you. He just wanted to take a look at your wet pussy again. Leaning over to where he uses a hand to slide the leg nearest to open to gain a better viewpoint of your covered vagina. The tight shorts caused an imprint to outline the frame of your center. He glanced at you before gently connecting his fingers with your pussy, rubbing over the slit. He watched you as his middle finger moved to where your clit is hidden under the shorts, applying a still pressure to test the waters. Your hips twitched as you slightly readjusted but your eyelids stayed shut.

His fingers slid until he reached in between your ass cheeks, grazing over your covered anus before removing his hand all together. His torso bends over, crawling until he climbs over your legs. His hands connect with your shorts before he slowly pulls them down, revealing your naked bottom half as he tossed them to the side. He scoots to a better position over your legs and cupped both of your butt cheeks, squeezing and using his thumbs to caress the skin before spreading your labia with his fingers still planted on your ass.

He glanced at you to see your sleeping figure once more before he released you and shoved a hand into his pants. He lowers the lining of his underwear before pulling his cock from his pants. Deciding to ease some of the tension, he positions himself closer to your ass, using a hand to spread a cheek before pressing his cock in a downward position to where he could feel his head against your warm pussy.

He released a quiet grunt before lowering his torso on yours, basically hugging you as he eased his arms under yours, pressing his hips against you as he held it there. He thought he would have enough self control to not go all the way in since he just needed to feel you. It felt so good to feel your body against his, soft and warm. As time went on it was beginning to feel a little too good. He pressed down his hips before pulling back and repeating the same motion slowly in an attempt to not wake you up. He pants as the feeling becomes too hard to handle.

Deciding to just use the head of his cock, he licks his hand before lathering up his girth and using his fingers to position himself to your already wet vagina. He pushes forward slowly, your labia popping open wider as his tip stretches your hole. He accidentally released a moan as his head dropped, arms slightly shaking as they balanced himself over your figure.

“Oh fuck.” He hissed as he pushed in just a smidge more of a distance than before, stopping himself before he continued. It already feels like your pussy is sucking him in, the walls tightening the part of him already inside of you.

“So warm.” He groaned as he sat up more, breathing heavily with his lips apart as his head fell back. You slightly squirm against him as you attempt to reposition yourself, your leg that was bent moving down to where your feet are parallel. You wince as you take a deep breath before the slumber takes over once more.

He’s had to wait so long for this. He was having a hard time thinking rationally as all he wanted to do was shove his cock inside of you as deep as possible before forcing you to take all his cum. His hands reach the skin of your back under the shirt. His hips twitch back before he pushes back in, only his tip immersed in your walls. He can feel your pussy releasing more juice from the stimulation. Everything felt so hot.

He couldn’t take it anymore, lowering his upper body as he repositioned one of his arms under you and the other hand covering your mouth, lifting your head slightly. Your eyes finally flutter open into a squint, only just coming back to reality as you feel a heavy weight above you as well as a pressure from below.

“Forgive me, Y/n.” Your eyes widen at the low whisper before the hand tightens around your mouth and someone leaves a kiss on the back of your head before you feel a sharp pain in your core, causing a muffled grunt to leave your mouth as Mikey’s hips lock against yours in a swift motion.

He moaned when his hips smacked against your ass. You whimper at the pain as you attempt to push against the bed in an attempt to throw him off of you. You failed miserably, not even being able to move from your position because of his immense strength overpowering you from atop. You couldn’t even turn your head to see who the culprit is forcing themselves upon you. Your eyebrows furrowed as you grunt loud from another hard impact from his thick cock.

“G-get off of me!” You attempt to scream but his hand only muffled your speech. Both of your bodies rock as he gains rhythm, his hair flailing as he grinds against you.

“Shhh.” He nibbles on your ear as he makes an attempt to quiet his own moans, not wanting to risk your parents walking in though if it happened, he wouldn’t have a problem with ridding himself of the inconvenience of their presence.

“M’ gonna find it and make you feel so fucking good, Y/n.” He says in your ear, forcing his fast strokes in deeper as he searches for the spot that has you quivering when he watches. Your nails impale the sheets as your grip tightens, the pain having resided once he found the spot, a moan escaping your lips.

“There it is.” He smirks before pressing his head against yours and closing his eyes. He continuously aimed to kiss your cervix as his head dropped to your neck, his lips connecting with the skin before he thrusts harder, rutting against you as he humps your backside. His cock is suffocated by the warm gummy walls inside of you, your juice lathering him as a natural lube as you reflexively push your ass against him, meeting his thrusts as your nipples harden against the bed.

“Th-this isn’t right!” You try to speak once more, struggling to push yourself off the bed as he adds more weight to your form, cock rubbing along your inner lining as your g-spot is assaulted. “I don’t even know you!”

“The only thing…” he breathes, “…that matters is my lo…” He pants as his eyebrows furrow before the smacking of his hips against your body becomes louder as he brings you both closer to your orgasms, his tip beating hard against your g-spot. You release a loud grunt followed by a moan as your hips move against him desperately.

“Ah fuck, baby this feels so good.” He hissed before his lips fell apart. Lowering his head, he rests it against your shoulder as he fucks into you with firm yet fast strokes. You bite your lip as your eyes shut tight, your hips bucking as you release a desperate moan, a wave of pleasure engulfing your abdomen as you orgasm on the stranger’s thick cock.

“I love you, I love you, I love you.” He whispers before his grip on your face and shoulder tighten, his hips rocking as he thrusts out his orgasm. You both pant as you catch your breath, his cock still inside of you before he slowly pulls his hips back causing a grunt to leave you both. You feel him kiss your shoulder and neck as your eyes widen in horror at the realization of your circumstances as he releases your mouth.

“W-who are you?! Y-you j-just…” You try to turn around to get a look of him but he only pressed your head against the pillow.

“When we get to know each other better, I’ll explain. For now, just know that you’re my wifey, okay?” He smiled, ignoring the look of confusion and fear that appeared on your expression.

“I-I don’t even know you! HE-!” He covers your mouth once more and leaned to your ear.

“I don’t want to kill your parents, Y/n. So don’t make me, okay? I’d like to meet your family properly.” Tears stream down your face as he tells you to close your eyes. You comply, shutting them tight as you feel his weight shift before completely disappearing.

“See ya next time.”

tbh i liked the request but idk if i liked how i wrote it

[dollscotton]

20:16 • sᴛᴀʀɢɪʀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʀʟᴜᴅᴇ (NSFW)

♡ dom!husband!Seonghwa x sub!housewife!reader

♡ domestic, smut

♡ WC • 1108

♡ Warnings!! (tags) • multiple positions, breeding, hair pulling, choking, exhibitionism(?), nipple play, creampie, breeding, multiple orgasms, wet dreams, raking. (pls lmk if I missed anything.)

♡ This has been rotting away in my head but I could never get to writing it. Now I've written it in half an hour listening to 'stargirl interlude' (The Weeknd, Lana Del Rey) on loop. It really helped tbh idk why I didn't think of it sooner 😭. Anyways enjoy, enjoy this while I work on my long fics. Lmk if you want a part two ♡♡.

♡ ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚

   His hands were on your hips, pelvis meeting with your ass every second. The blue strip light of your cabinet illuminated the black marble below, contrasting with your white almond acrylics that desperately wanted to dig into the material as you felt his cock slip in and out of you.

   Your tits moved forward at every smack, threatening to spill out of your apron until they did, cascading like curtains over the neckline. Back arching, his cock hit into you at a deeper angle, making both of you cry out. He leaned down, grabbing you by the waist and breathing into your neck, his words inaudible due to your ears ringing.

   “My perfect little housewife, letting me fuck you for all of the city to see.” Seonghwa grunted, one of his hands coming up to pinch at your erect nipples. You whimper at the slight pain, grinding your ass against his pelvis before he pushes you down, holding the back of your neck and pounding into you at a rough pace.

   “Hwa!” You squealed, now feeling a tingle down your spine at the thought of someone below potentially seeing you; though it was a bustling city your windows were not tinted and it was nighttime. Everyone had a complete view of you being pounded by your husband. Seonghwa always fucked you like this, it was though he actually wanted someone to see. The clerestory windows of your penthouse give the people a full show of your bare form.

   Your husband slowed his pace. “Shh, baby, you want the neighbors to listen in?” He huffed, giving your cheek a firm slap before picking up his pace again. You shook your head, trying your best to keep the noise to a minimum despite the clapping overriding the noise of your television. Ironic, as you turned your head towards the windows.

   “Your logic does not make any sense,” you whined, city lights reflecting off your eyes. “If they can see me, they should hear me.”

   You weren’t sure where the boldness came from, but it definitely did not go unnoticed by Seonghwa, who hummed with a smirk forming on his features. “Yeah? You want a noise complaint, pretty?”

   He didn't wait for an answer, leaning over to grab the television remote and turning it off. Tossing it aside he began his pace once more, grabbing your hair and forcing your head up. “Let them hear you.”

   Tears stung at your eyes at the sudden tug, but you didn’t have time to wipe at them as you already felt the knot in your tummy forming. Your knuckles turned white. Your eyes start to roll back as your noises gradually get louder, as do Seonghwa once his balls start to tighten. 

   His hand snakes around to your clit, middle finger working its magic around the pearl as he moans purposefully in your ear. “You’re gonna make me cum, baby.” He says, making sure to make himself sound extra whiny.

   “,’m cumming,” you blubber, foot thumping against the ground and knee colliding with the cabinet as your lower half spasms around his cock, juices coating him like glaze. Seonghwa’s cock kept moving in and out of you regardless, thrusts starting to stutter and moans getting caught in his throat.

   “Gonna fill you up, 'm gonna fill that pussy…” He trailed off, pausing and holding you firmly against him as he came inside, breeding your little hole. You both groan in contentment, and you pull him out, turning to face him as you sat yourself on the freezing counter. “Again,” you whine, opening your legs.

   Seonghwa didn’t waste any time, pushing back into you and moving at a fluid pace. His arm went up and held the handle of the cabinets above for support, the other hand playing with your tits and wrapping around your throat.

   “Oh fuck me,” you sniffle, looking into his eyes. Your eyes shifted between looking into his and where you two met. He threw his head back, letting out a dry chuckle mixed in with a guttural moan. “You’re fucking crying.” he mused, tightening his grip.

    “I love it, I love it Hwa,” you whimper pathetically, locking your legs around his waist to pull him closer. Your grip on the counter’s sharp edges tightened, the edge digging into your palm. Your fingers were going to ache soon. “Love it so much.”

   “You just love this cock so much, baby.” he grunts, shuddering at the feeling of your gummy walls clamping around his sensitive tip. “It’s gonna breed you so much.”

    Seonghwa’s face leaned into yours, taking in your expression. His pretty little housewife, all spread and open for him to breed. The hand that was wrapped around the handle of the counter went down to your thigh, raking his nails into it. His balls started to tighten once more, his cock felt harder inside you. You looked down at where you met before looking back up into his eyes, sharp as slits. 

   Your husband leaned down to suck harshly at your jaw, hand still on your throat, and hand now gliding over your under thigh as he started spurting into you again. The squelching sounds now increased in volume. You could feel the mix of your juices drooling out of your pussy and down to the rim of your asshole, making you moan softly and your eyes shut at the warmness.

   “Pretty girl,” Seonghwa cooed, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. His hand rubbed your shoulder as the warmness of your body slowly dissolved, only feeling the sweat on your back and wetness between your legs. 

   You slowly opened your eyes as your head came to again, your senses coming down from the intense session. Seonghwa kept crooning at you.

   “That’s a good girl, open your eyes baby.” he said, still rubbing your arm. Your eyes fully opened again, being met with your pillow.

   “You’re awake,” Seonghwa murmured softly, hovering over you. You looked up at him, blinking unnoticed tears away. You could tell by his expression that he was amused, though his eyes were soft as they admired your sleepy features. “,’m felt so good,” you babble mindlessly, thighs closing. The discomfort of sweat now gets to you as you sit up.

   “Poor thing, having wet dreams again. You’re like a pup in its rut, darling.” Seonghwa ruffles your hair, “grinding and wetting against the sheets again. You’re all drenched.”

   You heat up at the revelation, sighing deeply and leaning forward into your husband’s neck in embarrassment, who pets and scratches at your scalp and nape comfortingly. He chuckles softly; “Don’t frown, I’ll take care of you, baby.”

[yesimwriting]

Stawp!

Louis and bestie reader are so cute

They would be so satc coded and go out for drinks and vacays

Also i think reader would introduce him and call him "my beautiful louis" to other people

But imagine louis getting home and texting her with a smile on his face all cute 🥰

I like the idea of the person who makes vampirism good being her, a platonic relationship, in contrast of a romantic companion.

Also i imagine this convo:

Armand: do you have to go over to her apartment every other day?

Louis: first of, we have our movie night fridays together and you know this!

Armand: its 4 a.m

Louis: duh? I got to get there while the sun is down, besides we need to pick up thai food because she does not cook and she will starve herself before turning on the stove

AND ARMAND WITH HER

I feel like after he knows her, he would be jealous of any relationships/ one night stands she might have (louis knows about them obvi! She calls him all the time 💅🏻)

Im obsessed with this concept 😭

everything about this is so perfect!! i'm so happy you got the vibe! i feel like he just needs someone to pull him out of his (slightly subconscious) angst and something about that happening through a platonic relationship is so endearing to me

they're so satc coded too, just besties drinking and vacationing and having (slightly) delusional conversations <3

also bestie reader calling him "my beautiful louis" to others is everything to me 😭 they for sure love each other so much omg

armand is definitely so messy with this 😭 he's like a cat trying to gaslight their owner into thinking they don't want attention

bc i love this sm here's an actual drabble/fic:

pls be nice writing for new characters for the first few times is so daunting for no reason 😭, also armand is a bit messy here <3

----

Not unlike daylight's earliest hours seeping through shut curtains, the haziness--the easiness--you offer him is persistent.

Louis has grown accustomed to the feeling, to the consistent warmth of your friendship, but every once in awhile the sentimentality of it all digs at him.

"This is..." You trail off, legs crossed beneath you and television remote still loosely held between your fingers. "Complex."

Louis's focus flits between you and the screen you're intently staring at. The two of you hadn't set out to watch a documentary on some nature channel, but this is far from the first time you've gotten distracted by some default program while attempting to put on a movie. "Very."

His sarcasm is enough to break the spell. You turn your head, frowning, "Don't make fun of me."

The documentary cuts to a well lit, sparsely wooded forest. The camera focuses on a deer patiently grazing on the surrounding foliage.

"I’d never," he mumbles, suppressing a smile in an attempt at seeming as serious as he needs to be for the joke to work.

You let out a sound that's too gentle to be a laugh before straightening your shoulders and returning your attention to the television screen. There's something ironically pointed about the way the peaceful background melody fades into something more sinister. Looming Danger.

The deer, alerted by some sixth sense, stiffens, its body stretching to its full, insignificant height. The camera zooms in, focusing on the deer's wide eyes and unmenacing features. "That kind of reminds me of you."

This time, your laugh is full, sharpened by a partial scoff that's as amused as it is offended. "That's the weirdest thing you've ever said to me."

The comment is almost enough to ease him. The camera pans out, allowing the audience to see the other surrounding deer. "Maybe the deer from that one animated movie."

You're quiet for a moment, thinking through the implication of the words before turning your head towards him again. "You mean Bambi?"

He had been much too old to be interested in the film by the time it came out, but the name is vaguely familiar enough. "I think so."

You blink at that, tilting your head slightly. "How do you know Bambi?"

"I don't know Bambi," the argument is a relatively flat one. Louis turns to better face you, resting his arm against the back of your couch. "I've just seen some commercials."

That only seems to confuse you further. You straighten, pulling your legs towards your chest. "Where would you have seen Bambi commercials?"

"They were everywhere when it came out in the 40's."

You don't respond right away, your attention shifting away from Louis and towards your bent legs. As far as references that remind you of his lack of humanity, this is far from a drastic one. The 40’s weren’t long enough ago to be inconceivable to you.

Still, you’re quiet, as if thinking through the potential outcomes of your reaction. You nod once. “Right."

When you look up at him again, there's a hesitant sort of curiosity behind your eyes. It's an expression Louis's more accustomed to than he wants to be, it's the way you look at him when you're reminded of the reality of the differences between the two of you.

You tap your nails against your knee. "Does it feel weird?" The question comes out with a suddenness that doesn't suit you, the stiffness of the words sharp and uncertain. "All that time--carrying it inside your head?"

For a moment, all he can bring himself to do is sit with the question. Your question. It's a simple enough thing to ask, but not a exactly a straightforward thing to answer. Especially not to you, who has yet to experience a significant passage of time even by human standards.

"Well," he starts, "You know about the way that time has impacted aspects of my memory." You watch him patiently, saying nothing to prompt or rush him as he thinks through his response. "It does make things feel different--years spent with someone can feel like moments, and moments with others can feel like eternity."

You nod once, allowing his answer to sink in. "Which one am I?"

He knows his answer before he knows how to put it into words. You’re too familiar for either.

“You’re more like a memory.”

Your eyebrows briefly pinch together at that. You part your lips, but before you can respond the documentary’s music swells.

You turn your head in time to see the coyote lunge at a deer. You sigh, screwing your eyes shut before leaning forward, You press your forehead against his arm. “That’s depressing.”

Louis could have anticipated the reaction, you’re usually more bothered by animals dying in movies than people. Still, though, your ability to find comfort in him of all things will never not perplex him.

Instead of pointing out that you’re the one that chose to watch this, he gently reaches for the remote. “Fine, I’ll put on the movie.”

----

The familiar ringing is so muted, so low, Armand's certain that if it wasn't for his enhanced senses, he wouldn't have been able to hear anything at all. By the time he's turned his head, Louis is already reaching for his coat's pocket.

Armand frowns. If the late hour and limited number of people Louis talks to weren't enough to let Armand know who the message is from, Louis's smile as he unlocks his cell phone would be evidence enough. You--it's always you.

He continues forward, allowing Louis to type out a response without interruption. Once he's certain the message has been sent, Armand begins, "It's her again."

Louis's attention shifts away from the screen. "She's my friend."

"I know," he says, voice flat, "Your best friend."

"Stop it." There's nothing aggressive about Louis's response, but there's an underlying warning pressed into the syllables, the same almost-sharpness that Louis relies on whenever Armand implies a lack of fondness for Louis's latest source of entertainment. "It's not like that."

No, it really isn't. When you first began to weave yourself into Louis's life, Armand had almost convinced himself that this was a blatant betrayal that defied Louis's usual preferences. After about five minutes of assessment, Armand realized that the two of you really are as affectionately platonic as you claim to be.

"No," it's an easy enough concession. Armand continues forward, the coolness of the night's air sharp against his skin. Their walk hasn't exactly been the most exciting night of their companionship, but it has been non-contentious in a needed way after their latest session with Daniel. "You do spend a lot of time with her."

Louis's quiet for a moment, thinking through his response in a way that Armand finds unusual. "You could spend time with us, too."

The sentiment isn't as true as Louis intends it to be. While Armand's been around you regularly enough to consider you familiar, there are a few things that the two of you want to do on your own. Your weekly movie nights, casual drinking at bars, the surprise trip to Milan. And during the evenings in which Armand is there, Louis regards him with a subtle uneasiness that if you've noticed, you know better than to mention.

In your presence, what they are may only be portrayed in the softest of lights. The facets of vampirism must only ever be suggested, alluded to so faintly that they're rendered incapable of tarnishing that darling soul of yours Louis is so determined to preserve.

"And subject the poor, little fawn to an evening with two vampires?"

Armand keeps his gaze focused on what's ahead of them, but he can practically feel the lack of amusement radiating off of Louis. "Come on," he tries again, "She's not like that."

Although he'd love nothing more than to solely resent your existence, Armand does have to give you credit for that. You hadn't so much as missed a single step when Louis revealed the truth to you, never once treating him differently. You also barely flinched when Armand appeared in your home with no warning as a way of hurting Louis during a particularly lively argument. Armand's yet to determine if your bravery is a sign of idiocy or a testament to how certain you are in your connection to Louis.

It's far from rare for Louis to feel the need to defend you, but there's a determination there that seems urging. "She asked you to come over."

Louis's hesitation, though brief, is confirmation enough. He almost stills but seems to think better of it, placing his phone back into his pocket as if that will be enough to make Armand forget that you're the source of this. "She just ended things with the boy she's been seeing."

Hm. Not exactly an interesting update, but intriguing...more intriguing than why you usually call Louis, if nothing else.

"Alright," Armand agrees, "Let's visit your puppy."

----

The apartment building you live in is far from run down. You've slowly but surely transformed yourself into one of those rare artists with a curated following so obsessed with being able to credit themselves as the discoverer of the next big thing that they go out of their way to purchase anything that you've labeled as yours. Existing at the cusp of fame has allowed you to afford a decent apartment in the city, but it's nowhere near as nice as where you could be if you'd accept Louis's offer to get you a place closer to them.

Louis knocks on your door twice. In less than a second, you're clicking the lock out of place. You're beaming as you pull the door open, "Louis."

Armand watches Louis's expression melt into one of total warmth. There's a definiteness to your friendship that Armand might envy if he understood it any better. What's so special, so interesting about you that your presence is always desireable?

Louis extends an arm, offering you the bouquet of flowers he insisted on purchasing before visiting you.

Your smile widens even further at the arrangement. If it wasn't for the information that Louis gave him earlier, Armand would have no reason to think anything remotely upsetting happened to you tonight. "I love peonies. Thank you."

You lift a hand, your pointer finger gently brushing a thin petal as you examine the flowers. After a moment, you straighten, turning your head enough to acknowledge him. "Armand, hi." The greeting is cordial yet far from cold, the way you often are with him.

"Hello," he replies. You step back, pulling your front door open as a way of inviting them in. "I'm sorry about your boyfriend."

You pause at that, parting your lips as you look back at him. Louis speaks before you get the chance to, "I told you to look sad when we got here."

It's a playful chastising at best, but you react as if Louis had really meant it. In some ways, Armand believes he did. "Oh," the sound falls flat. You walk further into your home's entryway, giving them the space needed to enter. "Give me a second, I can do better." You turn slightly, holding onto the flowers a little tighter as you bring your free hand to your chest. "I'm distraught."

Your performance isn't worthy of a standing ovation, but there's a humor there that might have been charming if Armand's disinterest in you was less inherit.

"Nice try," Louis mumbles as he wanders towards your couch. He sits down with a casualness that highlights how used to existing in your space Louis really is. "Armand wasn't up for visiting anyone and I wanted you to at least look sympathetic."

You walk past your living room. Armand watches you for a moment before following, if for no other reason than to feel something resembling Louis's familiarity. He keeps his steps even, making a point of remaining a few paces behind you.

You stop in front of a cupboard. After opening the cabinet, you have to extend your arm so fully to reach a vase Armand's surprised when you manage to grab it without knocking it off its shelf.

"Trust me," you say, exaggerating the syllables as you approach the sink, "I'm very sympathetic." You place the vase beneath the sink before turning on the faucet.

Armand steps forward, setting a palm against the granite that makes up the island attached to your sink. "I'm sure." The words are spoken so lowly they're nearly drowned out by the sound of running water.

"What did he do?" Louis asks from his spot on the couch.

You lift the vase out of the sink's basin, shutting off the faucet as you move to set the glass onto the counter. "Broke up with me because he thought he had a chance with his ex-girlfriend."

"What?" Louis turns fully at that, craning his neck to look at you.

You nod sharply, completely validated by Louis's shock. "I know." You remove the plastic binding your bouquet together. "Men are the worst." You carefully pull a flower away from its bundle before placing it in the vase. The process of arranging the flowers must remind you who brought them to you, because after a second, you amend your statement, "Except you guys. Obviously."

"Obviously," Louis repeats in a way that only feels somewhat sarcastic. "So are you...upset? Angry?"

You pause, giving yourself a moment to really think about your response. "A little of everything, I guess." You pick up two smaller flowers by their long stems before placing them in the vase. "But not crushed." You reach for a filler flower. "I don't know...it's not like I was in love with him."

Louis rests an elbow against the back of your couch, propping his head up as he watches you continue to adjust your flowers. "I'm glad you weren't." You raise your eyebrows at that. "He wasn't the right person."

"You always say that."

"And I haven't been wrong yet."

You give him another look that would be threatening if it wasn't for the underlying fondness there. "Don't start." You don't wait for Louis's reaction before returning your attention to the flowers.

Armand watches you for a moment before allowing himself to take in your apartment. This place is a known entity, but it's not exactly familiar. He's never seen anything beyond the living but he has heard you talk about a room that you've converted into a studio space.

It's not as easy as it should be to imagine a space solely dedicated to your work when touches of it seem to cover your entire apartment. Two canvases too uniquely you to be purchased are hanging behind your couch, there's a ceramic vase on your dining table that reminds him of the way you paint, and then there's the abandoned palette and partially finished canvas still on its easel.

Armand walks forward slowly, approaching the painting as you and Louis begin discussing your least favorite things about the boy that ended things with you.

Even unfinished, the project is strong in its certainty, in its style. Your brush strokes are sharp, unafraid. Next to your well loved palette, there's a small photograph that parallels but doesn't exactly fully match the partially completed house on the canvas.

"That's an idea for a new collection--the repurposing of abandoned things, places..." Your explanation is abrupt in a way that borders on shy. "It's not meant to be as pretentious as it sounds."

There's a self deprecating quality to the disclaimer that doesn't fit you. Perhaps he's stumbled onto an actual insecurity. "Does someone seeing it like this make you uncomfortable?"

"Uh," you start, confused by his own suddenness, "No, not really. As long as you know to look it as a work in progress." You tap your nails against the counter. "I--I have a room down the hall that's full of half-finished stuff if you want to look at those, too."

The offer feels more like an attempt to convince yourself that you're okay with his analysis of your work before it's been polished than anything else. The concept of your uncertainty makes Armand curious enough for him to actively reach for your thoughts.

Armand's concentration shifts onto your mind, and he's immediately thrown by the vaguest implication of resistance. Your mental defense is so feeble it might as well not exist, but the fact that it does...that you're trying to at all is almost endearing enough to convince Armand to leave you be. Almost. "Are you attempting to block me out of your thoughts?"

You blink, the blood beneath your skin rushing its way up your neck at your embarrassment. "Are you trying to read them?" When your counter question doesn't impact him at all, you sheepishly offer an explanation, "Louis taught me."

Of course he'd teach his pet a new trick.

Louis lets out a small laugh at that. "The fact that he felt it at all tells me you're better at it than I'd thought you be."

Armand's gaze returns to your painting. You've managed to find a warmth, a beauty in the forgotten. "The implication of resistance isn't the same as resistance itself."

The criticism stings, but you don't let it impact your expression. You let out an exaggerated sigh, your shoulders slumping slightly to add to your point. "Be nice, I was just broken up with. Over text."

He continues to study the painting, his mind attempting to break the piece down by individual brush strokes. "That doesn't matter to you. Not really." Armand can almost imagine the creation of the house's boarders, of the formation of each individual stone and the heavy ivy covering them. "You're not 'crushed' because you're interesting and he's not, and a part of you knows that."

The sentiment behind the words leaves you desperate to push him away. Blood settles itself beneath your chest. Your feeble mental shield returns, this time determined enough for Armand to feel its desire to push him out.

"You don't know if I'm interesting," the response is too soft, too curious to reflect your unease.

You tap your nails against the counter, the gentle clicks of them hitting the granite echoing throughout the space. Armand refocuses on the canvas. "Louis wouldn't like you if you weren't."

Something about the statement seems to ease you. Armand's reminded of how almost overly genuine your friendship is. "Thanks."

Louis lets out an almost-scoff at that, his eyebrows briefly drawing together in a display of mock offense. "Don't make me sound so shallow."

"It's less about your shallowness and more about my winning personality."

"Uh-huh," Louis mumbles, pressing a synthetic lack of interest into syllables, "Well, as long as its about you."

----

a/n this is lowkey way longer than i expected it to be but i loved this dynamic so much so if you want to see more of them pls let me know <3

[porcelian]

PEACH BLACK DESCENT | s. riley/f!reader | 8.4k

SYNOPSIS: Simon thinks you're a bird with a broken wing. You squirm in the hole of the hunters trap. The other wing flapping, air around you contorting as it picks you up and you escape from the jaws of the trap. He sits next to you now in his truck and wonders how he's going to clip your wings.

Tucked away in a far away town surrounded by woods a highway predator—Simon—goes hunting and digs his teeth into you.

WARNINGS/TAGS: Mature Themes, Extremely Dubious consent, Rape/Non-con Elements, Objectification, Size Kink, Size Difference, Marking, Kidnapping, Threats of Violence, Dacryphilia, Unsafe Sex, Manipulation, Butcher AU.

MASTERLIST & NAVIGATION.

You feel as if you were born in a galaxy slowly being ripped apart at the seams. Stars colliding, crashing; kaleidoscopic colors mix into together as they lose their golden ichor of life and dim into nothingness. A black hole drinks it's ichor. The unforgiving crooked teeth bites in the stars and they give into the hold.

A dying nebula. Hot and scorching as it brands your skin because of your sins. Engraved into your soul. It is dirt under your finger nails. Forever stained.

Stained—you think—you'll have to figure out how to clean up the sign perched near the motel wall—Highway Inn. A ironic and obvious name, considering it's situated right next to a highway. The road turns and twists, contorting into something akin to a labyrinth only a few unlucky ones can pass through and make it to this brick fortress.

(Unlucky, pitiful and poor souls,

Never seen again as the road takes them too.)

The bright and blinding fluorescent light of the motel cuts into your eyes like razors. The cold air bites your cheeks and fingers. Your breath chokes out of your mouth and it spreads in the air, swirling and contorting. The soft gray of it stand out against the dim rust-colored and cracking bricks.

You sit behind the dark oak front desk—the surface littered with blooming circles of lighter brown. A dusty bell of dimmed gold hangs above the heavy wooden front door.

You bring your hands to your mouth, huffing your hot breath into them. A futile wish for some warmth to engulf you. The soft murmurs of the few workers echo in one ear and leave through the other. It's an empty and eerie quiet tonight. The roads stay dark and life seems to be ripped away from it.

But, you swear you see light seep through the cracks formed by the curtain by the windows. Your eyes trail up and lock onto the road you can see outside.

A white truck passes. It always does. Like clockwork. A routine akin to a ritual. A never ending cycle the labyrinth road and motel seem to welcome and accept. Although, hesitantly. Your manager never looked pleased to see the truck drive the road in front of the motel.

You don't know why.

But, you think it has to do with the way it seems to slow down when it's near the brick building. The way it simmers to a stop. The way the front seat windows are a little bit cleaner and easier to see through from the inside than the others so you can feel someone stare at you. Their gaze heavy and intense, like tendrils around your neck. They squeeze around the sides. Bruises forming and blooming—a mark—curiosity killed the cat. But, you can't help to watch. You meekly welcome the gaze of the one behind the window. The glass slightly glimmers under the crescent moon.

(You think the person inside is satisfied with the effect they have on you.)

The white surface of the truck is faded white with wheels brown-black, the dirt seeping through the engraved rubbery surface. The windows are obsidian dark and you can't see through them. Only one remains open—the drivers seat. An arm drapes across it. The milky white skin littered with scars that dance alongside with ink-black tattoos. It snakes around the man's heavy arm like a serpent, trailing up to the shirt that hugs his skin so delicately and smoothly—a stark contrast between the tough and rough surface of his skin. His wrist flicks. Calloused hands follow. They move and curl.

(You wonder how'd they feel.)

You still think of the softness of it, them—him—the fuzz of his arm akin to a valley, an Eden you're not supposed to enter, a peach you're not supposed to bite, its ambrosia you're not allowed to drink and let it seep down your chin and chest.

Would his fingertips dance across the plush flesh of yours? Would his nails apply pressure and dig into your skin? You already can imagine the faint red and purples appearing under his hold, the crescent moons he'd leave under his unforgiving and damning touch.

(Like a black hole, alongside the stars it devours.)

Your manager—Roderick, a old and angry man grumbles as his dim and misty eyes settle on the white truck. He tuts. His hands grip the side of his belt, an indent you're familiar with makes itself known. He'd always been unsatisfied and upset whenever the man with the white truck appeared.

It's reached a new high today. The tension in Roderick's forehead is obvious. His brows furrow as he calls out to you, his rough and hoarse voice breaks the previous silence you'd taken sanctuary inside the motel.

"Stay inside," he orders, finger gauged at you, "I mean it. Keep your eyes to yourself, girl. Watch the keys and make sure you have the rooms cleaned," his eyes settle on the truck driver door opening, "we'll have visitors soon."

You stand wide eyed behind the front desk. Caught off guard by his words, your mouth hangs slightly open to question him, but you settle on just keeping any inquiries to yourself.

Roderick doesn't like questions. He never did. Especially about the missing people posters hang up near the motel. Especially about the news echoing information and words about missing people. Blurred faces and names. They simmer in your mind. You've met them here before. They checked in. Some greet you with bright and slightly strained smiles. Some thin their lips and their eyes dart away from you.

It doesn't matter.

They never leave the roads they entered to reach the motel. They get lost in the labyrinth and never leave.

(The black hole has taken another star.)

You'd heard about so called highway serial murderers. The media treats them like their ghosts. They appear to lock their jaws onto their prey, their crooked teeth digs in and the food hangs limp, succumbed to the bloody hold. Their eyes go hazy and dim, the life ichor drips out of them slowly as the predator has its fill, belly satisfied and sickeningly happy. After that they're gone, disappearing on the road again, their trucks their castles.

The opened truck door reveals the man inside. Your eyes lock onto him.

His heavy brown leather boots step on the concrete surface. You notice the scruff marks along the fabric, the lighter color like lighting dancing on the surface. His cargo pants are dirtied at the seams, as if he'd been in the rain soaked woods, moving as the wet dirt coats and sticks to him.

His upper body is akin to a behemoth—a mountain of a man with shoulders like steel, hard and unmoving. His fingers stretch every once in a while. The fuzz on the surface a stark difference to the milky-white surface. The dirt seeps under his fingernails, hammering the nail and making their forever home.

A stark black balaclava hides his face. The fabric old tearing at the seams. His eyes contrast and stand out against the visible alabaster skin—akin to earth brown like the woods and ground that surrounds you. There's a strange look in them. A feeling you can't quite make out as they settle on you through the opened door.

The bell chimes. The sound echoing through the front room. His feet scruff against the welcome mat. His eyes lock onto your figure. Black irises under lidded light blond eyelashes grow in size, almost seeping into the brown pooling around it. There's a glint in them— a subtle excitement and hunger.

(Like a predators gaze upon its prey,

Akin to a black hole and the nebula right next to it about to burst.)

He nods his head at you. For a moment you lose the sight of his eyes, but you can still feel the tendrils of them wrap around your neck. Though, this time they move further. Your cheeks feel blistered by heat. Your thighs ache as the surface of your uniform rubs together.

Your eyes catch his again. You can see the fabric move slightly where his mouth is supposed to be. He's smiling. Bearing his teeth to you. Crooked fangs glistening in the florescent lights as the smile reaches to high. The crows-feet next go his eyes crease.

He moves closer to the front desk. His frame covers yours completely. It engulfs you behind it and you settle into his shadow. Tendrils seep into the dark surface as it hugs your body. The balaclava fabric slightly moves again. The mans hoarse voice rumbles out of him, it starts near his stomach, belly covered by a hoodie, trails to his cords as it spreads a deep and infectious melody out of his mouth.

"I'll need a room. One bed. More on the bigger side. I'll take 13."

"Of course." You squeeze the breath out of your throat and force your body to move near the keys on the wall.

"Thank you, Lamb."

You can still feel his eyes trail your body. Irises dig into your flesh like razors, cutting into it until it reaches your spine, a soft touch akin to his fingertips dances across the skin and moves down, settling on the back of your waist—you'd call it a lovers protective touch, but you feel it's a bit different than that.

It's almost as if he's testing you, pushing your buttons, his fingers curling around your nerves and tugging, wondering what you'll do if he applies pressure, what noise you'll let escape your pouted lips, what words you'll echo in his ears, how'd you'd grip his skin and what kind of scars you'd add and decorate him with alongside the rest.

(Like a predator playing with it's prey,

An appetizer before it's meal.)

Your hands tug on the key to room 402. You turn on your heel, facing him again. You hesitate for a moment, breath catching in your throat. He tilts his head before raising his hands for you. An invite rests in the tense air, alongside it is a tempting ambrosia, a siren's saccharine call, beckoning you to take a bite, let it seep into your throat and burn inside your chest and untangle the threads in your belly.

You take a bite.

Your fingers graze his. The keys settle on the heart of his palm. The creases in his skin run like rivers and your fingertips linger for a single second to swim in and trace them.

The ambrosia calls to you again in the form of his eyes locking onto the connection between his and yours. His fingers curl again, grazing yours. Nails settle moon crescents into your velvety skin. They glide across the surface, taking in the slight warmth and feel of your skin before breaking contact.

The tangled and aching mess in your belly returns again. Your eyes dart back up to his again and your breath gets caught in your throat again as you see how dark they've become, ink seeking into the brown you saw a few moments ago. They dig into you, just like before—razors cutting, teeth mauling, tongue licking the blood dripping down your skin. He opens his mouth to drink his fill.

"It's Simon."

You swallow down the breath you didn't know you were holding captive in your throat and return his gesture with your own name. It seems like a deal brokered with an entity you shouldn't even look at—a faerie claiming your name alongside your body, a devil clutching your soul and future.

"O-okay, Simon. If you need anything, just see me at the front desk."

You take a bite and taste his name on your tongue. It spreads its blood into you, the metallic taste akin to a bubbling infection you can't and don't want to shake off. You swear you notice the same smile underneath his balaclava, curling and showing you his teeth.

"Oh, I think I will."

He murmurs your name alongside that, finishing his words like a promise to an altar. You like the way your name gets trapped behind his teeth, thrown to his tongue and chained to it, settling on it and spreading the same infection as his own name did to you.

Simon turns his back to you. He trails up the creaky wooden stairs and his steps echo in the room as they do in your mind. His smells sifts through the air—nitroglycerin and charred wood, bleach alongside the ridges of burnt wood. It fills your lungs with black smoke, seeping through the veins and clinging on—branding you like heated metal.

You don't see him again that day again.

A couple check in. A man and a woman. They feel as sickeningly normal as the 60's posters littered across the motel walls—aged with skin swirling on their faces, clothes sewn meticulously clinging onto their still strong clothes. They smile. The light glints on their dull and soft teeth.

(Like prey.)

They ask for room 12, as they booked. You hand them the keys and murmur sweet words—enjoy your stay, call me if you need anything. A verse engraved in your mind, leaving your mouth like you're a broken record.

The night creeps in. Tendrils of dark sift through the motel windows. The rooms are quiet. Only the soft echos of your shuffling feet and the periodic thumps can be heard around the building, for those you don't have an explanation for.

The next day you don't see the couple check out. You don't see them walk the hallways. Roderick shushes your questions about them. The curiosity blooms in your chest. It carves a home in your heart. A hole grows alongside with it.

In the early hours Simon checks out. Thank you, Lamb—he tells you, sweet words about you and his stay—I'll see you soon—you squirm and mumble a meek thank you's and see you soon. His words light fireworks along your skin, the flame dancing on the surface. You feel like a wire caught alight. Electricity sifting through the air between you two.

Your eyes drift to his hands, just like they've done multiple times. You squint, focusing on his short ivory nails.

There's a strange dark crimson stain underneath the nails—a stark contrast. Your eyes lock onto them and Simon notices your stare.

His balaclava shifts again as he smiles at you. His feet carry him to the front door. The bell rings as his hold makes the door creak open. He disappears just as quickly as he showed up.

You still smell the bleach and charred wood where he stood.

The day passes the way you expect it too. Endless cycle akin to a ouroboros swirling and consuming itself—pointless and unsatisfactory.

Your feet carry you through the front room. The bell ringing above you as you step outside. The cold air bites at your cheeks, trying to escape into your heavy coat. You bring the fabric closer and cover yourself even more to escape the unforgiving weather.

Your hands tremble as they dig into your pockets. Nails nick at exposed skin. The anxiety and paranoia grasps at you. Your mind keeps replaying back to your goodbye with Simon. He's a man you barely know, but feel a curiosity towards him that you shouldn't. A pull that seems to wrap around you and bring you to your doom. It is laced with a fear that spreads lightning up your spine.

You tither on that feeling as your feet take you down the labyrinth roads, a black river that is never-ending. The roads are seemingly quiet until a sound rings out in the air.

A truck drives closer to your side of the road. Your shoulder tense and feet quicken. You tilt your head in its direction. The familiar stark white color of the truck flicks a lever in your mind and suddenly you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding.

It's Simon. It's Simon as you move closer to the truck, now parked next to you. You raise your head, eyes wide as you peek through the darkened windows. It pulls down as you see the all too familiar balaclava stare right back at you alongside the earth-brown eyes with a tinge of an alive amber.

He leans back into his seat, legs spread—need a ride?—he asks, voice louder and reaching out to you. You thin your lips. The steps of the passenger seat beckon you closer—only a step is what you need to take.

You nod—yes, I appreciate it, thank you—you hum, voice soft and mellow. You watch him through lidded eyes, catching note of how he takes unnecessary turns and drives down longer roads.

You face him. A question burns on top of your tongue. You want to and do ask him—where are we going? Where are you taking me?—but, the gaze in which he gives you, alive and high on adrenaline is all he answers you with.

The blood underneath his fingernails are still there. You think you'll add to his collection.

Simon thinks you're a bird with a broken wing. You squirm in the hole of the hunters trap. The other wing flapping, air around you contorting as it picks you up and you escape from the jaws of the trap.

He sits next to you now in his truck and wonders how he's going to clip your wings.

You'd been so sweet to him. Opening your rib cage, moving the white bones and placing your heat on a plate for him. Your saccharine words echo in his mind. He'd never tasted something like it before. You make his teeth ache and belly hot. He craves another bite of the honeyed elixir that coats your body as sweat as your face contorts in something akin to fear and uncertainty.

"You should' have go' in the truck with me, Lamb." His words are like a final prayer, a nail in the coffin as his free hand moves towards you.

The truck stops at a dark part of town. Murky streets tangle into each other. A butcher's shop rests tucked away in the corner. The yellow and blue windows stand out against the dim muted colors of the rest of the street. An almost broken down and colorful sign of a butcher shop hangs perched above the building.

Simon finds your furrowed brows and thinned lips adoringly amusing. His calloused fingertip rests against your bottom lip. He bites back a groan as he tugs it down slightly. You follow his lead almost instinctively. His thumb digs in. Salty surface laid upon your soft tongue. The taste melts into your mouth. Your tongue raises and hugs his thumb to your teeth. Sharp surface digs into his skin. The metallic liquid coats your pearlescent canines.

He smiles—"Lamb has claws, good. It'll be even more satisfying 'o see how much you can do with them." —he presses deeper.

You try and shuffle towards the passenger door, hoping the lock hasn't been closed and you still have an option to escape whatever spider web you've gotten yourself wrapped in.

“I ‘pected you t’run.”

The hoped dies out in your mouth as you hear the lock fasten. You whine and he laughs at you. You can make out a crooked grin underneath the black balaclava.

“Wouldn't do tha’ if I were you.”

Simon's other hand leaves the steering wheel. It grazes the plush surface of your clothed belly and you startle back like an animal protecting it's weak spots. He's eerie quiet now. His hand trails up to your neck, touching the soft and delicate skin. You instinctively shift your head.

"I-I can pay you." You stammer. This is the first time you've been so close up to him. You can see burns and scars across the exposed skin. You shudder at the sight.

"Pay me?" He mimics back to you.

You nod frantically. His hand is still on your neck. You're afraid he's going to sense your pulse and figure out how you're fucking terrified.

Like—

Maybe, at the start you entertained this, but now you are actually a bird underneath a hawk, or more like a flesh eating vulture. It's claws digging and getting ready to bite and feast and Simon looks like a man that doesn't let any bite go to waste.

His eyes dig into you again like razors. He prompts you, asks you and beckons you to answer—will ya try t'run again?

You gulp. For a moment you stay frozen in his hold unable to answer but, his hold becomes stronger, pushing and adding pressure at the sides of your neck. You whimper—where would I go?

"Good girl."

His hand around your throat digs in. You gasp. He closes on the sides of your airway, careful not to push on the front where you gulp and swallow your fear and words. His eyes trail up to yours, watching as your own move and shake. Your hands crawl up to his arms. Your nails dig into his visible marred skin, leaving moon crescents in your wake. He huffs. His breath seeping through the fabric of his balaclava and hitting your face. You take in his smell again— nitroglycerin, bleach and charred wood, fire burning alive at the tips of it.

"Too late for that, Lamb." He croaks out. The words echo through your ears like church bells and a higher power giving you your sentence.

"But I think we can work something else out."

Something else turns out to be his hands gripping you too hard, making blue and purple marks bloom in his wake.

Your feet struggle to take big steps to follow alongside him. You could try and scream bloody murder, alert someone, run for your life, cross and jump fences and escape. Who would help you? Would they hear your pleas—help, this behemoth of a man is keeping me as his little toy.

You grimace at the thought.

He turns his head to face you. His eyes akin to a all too hungry boar ready to pounce.

"Don't get any funny ideas runnin' aroun' in t'head o'yours, Lamb."

"Funny?" You quip, letting it hang in the air as you add, "like getting into your truck and following you to some sketchy butcher shop that looks like a 00's old disco?"

"Cheeky little think ain't ya?"

"This isn't fair—"

"Fair? Life ain't fair, Lamb."

He tugs you closer. A strange look appears in his eye. The white of it akin to sea foam. He hums, taking in your fear and uncertainty. It simmers on his tongue and he swallows it down. There's a hunger in them. A familiar hunger you've always felt and now you see it mirrored in his own.

He moves you to the butcher shop by the scruff of your neck. The heavy door closes with a sharp crash. There's a stark smell of bleach hanging in the air suffocating your lungs. There's the tinge of sweat around the room too. The suspicious light brown colored stains lays across the floor. There is a smaller room tucked away he leads you to. A mattress laid across the dirtied floor. You swear you make out chains hung across the room. You wonder if he'll hang you from them.

(There's no escape.)

You remember the crimson underneath his nails. The couple from 12 and Simon— the man in 13. Ironic the number he settles with was 13. It suits him, you think.

"Did you kill them?"

Simon gazes back at you. His hands crawl up to his balaclava and grips the fabric. Your breath clings to your throat. The noises die out as your eyes lock onto him and his appearing face.

He's not—

Not how they describe them in the books.

Not handsome.

More ugly. Disturbing in a way that's obscene. He's more skin stitched together than man. More flesh looking too wrong than human.

You see his Glasgow smile first. The dip in skin alongside the corners of his mouth form a Cheshire grin. His lips look chapped and rough, a cut runs vertically along it, separating skin and showing his crooked almost sharp canine teeth. The dark brown hair stick together and clings to his forehead. It's damp and just about long enough for you to grip it in your hands. Suddenly the calloused hands make sense when you compare it to the face in front of you. Dirtied nails and sweat engraved into his skin.

"Questionin' and questionin'." He tuts, like reprimanding a child. You feel like one right now. His frame eats you whole, engulfed in one single bite. The rumble in his voice goes straight to your belly and lights up that ache in your abdomen.

"What do ya think Lamb? Bette' yet, stand straight." He reckons you to the middle of the room and you follow his words. You stand shaken.

He takes notice.

"Go on now. Strip for me."

Every piece of clothing you slowly let fall down your body you offer him, an exchange—I show you what I hide under layers and peel them off and make myself completely bare for you only standing in panties. He indulges in you.

Riley—you catch his name as he lets it escape his teeth. You ask what he thinks he'll get out of this and what he wants—I already 'ave ya, Lamb, I didn' ask for much more.

His lackluster answers are made worst as he trails closer to you. His eyes rake over your naked body, taking in every inch. You can feel the way his mouth waters because of the way he gulps. He groans and it reaches you down to your abdomen. The silent request he sends your way when he gestures to the mattress laid in the corner. Your shoulders stiff at the sight. Your feet glue to the floor beneath you.

He gives you that annoyed and impatient tut again. His hands clench and veins become more prominent. He shuffles closer to you.

"Do I 'ave 'o do everythin' by myself, huh?"

His hands move to your body. They settle on your waist, slowly trailing down. You whine at first, which he shushes you with a quick and soft—sh—next to your ear.

His teeth graze your earlobe. His fingers play with the waistband of your panties, the only fabric you have that conceals you with modesty. You dig your face into his shoulder as he tugs rips it off. The fabric burns into your skin, too harsh of a pull putting pressure on your skin. It leaves red marks on your plush skin as it comes apart at the seams.

He tilts his head towards yours. His stubble soft and delicate while it scratches on your cheek—a surprisingly saccharine touch.

His fingers trace across the red mark left on your skin. His scarred skin scruffs against your own plush flesh and you shake in his hold. In response his grip on you becomes stronger. It's a precursor to what's about to come—rain before a storm.

They trace bellow your pelvis and abdomen, grazing the surface of the fire that burns and aches inside. You bite down on your tongue strong enough to draw blood as you feel his fingers trace your slick soaked lips.

He hums as he takes in your shaking form. Body spasms and your little gaps ring out in his ears like a melody of a golden music box. Your slick drips down his fingers and spreads to his hand and your thighs like ichor and he swears he can taste your ambrosia on the tip of his tongue.

"You are enjoyin' this, ain't you?"

You hate how cocky and satisfied he sounds. As if you're some experiment to him, bending at his will, but he's right.

You took his form in during your meeting at the motel, shamelessly trailing your eyes hungrily over him, wishing for a bite. You entered his truck, sat near him like the good girl he wanted you to be. You nodded your head when he made it clear there was no escape.

You're getting touched so delicately by a murderer and your body responds for you. It screams out for his touch. Soaked so much it glides down and makes your thighs stick to each other uncomfortably. You step towards his touch, trying to get more friction with his fingers.

Simon sees it all. His eyes follow how you present yourself to him just like the many times before. He curls his fingers and spreads your puffy lips again. His rough fingers scruff against the soft flesh and you whine into his neck. His other free hand trails down your spine, touching the ridges of the bone and settling on the plush skin of your rear. He grips and you're sure he'll leave a mark shaped like his hand.

The sensation makes you almost throw yourself even closer to him. You surround yourself in his smell, the nitroglycerin spreads through your body like a high you subconsciously don't want to fall down from.

His finger teases the entrance of your cunt. Your walls quiver and squeeze around nothing. He feels the muscles tense and move under his touch and you feel against your body how he takes a hoarse breath, drinking in the sight of you.

You keep your faced tucked and hidden away from him. It's the one and only kindness he grants you. It's the sheer burning shame of it all. You paw like a distressed animal on his chest, fingers clutch onto his clothes and nails dig into his skin.

You muffle a loud moan that he rips out of your throat as in his shoulder as he forces one finger inside your cunt. It's rough and it scorches your walls like they're on fire. His finger digs in until the knuckle is almost gone into the hug of your puffy lips. Your pussy feels raw and it aches, skin aflame and red.

And, fuck does it hurt.

It makes you bend and arch into him even more.

Your mouth hangs open and your tongue rest on the fabric of his shoulder. You're sure you've made the surface wet, but Simon seems like a man that likes it messy and dirty.

What he's doing right now proves it all.

Finger with dirt and blood under it curls and moves inside of you like a hot metal rod, branding your insides. His free hand, sweaty and dewy leaves no corner of your body untouched.

He grazes your breasts. No means are they that small, but he still manages to cup one I'm his hand. He pinches the rosy bud in his hand and pulls. You gasp and mewl into him—no more's and mindless calls for god ring out in the room.

He tugs you closer. His mouth opens wide like a predator opening his jaws. Crooked and sharp canines make way for his tongue to trail across your chest. He leaves his spit on your collarbone, tits and buds as he sucks and bites into the soft flesh. You whine and raise your head to stare at the ceiling.

Your moans turn into screams when he adds a second finger.

"Wait—" He doesn't.

You don't like it. It's too much. Your moans become even louder in his ears when his mouth latches on the side of your neck and bites. Teeth dig into the delicate skin and bruises bloom. Marks settle on your skin as he continues his assault. Teeth shaped rings and circles litter your neck and spread to your chest.

He's branding you in every way possible. Outside, his marks form in bites and grips turning into bruises, inside— his fingers work you apart and dismantle your walls, stretching you out with every thrust and curl of them.

He groans as his thumb dances across your clit and for a moment you chase that high, raise one of your legs, bending at the thigh and grazing the side of his hips.

He tuts and pulls his fingers out.

You whine at the empty feeling settling back into your abdomen. The tangled bunch of nerves you subconsciously wished to untie with his touch turn into a mess again. Your body instinctively chase his touch, moving towards him.

He grips your waist, palms on both sides. The touch puts pressure on you and you're sure it'll leave more marks in the shape of his hands, just like the one adorning your bottom cheek. Your eyes slowly meets his. The glint in Simon's eyes have made the brown morph into a burning amber.

"Needy thing, ain't ya? Deserve it, you think? Made me work o'it. You were squeezin' my fingers, ain't that enough?"

He brings the fingers coated with your slick in front of you. They glisten underneath the ceiling's dim light, the milky white skin glowing in the dark room. He brings them even closer to your face.

"Clean 'em, Lamb. Go on."

He beckons you, his fingers lay on top of your lips, tearing them apart. You follow suit. Your tongue sticks out slightly. He takes it as a yes—not like he was ever looking for permission in the first place.

The wet fingers rest on your tongue and he pushes down. You gag and clutch his wrist, but make no attempt to push him away. He digs even further. His fingers swirl and curl on your tongue and the taste of your own slick melts like salt of the sea on your taste buds.

"Bite."

"W-wha?" You croak out, voice muffled by the fingers currently occupying your mouth.

"I said bite, Lamb. Show me wha' you can do."

Your eyes lock onto him for a moment. If you can taste his blood again, make him wince again just even for a moment, you'll take it. Your teeth dig into his fingers. A red ring appears on his skin as indents. You finally break the surface of his skin and the crimson blood seeps into your mouth.

(A taste you're getting used to,

A fact he's delighted to bask in,

He gets to keep you.)

"Good girl."

He removes his fingers from your mouth. You thin your lips, trapping the blood and the sweat of him behind your mouth.

He shuffles near the dirtied mattress near the corner of the room. His hands grip you hard again and lead you to it. You can feel what's to come in the pits of your abdomen. Your body screams at you. Nerves are fried and your mind is hazy from pleasure and pain being mixed into one.

"I go'a do everythin' by myself, Lamb?" He hums as he drops you on the mattress.

Survival. One word rings and echos through your mind over and over again. You promise yourself that is the only reason this is happening. The only reason your knees almost pull away from each other. The only reason your cunt screams at you to present yourself to him, bare and sweet for him to skin himself into.

Your knees shake. He takes notice.

"Fuckin' needy. You love this, don't ya?"

"No." —you whine,— "no I fucking don't."

Tears gather on the waterline of your eyes and they drip down your cheeks before disappearing in your hairline. He brings and fucking licks the salty liquid off your sweaty skin. You swear his tongue lingers and presses in deeper. Your thighs clutch together.

(He wants a bite.)

"Is tha' why you rubbing your thighs, tryna get off?"

You whine and turn your eyes trained bellow, gaze stuck on his waist—anywhere but his face. Anywhere but the asymmetrical flesh of his face where skin and flesh dips and scars dance across it.

(You wonder if he'd let you trace them.)

"You're starin'. Ain't nice. Haven't even taken it out yet, Lamb."

Your mouth waters.

This fucking bastard.

You lay unmoving and trapped beneath him as his thighs frame your rear and upper legs, completely shadowing them. You gulp and try and ignore way your cunt flutters at the sight of Simon's arms gather at the hem of his shirt, at the sight of him removing said shirt and tossing it to some forgotten corner of the room. And, fuck you try your best to ignore how your pussy clenches around nothing as his bare chest is revealed to you.

Burn marks akin to cigarette burns litter his milky white skin. A plush tummy rests softly covered by light blond fuzz that travels down to his pants and turns into a forest of a happy trail. Something tenses under that happy trail, prisoner to the pants that tighten every second your desperate and debauched mewls and moans echo in the room and in his ears.

He smells like war, burnt wood and smoke. His hold freezes you to the spot underneath him, caged like an animal, just like the Lamb he loves to call you. You're forced to inhale his smell. The heavy smoke enters your lungs and heavies your body so you can never leave.

(Ruining you for anyone else.)

"Let's see if y'worth the trouble you put me through, Lamb."

His hands move to your hugged knees. You think,—he's pushing them open, oh my god—but he settles with connecting your legs, pushing them closer to your chest. Your soft thighs and pussy are on display for him. You don't want to admit the fact you can feel your pussy pulse with the thought he has you presented on a plate. Your cunt aches for his fucking touch again.

His crooked grin returns. It looks too wrong. His sly hands move to his pants and you swear you bear a zipper be brought down. You don't know what compelled you, but you tilt your head to the side and glance at what he'd just set free.

You see the faint pinkish-red tip first. It's angry uncut surface glistens with precum and you whine at the sight. The pinkish hue slowly turns into pale cream and the bluish veins dance across the surface of his cock like rivers. You gulp. He laughs.

"You should see how ya clench aroun' nothin' Lamb. You wan' it that bad?"

Something big pokes you where your thighs meet. He's going to fuck you, but first he'll use your thighs and brand himself into that piece of you too.

Your tears pool again. He won't even fuck you yet—

He coos, satisfied with your reaction.

"Don't worry, Lamb, you'll get my cock. Trust me, when I'm in your pretty cunt nothing will tear me out o'it."

You almost black out. Your mind turns putty. You go limp and drip into a puddle on the mattress.

His hips move and his cock pierces the plush flesh of your thighs. You see the head of his dick. He's fucking big. You feel the veins of him along your skin. He groans and first, he throws his head back to stare at the ceiling with a choked groan, next—he moans and falls down back to you. Hands cage you, settling on both side's of your face.

"You're fucking soft, Lamb. Fucking hell, squeezing me like your cunt did the same with my fingers."

You moan like a broken record. The underside of his cock grazes your clit. The hood of the sensitive bundle of nerves is pulled up, brought down with every thrust of his hips.

Your hands grip his arms, hanging onto him. You move closer without been noticing, seeking his clothed thighs to touch your cunt.

He lets our a breathless laugh again. Taking notice of the slick coating your cunt and the buttom of your rear. He catches the way you shuffle closer to him, wanting more and wanting more.

(You call it a bodily reaction,

It has to be.

To him it's you sharing the same hunger he has.)

"Gonna be good f'me?"

He removes his cock from the warm and soft hold of your thighs. He lets out a hiss at the movement before cupping your cunt, his palm dwarfs it it's entirety. You grind against him, seeking any release you can get.

"I expect an answer outta ya, Lamb."

He drifts above and pushes down onto your clit. Three hands rubbing circles onto the sensitive bud. You arch your back into him and your chests almost touch.

"Fuck, yes—" You rip the answer out of your throat. You take in every burst of pleasure he gives you. You swear you see starts behind your eyelids.

(Is the black hole going to take them as it plans on taking you?)

"Good girl."

His calloused hands still dance across your clit. The harsh skin burns yours. It feels as if he's burning you like the charred wood he smells like. It hurts. It aches. You can't take it. It hurts too much.

He moves with intent. His cock comes closer to the bare entrance of your cunt. You panic. Hoarse voice escapes you as you shift away from him.

"Wait—fuck—wait, no condom?"

He stares at you for a moment, a brow raises at you like you're a child asking him a stupid question. His hand grips the sides of your face. You let out a choked poor excuse of a scream. He brings you closer to his face.

"Never fucked raw, Lamb?"

"I-I've never tried this."

You croak out, like you even had the choice to try this.

"You don't know how it feels when a cock comes inside you?"

You let your mouth hang open. Words dry on your tongue. How do you even answer that?

His eyes settle on your lips. His fingers trace along it. Moving closer in your proximity, his own ripped lips touch yours. For some reason you don't push him, you don't scream at him. You stay frozen. You lie to yourself when you try and convince your mind it's all because of the fear.

The moment only lasts for a few second before he smiles again—The sickly Glasgow smile spreads even more. You shudder in his hold. Of course, all because of fear.

"You'll take my cock—"

"Fuck—no, it's too big— it won't fit."

He pushes harder on your cheeks. Your lips contort as you look up at him.

"We'll make it fit, Lamb."

Your mind turns even more hazy at his words. They light a spark down your abdomen. Your toes curl, knees bend and hug at his sides, bringing him in even closer. Simon groans. His head tilts and positions himself and his cock right at the entrance of your aching cunt.

The tip of his cock slowly pushes past your raw lips of your pussy. You move and writhe in his hold under him. Simon is unforgiving in the way he pushes himself into you. You swear he's trying to split you in half. You're sure you'll feel him in your belly, chest and throat by the time he's in.

You mewl and your hands grasp at his chest. Your nails rake down his skin. They move to grasp his shoulders and you bring him even closer, beckoning him to you.

"Simon—"

"Fuck. I know, Lamb. You're squeezing me—"

Simon gasps. His hands grasp the soft flesh around your waist. His hazy eyes take your entire body in. You notice them as they do. You catch the hunger in his eye. Your walls flutter again when you see the possessive glint curling in the burning amber of his eyes.

There's a certain high that spreads through your veins when you see how much he's affected too. He's slowly pushing his cock into you and the moans and groans leave him like hoarse and broken notes. You figure out what the high is that you're currently feeling.

A man like him. A man of his size and cruelty. A man bathed in blood with the crimson stuck underneath his nails no matter how much he tries to wash it off. That man is on his knees for you, bottoming out in you, getting drunk on the feeling of your cunt's walls beckoning him in and fluttering around him. You did that.

Or, your cunt did. Though, with the way his eyes glint when they reach your face.

Yea, you did that.

You're dragged out of your reverie when you feel Simon's cock dig in deeper. You curl into his hold. He moves even deeper into you. He makes a home inside of you, his veins engrave themselves on your fluttering walls.

The room smells of sex. The moans and gasps of both of you echo through out the room. The nitroglycerin sifts through the air. His sweat rolls down onto you and joins your own.

The way his hold keeps you steady and your plush thighs keep him close and cunt keeps him warm is a stark contrast to how he had handled you, how he'd trapped you in his jaws and dug his teeth in you. It is a dichotomy you take like a high and let it spread lightning through your body.

His hips don't give up their assault. They thrust deep inside you and you can see how his cock disappears in your cunt. His unforgiving thrusts carve into you. He moves out and back in—ouroboros of an endless cycle.

He grins and pushes deeper.

Maybe you've gone crazy. You've lost it truly. His length soothes some aching and raw feeling inside you. Untangles your nerves and you let moans ring out like a melody as an answer to the hazy bliss.

You settle your hand on your lower belly where the hotness and the scorching feeling act as a balm and calming oil for you. Your fingers feel the way your stomach bulges from Simon's cock, the way he meticulously moves his length along your clenching walls. You push down on him.

He rolls his hips and groans. A sickeningly saccharine smile grows on his face.

"'m too big for you, huh?"

You can feel him twitch inside you. Result of some masculine high he's on right now. He hangs on his words, but doesn't wait for an answer and digs himself into you again and again and—

You think he likes it — the fact it hurts you and you mewl and struggle to fully take him. It feels his chest with some debauched pride. The fact he's the one working you open on his cock, that he's the one that you're perched and split half upon.

"c'mon, Lamb. Cum on my cock, the one who's makin' you whine and moan f'me."

"I can't—"

"Greedy little thing, ain't ya?"

He removes one hand on the waist he's been using to hold you as he bullies his cock into you and moves it to your puffy clit. He drags shaky circles and you arch into his hold. You whine and mewl. He answers with hoarse groans and gasps of his own.

Your body goes limp in his hold. You raise your hips in a last offering to him. Make me cum, make me—

"Little fucking minx."

Your breath is knocked out of your chest as his thrust becomes sloppy and fast. His voice cracks and he lets his head fall onto your shoulder. His cock deep in you, embedded, full balls slapping at your ass, fingers working your sensitive and raw clit as your pushed to the edge.

Your mind's so hazy you can't count how many times he untangles you with his cock and fingers. Your mind can only focus on the way he pulls you apart with his length, spearing you in half.

His hand leaves your clit. It returns back to your waist and he drags your whole body even closer. His thrust become final. They reach so deep you see galaxy's and nebula's behind your lidded eyelids. He groans and rolls his hips one last time before—a warm and heavy liquid spreads through—he comes, inside you and deep. He settles down onto you, muscles shifting and laying soft by your sides.

Your things once wrapped around him and keeping him warm now rest laid on the mattress. You feel your body tense and the soreness bites at you.

He moves away, pulls out in a agonizingly slow way, just to see your face break out in shame and pleasure one more time.

He shuffles to the other side of the room. You stand as well. Shaky legs move you to your discarded clothes. It earns you strange look from Simon.

"Wha' are you doin'?"

"I'm just—"

"Wait, you don't think you're leavin', right?"

"I thought this was—"

"—a one time thing?" He finishes for you before continuing. "Lamb, you ain't goin' nowhere."

"But—"

"Sleep."

Simon wakes up countless of times. Cock still hard and leaking with cum. The same cum you had stuffed deep and safe in your fluttering cunt. The cunt which you presented him with during the night. You were awake, half asleep, or even blacked out, but still mewling on his cock.

You took everything he gave you like his good girl. You are so good to him.

He'd knew you be. Knew from the moment he saw you first through the window of his truck walking to work in that sad excuse of a motel. Knew from the moment when you'd eye him passing by. Knew when you first met him. Your plum lips and flushed cheeks are engraved in his mind. Knew you'd take his fingers and cock well from the moment you let your sweet words beckon him closer.

He got his answer when you laid naked and bare in front of him. Your arched spine and trembling hands digging and clutching his clothes as he pumped his fingers in and out of your puffy pussy. Your mewls as he fucked your thighs slick with your arousal you tried so hard to deny.

In the end his bites and bruises adorn your skin. It's his cum in your cunt keeping you warm, dripping down onto your thighs.

You're his now. He has branded you. There's a rough similarity to the way he marked you and the way butchers mark the good meat and flesh.

He's not supposed to target locals. Too noisy. People ask and turn their heads, wondering where one of their own is.

Price had made it sure Simon knew this.

But, he deserves you, doesn't he?

Your soft skin around him and his rough arms morphing you so he can carve a place in your rib cage to be the one and only to sit there warmed by your blood.

© PORCELIAN ﹕ I do not give consent for my writing to be posted or used on any other platforms without my permission and proper credit.

[kilometermacher]

Polen nochmal: Von Kołobrzeg nach Darłowo

[desperate-gay]

millie bright x reader where reader plays for arsenal and they are sneaking around because they thought that their chelsea and arsenal teammates wouldn’t approve of them fraternising with the enemy as it were. in reality both teams already know and are seeing how much they can hint towards it and embarrass them without letting on that they know. maybe you could even in include some of the chelsea and arsenal girls teaming up to do this. sort of like romeo and juliet but make it comedy

Romeo & Juliet

Millie Bright x fem!reader

summary: a “forbidden love” is revealed to many

“-What are you doing here? Someone’s going to see you!” You whisper shout, pulling the person in by their wrist and peaking your head out the door into the hallway to see if anyone is around. Thankfully there wasn’t.

You were looking through your suitcase before a series of knocks interrupted you. A little confused as to why someone was knocking at your hotel door at 11 at night, you went to open the door and noticed it was your secret girlfriend Millie Bright.

The main reason your relationship is a secret is because of the color of your uniforms. Hers being the dark blue for Chelsea and yours being the bright red for Arsenal. Two players on rival teams falling in love; ironic isn’t it?

If you both played for the same country it would be a little different, but sadly, you don’t. What’s worse is that you play for the USWNT, everybody’s sworn enemy it feels like, although everyone loves you no matter where you’re from. They obviously don’t hate players from the country, but since they’re extremely competitive, they have to keep up their tough front.

“Well, nice to see you too, love.” Millie snickers, slumping down at the end of the hotel mattress with a big thump, squirming in her place to get comfortable. She opens her arms for you to slot yourself on her lap and hug your arms around her neck.

“Sorry, I’m so happy to see you. I’ve missed you.” You sigh, pecking her cheek softly while nuzzling your face into her neck, trying to get as close to her as you can. Her tattooed arm trails underneath your shirt, rubbing at your stomach as she presses tiny kisses along your jaw.

“I’ve missed you too. I have also missed letting the TV run while I get my way with you.” She whispers suggestively, continuing to trail kisses in any place she can reach, making you hum in pleasure.

“Ooo! Look at the sky!” You hop off the blonde’s lap and open the sliding door to go onto the balcony, leaving the defender winded by your sudden disappearance. She sighs with a fond smile, shaking her head before getting up to follow you.

Millie’s arms loop around your waist as her chin finds a place down on your shoulder. Her muscular figure wraps around you comfortably while you both gaze up at the stars in the sky.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” You ask, rocking back and forth slowly with the taller girl’s body against yours.

“Almost as beautiful as you.” She teases, placing a kiss on your neck.

“You’re so cheesy.” You say in fake disgust with your tongue hanging out your mouth to prove your point further. Her fingers pinch your side, warning you to keep your mouth shut.

“I guess listening to Sam’s and Kristie’s calls all the time rubs off on ya.”

You both look at the sky and the people walking up to the hotel for a little bit until you catch a familiar blonde looking up at you with a puzzled face and a hand over her eyes to block the light from the lamppost. Of course, it had to be the Lionesses captain and your fellow Arsenal teammate.

“Shit! Mills go inside. Code red, I repeat code red!” Before your girlfriend can protest, you’re already shoving her through the glass doors and shutting it along with the curtains.

“Now what was that for?” Millie stands with her arms crossed over her chest, wondering why exactly their peaceful stargazing was interrupted by you yelling and pushing her into the hotel room.

“Leah might have just seen us from the sidewalk.” You bite your nails at the confession before peaking out the glass door to see if the girl is still down there. Running a hand through your hair, you begin to pace back and forth wondering if Leah has seen you with the Chelsea defender.

“Leah as in my England captain and your teammate Leah?” Millie asks, trying to process everything that just happened while making sure you’re talking about the same person.

Before you have the chance to answer, the sound of knocking appears at your door, causing your eyes to widen. You look out the peephole and notice Leah standing there with her familiar scowl on her face.

“Oh my god, we’ve gotta hide you.” You push at her back and drag her into the bathroom, gesturing for her to get into the shower.

“I don’t want to go in there!” Millie protests while whispering so she doesn’t alarm the girl who is currently still standing on the other side of your hotel door.

“Either you go in there right now, or you stay and explain to your captain that you’re in a long-term relationship with an Arsenal and United States player.”

“In the shower, I go.” She hops in so you can close the curtain right away and head over to the front door. You look at the mirror next to you and fix your appearance to the best of your ability.

Opening the door, you greet the other defender with a smile, “Hey, Lee. It’s pretty late, what are you doing here?”

You welcome Leah in, gesturing for her to sit either on your bed or on the little chair in the corner, but she chooses to stand.

“I just thought I’d say goodnight to my dearest friend, but I thought I saw someone else on the balcony with you.” She quirks an eyebrow towards you, waiting for you to answer her not-very-obvious question.

“Nope, just me.” You chuckle nervously.

After a few seconds of silence, Leah lets out a big sigh, “Thought I’d just say hey since I saw that you were up. Guess I’ll get goin’” Just when you’re about to think she’s leaving when she heads over to the door, she turns around and asks, “Do you have any extra tissues? Russo and Mccabe just finished watching The Notebook for the first time and used it all.”

“Umm yeah, I’ll go grab that for you-“

“No, it’s okay. I know where it is.”

Leah misses the panicked expression on your face when she heads into the bathroom. She looks under the sink and grabs the extra box before making her way back out by you. You almost sigh in relief when she doesn’t notice the tall figure standing behind your shower curtains, but you refrain yourself so she doesn’t ask questions.

“Goodnight, Lee. See you tomorrow.” You wave her out the door, closing it and locking everything you can so no one with a key card can get in. Hands grab at your waist making you jump at the sudden contact but relax hearing the familiar voice of your brick wall of a girlfriend.

“That was a close one. I think that calls for a long night of cuddles, don’t ya think?” She asks, jumping onto the mattress with her arms wide open, waiting for you to join her. You laugh at her childish pout and shuffle your body to fit into hers, resting your head on her chest.

“I love you.” You mumble sleepily.

Millie places a peck on your forehead whispering back, “I love you too, sweets. Get some sleep.”

—

“You actually saw Mills in the room with her?” Beth asks with a shocked expression on her face.

“Yes! Her bun was literally peaking over the shower curtain. Y/n/n thought I didn’t see Millie on the balcony with her when it was so obvious seeing how much bigger she is compared to our tiny Gooner.” Leah states as everyone rolls their eyes at yours and Millie’s attempt to hide your relationship.

The Chelsea and Arsenal players caught onto your relationship quickly when they caught you sneaking off into a materials closet to snog each other’s faces off. With the many attempts of the two of you trying to keep it a secret, they thought it would be fun to let it keep happening to get a little laugh in.

Everyone 100% supports you guys in every way. They think you both complement each other well and you’re basically a match made in heaven.

“Don’t get me started when I saw Millie get all lovesick on the phone a few weeks ago. When I asked her who it was, she tried to say it was Daly.” Sam shakes her head, taking a sip out of her drink. A bunch of the girls, both red and blue, decided to hang out in one of their rooms to have a meeting about you two.

“Do you think they’ll ever realize that they’re not as subtle as they think they are?” Niamh questions to which the whole group responds in a series of no’s, shaking their heads at your guys' obliviousness.

—

“Making my way downtown, walking fast, faces pass- ah!”

One second you’re walking around, next you’re being yanked away by an unknown source. You had time to spare before you had to go out on the pitch and practice, so you decided to stroll around and get a little pregame walk in.

“Beautiful singing there, love.”

“Warn a girl next time, almost gave me a heart attack.” You exclaim, pushing at her chest in fake offense which doesn’t even make her move an inch because of her string build.

She grips your waist and softly presses you up against the corner wall. Her lips begin to pepper all over your skin, from your cheeks to your collarbones.

“Mills, someone’s going to catch us.” You protest weakly, too consumed by the feelings of her kisses pressing lightly at all the right spots.

“We’re tucked away in a corner, no one will see us, darling.” Her voice vibrates against your neck, causing you to let out a soft giggle, melting the heart of your lover. “I miss you.”

You grab her cheeks with both of your hands and swipe the loose strands of hair that have fallen out of her bun. “You just saw me last night, baby. We’ll get to see each other again.”

“Yeah, but I had to sneak out in the early morning so no one would notice me leaving your room which is hardly romantic might I say.”

Your eyes remain on hers, roaming every detail of the different hues of blue splattered in her eyes. She smiles back at you and places her hand over yours that continues to stroke her cheek.

Snapping out of your little love bubble, you clear your throat and ask, “Is there any reason you stopped me from my regular pregame stroll?”

“Oh just wanted to come and wish you luck, but also let you know that there are no hard feelings after we destroy you.” She smirks, straightening her posture and showing off her new captain band.

“That’s so funny because I was just going to say the same thing.” Millie rolls her eyes at your mocking tone and threatens to walk away, but you grab her wrist and pull her back into you. “Good luck kiss?”

The defender huffs but leans in anyway, never being able to deny you. It first starts as an innocent peck but then you pull her back in for another and things start getting more heated. After a minute of her tongue in your mouth, you pull away gasping for breath while giggling slightly in the slight haze you’re in.

“Thank you for that, hope it makes you feel better after Arsenal beats Chelsea’s ass!”

And it turns out, you weren’t wrong. Arsenal won 2-1 with a goal from Lacasse and Russo. There were a few chances of you scoring a header but with a certain captain’s hands on your waist, whispering her thoughts about you had you distracted.

Safe to say that you’re not on your best game when playing against Millie Bright.

You’re now shaking hands with all of the other team when you approach the blonde. You both begin to talk while drinking out of your water bottles just chatting away. Millie leans in for a hug which you accept and take in her big embrace.

“Oi! You were already off kissin’, you can be separated for a little bit now.” An Irish accent interrupts you, making you pull away with a shocked look on both of your faces.

Your fellow Arsenal teammates stand next to Chelsea’s as they all stare at you two with amused expressions. Millie stands awkwardly, stuttering at the fact you two were caught while you gasp and point your finger at all of them.

“You all knew?!”

—

“Hardy har har, we get it. We weren’t as secretive as we thought we were.” You roll your eyes at everyone’s continuous teasing.

After the game, everyone agreed to go out and have a few drinks at the pub down the street since there’s a little break in the season and everyone has free time. The whole group besides you and Millie decided it was time to share all the times they either caught or suspected the two of you, many of the stories being incredibly embarrassing.

Millie is sitting on the booth with you on top of her, legs sprawled across her lap. One of her hands rests comfortably on the spot where your skin is exposed, right next to your belly button while her other holds onto her bottle of beer. You continue to sip on your cocktail as everyone turns to their separate conversations.

The blonde below you taps on your stomach, making you shift your attention to her, seeing her neck crooked up with her lips pursed. You let out a small laugh and lean over to press a few short but equally sweet kisses to her lips. Millie smiles in delight before the sound of fake gagging can be heard from across the table.

“Can’t you guys go swap saliva in the privacy of your own room?” Katie once again interrupts but ends up getting hit on the back of the head by Caitlin.

“You all better turn away because what I’m about to do is not PG!” Without warning, Millie grips your jaw with one hand and pulls you into a sloppy kiss, kissing the life out of you and dramatically making loud noises to peeve the other girls, causing your nose to crinkle at the disgusting sounds.

You push her away and hang your tongue out, showing your obvious fake displeasure. A few of the girls whooped at the public display of affection while others covered the eyes of the innocent ones. Everyone gets their laughs and jokes out, trying their best to patter on your so-called new relationship.

You’re laughing with Leah and Alessia about their little game disagreement when you notice how quiet Millie has been. You look over and see her staring into space so you wave your hand in front of her face, bringing her back onto earth with a small smile.

“Why don’t you let your hair down, baby? Loosen up a little.” You rub your thumb on the apple of her cheek while swiping away a strand of hair that fell down on her cheek.

“Mm, might have to wait till after we get to the hotel because the things I plan on doing to ya require my hair to stay out of the way.” A deep crimson red coats your cheeks before you look over to the side, sipping on your drink to avoid the lustful stare from the tattooed woman.

“Cheekyyy,” Sam says having slid over closer to you two for whatever reason.

Millie is quickly guiding you out the door, bidding your goodbyes to everyone and ignoring the wolf whistles that follow you out the door. After your rewarding night, you both equally decide to share your relationship with the world, so when you have up to thousands of notifications, you shut your phone and nuzzle your face right back onto your girlfriend’s chest.

—

liked by samanthakerr20 and 86,564 others

mbrighty04 rivals to lovers?? @y/nofficial

view all 720 comments

y/nofficial my favorite trope!

↳ mbrighty04 mine too!

flemingenthusiast y/n to chelsea?!

↳ y/nofficial ew.

↳ leahwilliamsonn she’s ours forever

samanthakerr20 they never shut up about each other

↳ mbrighty04 don’t get me started on you and kristie

[iamthemain-character]

To Fall

xaden riorson x fem!reader

CW: Canonical violence, brief suggestive language

A/N: I'm currently reading Iron Flame so this is just based off Fourth Wing knowledge! Don't come for me lol

Song: I, Carrion (Icarian) by Hozier

I feel lighter than I have in so much time

I've crossed the border line of weightless

One deep breath out from the sky

I've reached a rarer height now that I can confirm

All our weight is just a burden offered to us by the world

The first sensation you notice when you stir from your rest is the weight of your lover’s arm around your waist. You can feel the way his hand rests just under your breast, gentle compared to its touch just a few hours ago. You keep your eyes closed, savoring the peaceful intimacy of this moment. Your hand lifts from the mattress, trailing your fingers over the lines of his forearms, not needing sight to trace the familiar scars. You’ve gazed at these arms long enough, felt their strength, that you know each muscle as if it is your own.

“Good morning, beautiful.” The husky morning voice of Xaden curls around your ear, the sound traveling straight down to your heart. You feel his hard chest press against your shoulder blades as he pulls you in closer, his warmth permeating your skin, heating you up from the inside out. You could feel the bridge of his nose as he pressed his face into your hair, lips finding the bits of skin through the curtain of hair that fell over your shoulders. His hand pressed a little firmer against your ribs, as if he could meld you into his body through sheer strength. Not that you would have minded; you never felt as complete as you did when you were right against Xaden.

It was difficult to say what moments with Xaden were your favorite. He was an all consuming sort of lover, always giving his most in every second he spent in your presence. Yet the soft mornings, when the sun had not yet dared to cast her gaze over the earth, you perhaps cherished most. Xaden was entirely yours in those moments; not a Wingleader, not the leader of a rebellion, but just the man who loved you. And the man you loved fiercely in return. The bond between the two of you felt as fierce as dragons’, a desperate need to be near one another, to share in every part of your being.

Unlike dragons, however, the world tore the two of you apart. Your assignment to the front lines brought a chill into your bed, one that not even all of Xaden’s affection could brush away. You longed to give into his touches, the kisses that made you feel as if you were high above the world, but the knowledge that every minute brought you closer to your departure forced you to be sensible.

“You’re thinking.” Xaden murmurs, the plush of his lips ghosting over the curve of your ear.

“Always.” You sigh in return, turning your head to look into his eyes. There’s a shine in his Onyx irises, a light that you proudly note you bring to his life. You reach up your hand, trailing it over the path of stubble that covers his jawline. He makes a sound of contentment, one that you feel rumble in his chest, and he presses his head further into your touch.

“You’re going to need to write down all of those pretty thoughts for me.” He murmurs, brushing his lips against your palm, following the map of its creases.

“Most of them are going to be about you anyways.” You give a soft breath of laughter, knowing you would willingly write down every word for him if he asked.

“Even better.” He insists, moving his kisses to the pulsepoint at your wrist, as if he could kiss your very heart. “That means they’ll match mine.”

Your chest swells, and suddenly it's like your ribs have been cinched in, making your throat close in on itself. Your eyes prick with tears, and you blink rapidly, trying to push them away. You slip your hand to the back of his neck, intertwining your fingers with the messy curls, savoring the silky sensation. “I’m going to miss you.” You whisper, the words only audible for Xaden, as if the walls themselves will hear you and shame your vulnerability. But here, in the bed, with only his ears listening in, you know you can allow yourself the emotions too often denied in the life of a rider.

“As will I.” Xaden replies, his tone low and gentle. “But you will be back soon.” He says the words so easily, voice as calm as the morning itself. But his arms tighten their hold on you, his hands pressing flat against your hip and your stomach, pulling your body as tightly against his as possible without crushing you. There's a desperation in his hold, and you think that he may be clinging to you rather than holding. Every time you leave, there's the unspoken knowledge between the two of you that you may not return. The uncertainty of life comes with the job, and with the warlike state on the front lines, mercy has turned her gaze away from the world.

“Promise me you’ll take care of yourself.” Your words are soft, but your tone is underlined with a plea. You know all too well how Xaden pushes himself when you are not there, pushing himself beyond his limit in his efforts to fulfill all the roles that fall on his–alebit perfect–shoulders.

“You’re the one we should be worrying about.” Xaden murmurs, his hands turning your body over so you’re facing him. His hand leaves your hip, coming up to stroke back your messy hair. “I hate knowing that I won’t be there to protect you.”

“I can protect myself.” You reassure him, your words truthful. You have more than enough skills to fend for yourself, and years of experience have trained you to be a dangerous opponent.

Xaden’s thick brows furrow, drawing together between his dark eyes. “You shouldn’t have to.” He growls, his fingers on your waist digging in a little, most likely adding a few more bruises to his marks littering your body. “I should be there to protect you, to make sure that you’re safe. I don’t want anyone laying a hand on you.”

The fire in his words burns straight to your heart, making your skin tingle with the warmth. Even though it's not possible to let Xaden defend you at all times, the very knowledge that he would so passionately protect you from all harm makes you fall in love a little more. “You’re needed here. The cadets have so much to learn, and they really can’t protect themselves.” You pause, your voice softening. “Especially yours.”

He nods, and you watch his shoulders tense as he is reminded of all the people he is responsible for. You’ve traced those 107 scars more times than you could count, kissed everyone as a silent promise to help him. So much rode on keeping those boys and girls safe.

“Just promise you’ll come back to me.” He says, his dark voice tinted with need.

“Always.”

And though I burn how could I fall?

When I am lifted by every word you say to me

If anything could fall at all, it's the world

That falls away from me

The hands of smoke are curled around your esophagus, choking out every last clean breath from your lungs. Your entire body ached, encrusted in your flight leathers from the amount of blood that you had been bathed in. Furthermore, it was unclear how much was yours versus the enemy’s, but you kept pushing yourself, knowing there would be no peace until every one of the Poromish fighters backed off, or more tragically, were dead. Your heart hurt even more than your wounded body when you thought of the innocent people who were dying, wondering how Nevarre would twist this battle to be blamed on the Gryphon riders and not the true enemy.

You climbed back onto your dragon, the two of you taking to the skies to evaluate the battlefield. The landscape was a nightmare painted by the cruelest of artists, the dirt turned to reddish mud from the sheer amount of blood spilt. It was a small relief to see the battle finally winding down, though it may only be because there was no one left to fight. You and your dragon flew out to the edge of the wards, continuing to look for anywhere that your aide might be needed.

Suddenly, your stomach turned into a sinkhole, swallowing up any seed of relief that might have been planted. The edge of the wards had moved, evidently from further weakening of the stones, and suddenly you and your dragon were exposed. Your dragon quickly banked left to dive back into the safety of Nevarre, but just a second too late. You felt metal hit your neck, right at the junction of your shoulder, pain shooting out like lightning from the point of impact. Your functionality disappeared with the jolt of pain, as suddenly you felt nothing at all. Except, the world was tilting, and rather than seeing the neck of your dragon, you were looking up at it, watching as it grew smaller and smaller. In the haze that surrounded your brain, you wondered if you were falling.

You wondered if Xaden had eaten that morning.

And then you thought nothing at all as darkness consumed you.

You have me floatin' like a feather on the sea

While you're as heavy as the world

That you hold your hands beneath

Once I had wondered what was holdin' up the ground

But I can see that all along, love, it was you all the way down

You were warm. Your entire body seemed to protest against its existence, but you were warm. And surrounded by softness. You opened your eyes–the action taking more effort than it should–and had to blink away the blearyness that blurred your vision. As you looked at the ceiling, noting the beams of dark wood that arched the ceiling, you couldn’t help but think that this looks like Xaden’s bedroom in Aretia.

Your eyes confirmed your suspicions as they slowly moved over the room, spotting the familiar wardrobe, dresser, and desk. All of which were places that you were familiar for far less than innocent reasons, but knew nonetheless. Hope slipped out of its cocoon, fluttering her new wings in your heart as you looked towards the door, looking for the owner of both the room and your heart. And your hope took flight, soaring through your body as you saw Xaden’s head resting atop his arm, his tall body slumped over the edge of the bed. His other hand grasped yours, a desperate need in his grip even as he slept.

You had seen the way his hands could wield daggers, swords, clubs even–not to mention the dark and powerful shadows that he could conjure with barely any movement at all. But to you, those hands held up your entire world. You knew that his calloused palms could hold you in a way that took away any fear, could convince you of his deepest affections, and could bestow a love within yourself so deep that you forgot to be insecure.

Softly, you ran your thumb over the curve of his knuckles, smiling to yourself as you gazed at your beloved. Despite your stiff muscles, you pushed through the ache to shift downward on the bed, curling up beside his head. At the sensation of the mattress dipping, Xaden’s head shot up, his hand constricting around yours. For a moment, his eyes are dark and wild, as if he’s ready to manifest that darkness around whoever threatens him. But then he focuses on you, and immediately they soften into the gentle depths that you’ve lost yourself in countless times.

“My love…” Xaden’s voice is hoarse, the usual strength gone as water wells in his eyes. His fingers flex as he resists gripping you so tightly, afraid he’ll break you.

“Hi.” Your own voice is soft, scratchy as it begs for water. But what’s more important is having the love of your life closer, and so you open your arms, wanting to feel Xaden fill them. He immediately responds, up from his seat in a flash and letting the mattress take his weight. His own arms envelope you, barely restrained from simply crushing your body to his chest. Your arms feel weak from lack of use, but you grip onto the man as tightly as you can, your fingers finding root in his dark curls.

You press your nose into the little gap between his neck and his uniform, inhaling deeply. An ocean of scent fills your mind, washing your body over with comfort and ease. He smells like the tall pines that surround Aretia, of the dark leather that was molded to his form, and the warm skin that laid underneath. It was the scent of home.

“Don’t you ever do that again.” Xaden’s voice is a growl, but you know him well enough to hear the worry and care in the rough words.

“I’m sorry I scared you.” You whisper softly, pressing a gentle kiss to his stubbled jaw.

Xaden lets out a shaky breath, hands tightening on your nightdress, seemingly unconvinced that you’re not going to suddenly disappear. “I should have been there.”

“There was no way you could have been.” You counter, trying to soothe him.

“I should have been there to protect you.” Xadens voice comes out dangerously low, frustration dripping off his words.

“You have a duty-”

“My duty is to you, dammit.” He takes a deep breath, trying to control his voice. “There is nothing I would prioritize over you. Let them strip my rank from me, let this whole rebellion fall apart again, I will not lose you.” Xaden murmurs the words like they’re an oath, like he needs you to let him dedicate his life to you. “If I need to live and die at your hand, then so be it. You are the only thing that matters. Nothing else.”

For a long moment, your words fail you, Xaden’s passionate vow stealing any protest or promise from your mind. “I love you” simply wasn’t enough to convey the depth of emotion and connection the two of you shared.

You leaned back a little, fingers brushing the curls at the nape of his neck as you gazed into his gleaming onyx eyes. “Then live at my hand.” You softly request, your own voice as insistent. “I don’t want your sacrifice. I want you, here, with me, until we both draw our final breaths.”

Now, it was Xaden’s turn to lack a response, the words weighing heavily on his heart. His whole adult life, he had been prepared to die for his cause, for what he believed in. But to live for something? To live for you? It was something he never considered; but if it was all you wanted, then by the gods he would do it.

“I’ll live for you, my love.” He murmurs, and he brings your empty hand to his lips, lightly kissing the tips of your fingers, then down to the palm, and finally kissing your pulse point. Your wrist throbbed steadily, reminding him of just how precious living was.

Leave it now, I am sky-bound

If you need to, darling, lean your weight to me

We'll float away, but if we fall

I only pray, don't fall away from me

Xaden meant it literally when he said he would live and die at your hand. He did not leave your side unless absolutely necessary, and even then he’d always drag one of his friends in to watch over you, despite your protests that you were fine. Still, it was a little endearing, seeing how much he cared for you.

The healing process was slow, the poison from the arrow having done a lot of damage to your body. But you made steady recovery, taking the medicine you needed to, getting rest as well, though the latter often had to be enforced by Xaden himself. It worked both ways, however, as you would often convince the man of shadows to rest as well by welcoming him into the warm bed.

Walking proved to be the most difficult task during your healing period. Your body had been so violently ill with the poison, as well as the wounds you took during the actual battle, that you had been greatly weakened. That, in addition to you being bed ridden for some time, only added to the issue. When you started to literally get back on your feet, however, Xaden’s arms held you, preventing you from collapsing, encouraging every step. In the moments when you would grow too fatigued, he’d scoop you into those same arms to return to his room.

At first, you were frustrated with your inability to do such a basic thing, feeling like a dead weight on Xaden’s shoulders. But as each day passed, you came to cherish those walks through the halls of his home, his arm around your waist, warm and sure. Xaden himself relaxed more during those times, allowing himself to speak freely and enjoy the borrowed time you two shared.

It was during one of these outings that the two of you wandered down a hallway you had previously not explored. It was quiet, with a few pieces of art or items that had been salvaged from the original house. And then your eyes landed on a portrait; it was vast, spreading across the majority of the wall, showing off the smallest of details the artist put in. There was a man, strong and proud, and a woman beside him, looking gentle and wise. But what drew your eye the most was the depiction of the young boy between them, head held high, dark onyx eyes staring directly at the viewer.

The same onyx eyes that stared at you.

“Thats Mom and Dad.” Xaden’s voice is soft, sounding more vulnerable and childlike than you have ever heard before. You glance at him, seeing the bittersweet smile that ghosts over his features. His strong hand grips at your waist a little tighter, as if he needs a reminder that you’re still here, that he didn’t lose you too.

“You look just like your father.” You remark, your voice as tender as your beating heart for Xaden and his family that you’ll never get to meet. “But your smile is like your mother’s.”

Xaden’s smile grows more real, his eyes looking over you, full of gratitude and hope from your words. “She would have liked you. Both of them, I think.”

“I would hope so.” You muse, studying the people in the portrait. You wonder what it would have been like to actually know them, to be able to note what traits your beloved shared with his parents. Seeing the portrait of his father seemed so different from the traitorous man depicted in all of the history books. “What was he really like?”

Xaden tensed beside you, as if the thought of what you must “know” about his father made him defensive. Yet he just squeezed your waist, perhaps a reminder to himself that you weren’t there to burn his memories too. “He was a good man. Not perfect, but a good man. The kind I wish I could be.”

For a moment you let the weight of his words sink onto the two of you, the air thick with the hopes and fears that formed your very lives. You both knew that you and Xaden would carry the blood on your hands for the rest of your lives; even if you won the war, there would never be a moment you could truly say that you were good. But perhaps Xaden’s father felt the same.

“We’re going to finish what he started.” You say quietly, placing your hand over Xaden’s heart. The motion draws his gaze to you, his eyes seeming to come back from whatever far off place his mind sailed to. “We’re going to make this world the kind he would have wanted.”

Xaden doesn’t say anything, just placing his calloused hand on top of yours, his thumb stroking your cool skin. “He wanted things to be better for me.” He whispers, his voice raspy with choked emotion. “I want things to be better for our kids. I want them to be able to choose who they are.”

The idea of “our kids” doesn’t go unnoticed, making your heart flutter as you are reminded just how much Xaden truly wants a future with you. “We’re making things better for all of us. For our friends, our future kids…” You pause, smiling a little, “For us. And we’ll be able to share the story of just how wonderful your father truly was.’

You could have been an angel from above, the way Xaden gazed at you as you spoke; his eyes were reverent, full of devotion, holy and unholy. “For us.” He echoes, like it's another vow to strengthen his heart. A vow that he seals with a kiss to your lips.

I do not have wings, love, I never will

Soarin' over a world you are carryin'

If these heights should bring my fall

Let me be your own

Icarian carrion

Once you fully recovered, Xaden still wanted to keep you in Aretia. The very idea of you returning to Baisgaith just to possibly be sent away again didn’t settle well with his protective heart. Still, you were determined, and just as stubborn as he was, so he begrudgingly agreed that you would return with him.

Despite your lover’s disgruntled attitude towards your decision, the flight back was gratifying for both of you. Side by side, your dragons never strayed from one another, and neither did the two of you. During the few stops that were made, Xaden was quick to encase you in his arms, often allowing himself to indulge in some kisses that increased the time of your journey. If Xaden had been doting before, the near loss of you had only made him even more devoted to claiming every moment he could.

This only became more apparent once the two of you returned to Baisgaith, reciting your perfected story of your terrible injury and how Xaden had managed to nurse you back to health. Leadership, of course, wanted to take you away so they could get the full report;you could have sworn Xaden was a dragon himself from his barely contained irritation at being forced to leave your side.

It wasn’t until the sun had set that you were finally allowed to return to your quarters, having had the details of your experience laid out and rehashed time and time again. Leadership could not find a flaw in your story, however, and eventually let you go with a welcome back to the citadel. You were a little tired, pent up with frustration at your lying authorities, and ready to be back in Xaden’s arms.

Your feet barely had time to step through the door, however, before shadows consumed you, slamming the door shut, nearly splintering it off the hinges. Immediately, heat rose in your body, Xaden’s desire palpable through the little control he had over his powers.

“Finally.” His voice whispers, low and husky with lust against your neck, his nose pressing into the soft skin. “I was beginning to think I’d have to come get you myself.”

You inhale deeply, the distinctive smell that you know and adore filling your senses as you lean back against his strong body. He’s already shirtless, his heated skin making you wonder how long he was waiting for you, like a predator ready to pounce and claim. “You know how long these things go. Trying to make sure I’m not a traitor.”

“Of course.” He darkly chuckles, pressing warm, open mouth kisses up the curve of your neck, biting softly behind your ear. “Don’t you know I’m filling your head with all kinds of nasty plans?”

“You certainly fill my head with filthy thoughts, my love, but I don’t think it's the kind the government cares about.” You hum in reply, smiling to yourself as you feel his hands wander down your body.

His long fingers find the buckles of your flight leathers, popping them open with practiced ease. “Well well, perhaps it should be my turn to interrogate that pretty little mind of yours.” His voice curls into a coil in your stomach, stirring up your desire. “I would love to know just what I can make you imagine.” His hands continue their work on your pants, continuing the progressive removal of your layers.

Once you’re undressed, he spins you around, his hands ghosting over the shape of your body before settling on your hips. His thumbs press into the hollow below the bone, his fingers splaying over the curve of your ass. It’s not unlike watching your dragons lay claim to their possessions, the way he grips onto you, but his possessive nature only stokes the fire in your belly.

“You’re so beautiful.” He murmurs, dipping his head down to kiss over your collarbone, his warm breath fanning over your skin. “Gods, I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” You murmur your honest reply, your skin tingling with the sensation of his touch.

“I mean it.” He murmurs, biting at your collarbone before lifting his gaze to meet yours. “My whole heart, it belongs to you. I am completely, madly, and truly in love with you.”

Xaden is always such a man of action that you’ve never really had to doubt if he loved you. But as the words melt over your body, casting warmth like the early morning sun, you are taken by just how truly loved you are. “I feel the same.” Your words hardly seem equal, but Xaden’s smile reassures you that he is pleased.

“I want you to always be mine.” His voice has dropped, as if he wants only you to hear his words. His dark eyes glimmer in the little light of the room, making your stomach turn with anticipation. “I want to be able to love you for the rest of our lives. I want to have a life with you by my side.”

You watch as Xaden takes your left hand into his, his calloused palms comforting against your own smaller hands. His thumb brushes over your ring finger, sending a thrill through your heart.

“I can’t make you any promises right now.” Xaden murmurs, love radiating off of every single syllable that leaves his lips. “And I want to do this properly when the time comes, with a ring, and a beautiful setting. I want to get down on one knee so you know that I’m serious when I say I want to worship you for the rest of my life.” He looks up, finding your eyes, giving a small, tender smile. “But for now, all I can ask is that you’ll be mine. In whatever comes our way, whether we have one minute together or one hundred years, I want to know that I get to give my time to you. If you’ll have me.”

You blink, your eyes filling with water as you listen to his words. “Xaden…”You whisper, your voice choked with emotion. You swallow your heart, unable to contain the smile on your lips as you cup his jaw, thumbs stroking the stubble there. “No matter how far we go, no matter what we do…I am yours. Truly and irrevocably. Even if we fall, I won’t fall away from you.”

Xaden feels his own eyes smart with unshed tears, and so he gathers you into his arms, burying his face into your neck. You can hear him murmur soft “thank you”s and “I love you”s against your skin, his hands running down your back. You smile at his reaction, and you slip your hand into his hair, lifting his face enough so you can press your lips against his, pouring out your heart to him through your touch. Xaden immediately reciprocates, his heart always hungry for you, and his lips move demandingly, pulling you in deeper.

He lets out a needy huff, and his hands find your thighs, lifting you up and wrapping your legs around his hips. “Let me show you how much I love you.” He requests against your lips, sounding like a man desperate for water.

“I’m all yours.”

Xaden holds nothing back as he kisses you again, his tongue demanding its way between your lips, savoring your taste on his lips. He swiftly moves across the room, his bed becoming his altar as he lays you down onto it. He takes a moment, eyes moving over your body, as if he could commit every mark and line to memory. He takes your hands, his own strong and capable, but gentle as they hold you, and he presses kisses over the ridges of your knuckles. “And I, my love..I am all yours.”

If the wind turns, if I hit a squall

Allow the ground to find its brutal way to me

If I should fall, on that day

I only pray, don't fall away from me

“Fen Xander Riorson, be nice to your sister!”

Xaden smiled to himself, hearing your voice carry over the springtime air. The sun was setting over the mountains of Aretia, the new grass soft under his body. As far as his eye could see, he saw the prosperous new settlements, the homes and businesses of his friends and family thriving within the new age. It was a sight he thought would only ever be fantasy at one point.

As he feels your familiar hands smooth over his shoulders, your soft lips pressing against his temple, he is reminded just how real his life is.

“That is your son.” You murmur in his ear, coming to sit beside him on the flowering hill.

Xaden chuckles softly, reaching out to snake an arm around your waist. “Our son.” He reminds you, nuzzling into your hair, inhaling your scent. Even after all these years and two kids, he still feels the intense need to just have you. “He gets his stubbornness from you.”

You huff, feigning indignation, but your wide smile gives away your true feelings. You lean against Xaden’s side, watching as your son ignores any reprimands and continues to chase his squealing little sister through the field. “He gets his rebellious side from you.”

Xaden lets out a small snort of laughter, his arm tightening around your waist. He doesn’t deny it, knowing that the two children both take after their parents. It was his greatest joy, being able to watch the very humans the two of you had created grow up and discover themselves. You had fulfilled your promise, after all; the world they knew was much kinder to them than it had been to him. His marks and his scars would always remind him of that.

Xaden’s gaze looks over you, the form of his beloved wife, and it only makes his smile grow. Gray hairs are beginning to intermix with your natural color, denoting the time that has passed within your body. You moan and complain about them, but he sees them as a mark that you two not only survived, but lived. Truly lived. And now, the fruits of your labor only grew in abundance every day.

“I love you.” He softly murmurs in your ear,, his hand brushing away the hair so he can press a kiss to your neck.

You smile up at him, a little surprised at the sudden words, but delighted by them nonetheless. “And I love you.” You reply, your words full of truth and affection.

The two of you return to watching the children play, and the sun continues to disappear with the last few moments of day. But now, you and Xaden simply note it as a passing thought, your love no longer on borrowed time. The night will only bring another day, with the promise of letting you cherish every moment, never to be parted again

[anystalker707]

Pairing: Hayden Christensen x [gender-neutral] Reader Summary: Lazy morning. Tags: drabble / he smells very good / nuzzling his arm pit / handjob / a little of somnophilia / it's my first time writing something like this please have pity / based on another talk with @bimbo-baggins17 because of an ask she sent me

MASTER LIST

          Lazy Sunday mornings dismissed the use of alarm clocks, allowing you the luxury of basking in the morning laziness, unlike you’d be able to on normal weekdays. You relished not needing to rush to get up and count the minutes until leaving the house; the usual rushed talk along with the sounds of glasses clinking and footsteps up and down the halls now replaced by the calming chirp of birds.

The haze between sleep and consciousness stretched deliciously, a comfort only complemented by how the light slipped into the room through the thin, flowy curtains. Did your body feel that heavy, or was it really too comfortable to move? You stretched your toes lightly, becoming aware not just of the tangle of bedsheets but also of limbs.

The night had been especially warm, stuffy enough for you to leave the window slightly open before going to sleep—the morning was warm, too, making you grateful for the light breeze that cooled down the exposed skin, unlike the shy breezes of the previous night. Being too warm to be glued to each other like usual didn’t mean you’d be apart completely, either. Your legs were tangled with Hayden’s, who you discovered not to be all that far away after tapping around a little.

Unlike you, Hayden was still very much asleep, snoring faintly, head turned away from you and hands above his head. His chest heaved up and down slowly, and as much as you tried to fight against heavy eyelids, you couldn’t keep watching him for longer.

Maybe you fell asleep again for a few minutes? It was hard to tell, but Hayden hadn’t moved, so you were compelled to scoot closer instead, pressing your face to his shoulder, then to his neck, the crook, and inhaling deeply, ignoring the incoherent mumbles that came from Hayden.

Despite the warm night, Hayden had slept in a shirt—the old, worn-out gray one that he’d also used to the gym once or twice—and matching sweatshorts, which were as convenient as neglecting an extra jacket when leaving home, because it will get warmer as we move, love, and it never does, so he just stands there, huddled up, ironic opposites.

The tip of your nose ran along his collarbone and shoulder until you found the damp spot of his armpit, and— Was he sensitive there? Hayden squirmed when you nuzzled the muscle that connected his arm to his chest, where that scent of skin, sleep, bedsheets, the faint cologne, everything mingled into a heady scent that made you want to press impossibly closer.

Your leg hooked around his, and Hayden squirmed again when you finally nuzzled his armpit instead of just shying around it, saying something else, slurred, heavy with sleep. Fuck, it was almost shameful how much you wanted him always, all the time, all of him, so much that only his scent had you weak. You inhaled deeply, groaning at the sensation that tingled down your body and unraveled into the pool of arousal that formed in your lower stomach.

Hayden wouldn’t wake up easily in a morning like that, and you would’ve gone back to sleep already if things hadn’t evolved this way, too. How could you resist letting your fingers follow the trail of hair that slipped into his sweatshorts before wrapping around the base of his cock, which was already half-hard, whatever he had been dreaming? He was thick in your hand, twitching once you gave it an experimental squeeze, but he only started to harden after you pumped his cock a few times, letting your fist go up and down around it slowly and tightly until his hips twitched forward and a low sound escaped his lips.

How could someone have such an effect on you? Hayden’s hand tapped around until finding your thigh and instinctively squeezed it, just below your ass, but the one that was above you remained there, so you could nuzzle more into him, inhale him once more. He wasn’t awake, not with how deep and even his breathing was for the brief moment your hand stopped moving. It’s not like having him wake up would be a problem, but it felt better as it was.

Your hand slipped down to cup his balls, give them a squeeze before your hand wrapped around his cock again. The dry pumping wasn’t the easiest, but it was easy to get lost in it while letting your nose and lips trace the shape of Hayden’s pec through his shirt, letting your skin run against the fabric until it tingled.

By the time that pre-cum finally started easing your movements, Hayden’s breathing was labored, eyes still heavy with the sleep that remained after watching too many one more episodes of a show he liked. The haze of being woken up like that was probably as good as being awoken by Hayden’s head between your thighs. Returning the favor felt just as rewarding, able to hear all the needy moans he’d usually hold back when awake.

Hayden’s fingers sunk into your thigh to ground himself, grip tighter when your slick fingers found the sensitive spot under the tip that had him bucking his hips up once again, free hand gripping the bedsheets above you.

You watched Hayden’s face before burying your nose into his armpit again, wishing that thin barrier of thin, damp fabric didn’t separate you from his skin at the moment. You closed your eyes to focus on the heady scent, mixed with Hayden’s slurred curses and how heavy his cock was in your hand, twitching as you pressed your thumb to the slit and used more of the pre-cum to add to the slick that made your movements much smoother.

“Fuck, baby,” Hayden’s voice sounded firmer. The arm that was above you slipped under you with relative ease before wrapping firmly around your waist, in a way you had to adjust your head and press your face to the side of his neck instead—his scent replaced by cold morning air—, and the thrusts into your hand were more deliberate. “Good morning to you, too,” he groaned into your ear, hand finally finding your ass. “Don’t stop, c’mon, finish what you started.”

︶⊹︶︶·𖥸·︶︶⊹︶

[rich1etozier]

On the ground is a bleeding man, a pair of mangled wings sprouting from his back.

Eddie gasps. A faerie. A creature with wings whiter than the silver moon.

The thing on the ground stirs.

Eddie is unable to move, not even when the faerie pushes to his knees, then to his feet, blood from the wound Eddie inflicted spilling down his back like paint.

The thing looks like a man rises to his feet and retreats to the trunk of the willow tree. The white wings shift around him, tensed and flat like a wrinkled shroud. After a moment of deliberation, the faerie finds a suitable perch amongst the roots and settles on his haunches.

Eddie thinks for a moment he’s trying to hide himself like prey, seeing the broken wine bottle and knowing what they’re here for.

But then the faerie fixes his gaze on them, and Eddie’s blood runs cold.

Those eyes. They’re black like Father’s, dilated with too much drink. No white at all, just two black pearls in a sharp, pitiless face.

Eddie shakes on the ground, can't find it in himself to speak. Though, in reality, he knows he should say something. Faeries stand on ceremony. Faeries demand respect. But all Eddie can manage is a cotton-mouthed gasp.

This creature is beautiful, and terrifying.

It’s Dustin who breaks the tense moment. He stands, and steps forward with the lantern, their shadows swaying inside the curtain of the willow fronds. Across the lake, the sun has begun its descent behind the tree line.

“Hello again, Master Raven,” Dustin says, bowing deeply, arms thrown out behind him like a courtier. “We mean you no harm. My brother and I are only appreciating the beauty of the Blackwood on this auspicious night.”

“Yes, yes!” Eddie quickly agrees. He rises finally to his feet, shifts so he’s beside Dustin, playing along with his brother’s half-truth, “We were told of the equinox’s unique effect on the Blackwood, and… desired to see it for ourselves.”

Thick hair falls in the faerie’s eyes, the color of new hay after rain. The strands are long enough to trail around his shoulders, catching occasionally on the stark feathers. His expression remains an unchanged wall of apathy. Birdlike and unfeeling.

Eddie is unable to track where those black marble eyes are looking, but he has the distinct feeling that he in particular is being watched. He’s not sure how he knows it, only feels the gaze like a weight. Shivers move across his body.

“Who are you?” the faerie asks. His voice isn’t melodic. It’s deep and it grates, like scratching bone, like quenching hot iron in cold water.

Eddie staggers backward on his feet, nearly tripping on tall tree roots. “Eddie,” he stutters, before snapping his mouth shut. Don’t speak your name in the presence of fae. But it’s too late, he’s already said it. Eddie pushes Dustin behind him, blood cold. Nervous words pour from his mouth like a compulsion, "Our father is the village smith."

The thing that looks like a man points to the bottle in Dustin’s hands. “And you thought you could catch me? In that?”

Eddie lets out a shaky breath, chooses his next words carefully, “You graciously saved us from certain death. I would not reward help with betrayal.”

The faerie scoffs, emotion overtaking his face for the first time. Disbelief, indignation. “Reward? I do not seek the reward of a human.”

“A kindness, then,” Eddie corrects.

The faerie tilts his head, “But not your thanks?”

He’s trying to trap me. Trying to imprison me with words.

Eddie licks his lips, “No.”

A sound like raven-call escapes up the faerie’s throat. He’s laughing at Eddie. “I see you follow your rules well,” the faerie chuckles, shaking his head. “I do not care much for rules.” His wings unfurl, wide and magnificent—flapping once, twice, until he’s propelled himself within touching distance. He lands with a gentle step, tread so light he makes no prints in the fragile layer of moss. The ripped wings fold back up, limp and bloody, but he doesn’t shudder, doesn’t recoil in pain. He probably can’t feel pain at all. That seems like such a human concern, not something worth troubling over when you’re both more and less than a human.

The faerie closes the distance and suddenly he and Eddie are nose to nose, barely inches apart. They’re close enough that Eddie can see freckles on the faerie’s cheeks—They scatter down his neck in a constellation of dark stars.

“Would you like to play a game with me?” the faerie asks.

Even the horrible, teasing smile on his face is beautiful.

Oh god, don’t get distracted.

What had he suggested? A game?

Eddie wants to play, wants to stay just a moment longer in this creature’s presence. But. “We won’t have any dealings with you.”

“A game is not a deal. A game is for fun.”

“I don’t want to have fun with you.”

Inexplicably, the faerie pouts. It’s a grotesque arrangement of features on his wide, flushed face. Makes him seem both more and less like the faerie he is. Clumsily manipulative. Hatefully endearing. “I’m already having fun with you, whether you want me to or not.”

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this is an excerpt from Chapter 4 of my Faerie!Steve x Blacksmith!Eddie fic, "The Equinox Game" | Read from the beginning here!

[laiiaaa]

It’s pretty well-established that Carmy is addicted to physical touch and acts of service, but he’s also such a quality time lover. He likes the thought of simply…being with someone, without having to be in panic mode. Just very soft, very slow, very in tune with his lover.

Never on his phone when he’s with you. He never liked it all that much anyway, never really got the whole phone thing, and now it’s practically useless unless you’re the one trying to reach him. The second you’re around it’s like it never existed: he’s captivated by you and you alone, attentive to every word or little facial expression, keen only to his moment with you.

Quiet mornings in bed, faces smushed into the pillow, sunlight spilling through the curtains, even if no words are exchanged. Likes hearing your sleep-ridden voice tell him G’morning, Carmy, before you creep a little closer, into his embrace. Will ask you about your plans for the day while busying his hands with the contours of your face, brushing by your jaw and cheekbone, content with the peace and never getting bored of it.

Early walks at dawn through crisp autumn air, listening to you talk about whatever comes to mind as he leads the way, humming along to your story. Waits for you to comment on how chilly it is, or how nice the breeze feels, like it’s the most profound thing you could ever say. You’ll tell him how beautiful the sunrise is that morning and without thinking he’ll let out a deep breath and say I know—and he’ll only be looking at you.

Visiting a flea market, or a thrift shop, or a bookstore, or a cafe, or anything you ask him to, trailing close behind. He peruses at your pace and pays closer attention to the things you look at a little longer. Hushed whispers over your shoulder as he leans in close, looking into your eyes as you speak sweetly:

What do you think about this for the living room?

I like it, baby, anything you like.

Spending his lunch breaks together, whether it’s him coming home for an hour or you stopping by the restaurant.

Grocery shopping together to get as much time with one another as you can.

A lazy day off sat next to each other on the couch, your legs in his lap with his hands smoothing up and down your thighs; catching up on the details missed throughout the week, quiet and gentle laughter slipping by.

Or another, a date night in, record playing and a steak cooking in the cast iron, you glued to his side or on the counter just the same. Coaxing Carmy into a slow dance once the meal is finished—though coaxing might not be too accurate, because he’s awfully willing when it comes to you. Your arms looped around his neck, his comfortable at your waist and hips, swaying in the kitchen.

Thank you for dinner, Carmy.

‘F course, baby, with a gentle kiss, and you know he’s really saying I love you.

And he’ll say it again and again, with subtle methods, because every moment with you is exactly what he needs.