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rafesbabygirlx · 1 month ago

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A Lot of Time has Passed | Part 3

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Season 4 Rafe x Maybank reader

Summary:Beginning at the time jump, the Pogues seemingly succeeded at something, Rafe is struggling with making amends and being a better person. JJs sister left the island after returning from South America. Returning after 18 months with a secret.

A/N: you’re in for a treat. this one’s a little longer than part 1 and 2. I hope you enjoy.

Not proofread

Word count: 4.7k

Warnings: MDNI, SMUT (oral, f & m receiving, p in v different positions, overstimulation) more talk of loss, arguing, physical altercation, (just a slap) discussion of abortion

You woke up in a daze, your mind still foggy, completely unprepared for the challenges that the day ahead might hold. The clock on the wall blares that it’s already 10:30 AM, a clear indication that time has slipped away from you. With a reluctant sigh, you muster the energy to pull yourself out of bed. As you make your way into the living room, the sight that greets you is heartwarming: Kie and Cleo are sprawled on the floor, engaged in playful antics with Vivienne, affectionately known as V.

��Good morning!” Cleo chirps cheerfully. “She had a big girl breakfast, took her morning nap, and now we’re playing with her stuffed turtles!” The joy in her voice is infectious, instantly brightening your mood.

Vivienne, who is typically up by 5:30 AM, has already had her morning nap around 9:00 or 9:30, and now she’s fully awake and eager for attention. As soon as she notices you, she struggles to pull herself up to her feet, wobbling slightly as she makes her way toward you. It’s remarkable to see how far she’s come in just two short months since she took her first steps. With her determination, you wouldn’t be surprised if she becomes a sprinter by the time she turns two. Clutching a toy turtle in her tiny hand, you scoop her up, noticing the adorable purple onesie she’s wearing, which is adorned with a delightful array of baby turtles. It seems that this little one has developed quite the fascination with them.

You plant a big kiss on her cheek, savoring the sweet moment, before gently returning her to Kie and Cleo, who are more than eager to continue their play. Just as you are about to settle into your morning routine, Pope arrives, bringing with him a spread of delicious food for everyone. You share a leisurely breakfast as the others entertain Vivienne, allowing you some precious moments to gather your thoughts and prepare for the day ahead.

Once you feel awake and refreshed, you take your time adding the finishing touches to your makeup and styling your hair. By the time you emerge, Kie, Cleo, and Pope are ready to head out for the day, each of them aware of the importance of giving you space to handle things on your own, especially when it comes to Rafe. There’s a sense of camaraderie as the girls envelop you in warm hugs, offering encouraging words that bolster your spirits. Pope extends a fist bump in playful camaraderie, but you choose instead to lean in for a heartfelt hug, expressing your gratitude for the breakfast and their unwavering support. It’s these little moments that remind you just how fortunate you are to have such a loving and supportive circle around you.

You spend some delightful time playing with Vivienne, losing track of the minutes as her laughter fills the room. Before you know it, the clock strikes 12:30, signaling her lunchtime. You prepare a small feast of bite-sized turkey sandwich pieces, fresh raspberries, and tender steamed broccoli, watching as she eagerly indulges in each morsel. By 1 PM, she finishes her meal, perfectly timed for her afternoon nap. You gently feed her a bottle, rocking her softly in your arms until her eyelids grow heavy, and finally lay her down in your bed, surrounded by her favorite stuffed animals.

With Vivienne peacefully asleep, the quiet of the house settles in around you, leaving you alone with your thoughts as you wait for Rafe’s arrival. You grab your phone, scrolling through messages and social media, then take a moment to tidy up her toys scattered across the living room floor. As the minutes tick by, the silence becomes almost palpable, and you find yourself nervously biting your nails, anxiety bubbling to the surface.

You briefly forget just how punctual Rafe is. At 1:58, the familiar sound of his truck crunching over the gravel outside jolts you from your thoughts, and by 2 PM on the dot, there’s a knock at the door. Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you open the door to find Rafe standing there, arms laden with a dozen shopping bags.

“Hey—what the hell is this, Rafe?” you exclaim, surprised at the sight. He breezes past you, making himself at home as he sets the bags down in the living room.

“I didn’t want to come empty-handed, and since I didn’t know what she likes or what size she really is, I may have bought one of every toy and a couple of sizes of clothes,” he explains, a hint of pride in his voice.

“She’s one, Rafe. She wouldn’t be offended if you didn’t bring anything at all. So much for my hope of not spoiling her,” you reply, your voice laced with frustration.

“Yeah, well, I never knew that was your plan,” he counters, and you can feel the guilt creeping in as your gaze drops to your feet, the weight of the moment settling heavily on your shoulders.

“So where is she?” he asks, looking around the room.

“She’s in my room, napping,” you respond.

He looks at you, clearly puzzled. “You invited me here at this time, and she’s not even up?!”

You roll your eyes and huff a breath, trying to keep your composure. “Her lunch is at 12:30, and she naps from 1 to 2. Do you really think I’d invite you over without a plan?”

“Alright, sure, whatever you say,” he replies, his tone dismissive.

You grab his arm, urgency in your voice. “I wanted you to come at this time because I wanted you to help me get her up. It’s one of my favorite moments. I thought it’d be a good one for you to experience first.”

“Oh, okay, sorry,” he replies, his demeanor shifting as he follows you into the bedroom.

You approach the bed, softly rubbing Vivienne’s temple as you gently speak to her. “Wake up, baby girl, it’s time to get up.” She stirs, tiny hands rubbing her eyes as she shifts under the covers. When she finally opens her bright blue eyes, a radiant smile spreads across her face, and she giggles as you tickle her stomach.

“Mama,” she says, her voice breaking through the laughter, and your heart swells with joy. You scoop her up into your arms, beaming as you turn to Rafe, who stands there, mouth slightly agape and eyes wide in disbelief. The sight of you and Vivienne together is a moment of pure magic, one that he seems to be taking in entirely, a mixture of awe and wonder painted across his face.

You both make your way into the living room, where you gently set Vivienne down on the floor, right in the midst of the colorful bags Rafe brought with him. “Watch her for a second,” you say, casting a playful glance back at Rafe. He looks startled, his eyes wide with uncertainty. “You’ll be fine, Rafe,” you giggle, heading toward the kitchen.

As you prepare a snack for Vivienne, you glance back at Rafe, who is now on the floor with her. His hand hovers hesitantly above her, clearly unsure of how to engage, but a broad smile spreads across his face as he watches her. This sight warms your heart, and a blush creeps onto your cheeks as you admire the moment.

You return to the living room, placing the snack on the floor, and Vivienne crawls over to it eagerly. The sight of the bags scattered around fills you with a mix of surprise and amusement. “You really didn’t need to do all of this,” you tease, looking at Rafe with a playful smirk.

“I wanted to,” he replies earnestly. “Aside from not knowing anything about her or her size, I wanted her to have these things.” You start pulling items out of the bags: baby books, clothes in three different sizes—thankfully he included larger sizes, too, anticipating her growth. Among the bags, you find a collection of stuffed animals, and as you pull out a plush sea turtle, Vivienne snatches it from your hands, tossing her snack aside in her excitement.

“She’s definitely in a bit of a turtle phase,” you and Rafe laugh together, the tension from earlier dissipating as the day unfolds without a hint of awkwardness. Rafe quickly becomes comfortable, diving into playtime with Vivienne while you join in at points. As you watch them together, it’s undeniable how much she resembles him. Even the features you often claim to be yours seem to fade away, overshadowed by the undeniable similarities. It’s as if you’re gazing at two twins, a striking reflection of one another.

When dinner time rolls around, you enlist Rafe's help to prepare Vivienne’s meal, allowing him to learn what she likes. After dinner, he helps give her a bath, and you both share in the delight of her giggles and splashes. Once she’s tucked into bed, you leave the room, expecting him to follow you. You turn around to find him lingering in the doorway, watching her with a soft smile, his thumb brushing over his cheek. In that moment, you realize you’ve never seen him look so utterly in love.

Eventually, he joins you on the couch, the atmosphere cozy and peaceful. “I don’t know how you ever get any sleep; I could watch her for hours,” he remarks, and you smile, though you can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze. “Yeah, she’s a little sleeping beauty. She’s just perfect.”

Now that the two of you are alone, you know some difficult conversations need to happen. Rafe lets out a sigh, settling into the old, beat-up couch. The silence stretches between you for several moments before you decide to break it. “I’m not sorry for being okay with your dad being dead,” you state, the words hanging heavily in the air.

Rafe jolts his head in your direction, disbelief etched across his features. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Yes,” you reply firmly.

“After all this time, this is what you say to me? After an amazing day?” His frustration is palpable.

“Yes,” you insist again.

“I know it’s your dad, and I know you loved him, but how do you not understand, even after everything, how awful he was?”

“Maybank enou—”

“NO! What he did to Sarah, how he barely cared about Wheezie, and how he turned you into a monster!” Your voice rises, but you simultaneously remain calm, determined to explain your perspective.

“You can be an asshole sometimes, but the way he turned you into a self-destructive shell of yourself was more than enough reason for me. The way he abused you, almost strangling me and Sarah to death on the ship—all over greed. He was an evil man, and I will never miss him.”

Rafe stands, his face flushing with anger. “That is my father! Your precious Pogues had him killed, and you have the nerve to not even be slightly remorseful?! What the hell is wrong with you?”

You roll your eyes, frustration bubbling up inside you. “You never even gave me the chance to explain! You pushed me away, and you probably don’t even know the truth. I’m not trying to make you hate him, but you need to understand where I’m coming from.”

You urge Rafe to sit back down, hoping to calm his nerves, mindful of Vivienne’s peaceful slumber. You take a deep breath and begin explaining everything that led up to Ward and Big John’s deaths, carefully detailing the events without glossing over the pain that was inflicted on everyone involved. Including John B, who also lost his father that day, for a second time.

Rafe listens in silence, absorbing the weight of your words. He remains speechless, unable to formulate a response, and eventually, he pulls you into him, resting his head on your shoulder. You can feel the warmth of his tears soaking into your arm, and you cradle his head gently, offering him comfort.

After a moment, you pull away slightly and ask him to stay the night. “I, uh… I had plans with Sofia to meet Topper and his girl in a bit,” he admits, and you feel a wave of disappointment wash over you.

“Oh, right, of course you do,” you reply, attempting to laugh it off, but the sting of that reality lingers. You had forgotten that Rafe had built a new life while you were gone.

As you get up, preparing to head to bed, he suddenly yanks you back down into his lap, brushing the hair that has fallen around your face behind your ear. “I guess I technically have a valid excuse for not making it,” he says with a smirk, and before you can respond, he pulls you in for a kiss.

You deepen the kiss, your fingers tangling in the back of his neck as he lifts you effortlessly, laying you back down on the couch without breaking the kiss. “I’ve fucking missed these lips,” he murmurs between kisses, each one igniting a spark of passion.

In the heat of the moment, you almost miss the front door slamming open. A drunken JJ comes barreling in, followed closely by Kie, Pope, and Cleo. “I thought it smelled like shit in here!” he exclaims, loud and boisterous.

“Be quiet, JJ. V is sleeping,” you say, your voice firm but playful. Rafe turns his head to reply, but you quickly pull him back to face you, giving him a quick peck on the lips. “Let’s go to my room,” you whisper, your heart racing with excitement and a hint of mischief, as the evening takes an unexpected turn.

As you head toward your door, JJ interrupts with a piercing remark. “King Rafe, self-proclaimed good at everything he does except being a stand-up father. Leaving my sister like that just to let you back in so easily? I’d think something was wrong with her if you weren’t a world-class manipulator just like your father.”

“JJ!” you exclaim, your voice sharp with disbelief.

Rafe starts to move toward him, clearly bewildered by JJ's accusations. You quickly intervene, urging him to go into your room. Standing on the opposite side of the kitchen island, you confront JJ, frustration boiling over. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why would you say that to him?”

JJ scoffs, crossing his arms defiantly. “Please, he deserves it! After everything he did to you?! You’re defending him?”

You raise your hand, your patience wearing thin. “JJ, lower your fucking voice! I told you V is sleeping.” But he continues to rant about how much of a piece of shit he thinks Rafe is, and you finally reach your breaking point.

“I LIED!” you yell, your voice echoing in the tense atmosphere, completely disregarding your own advice to keep it down.

“I lied, JJ. Everything I told you about what happened after I left wasn’t true. He never knew. He never knew I was pregnant; he never knew I had V. I tried to push down my feelings about what he said to me the last time I saw him, and I tried to convince myself he didn’t want either of us. It was easier. You hated him anyway, so it was simpler to tell you guys that, too. The guilt ate me up every day! That’s why he’s here. He deserves the chance to meet her, whether you all like it or not.”

JJ leans over the counter, slurring his words. “You should’ve just gotten that abortion like you planned to, so we didn’t have to deal with this mess and have him around.”

“JJ!” Kie yells, her tone sharp and reprimanding.

Without thinking, you slap JJ across the face, the sound echoing in the room. His head jolts to the side, and to your shock, he laughs. The gasps from everyone else in the room create a heavy tension, and for a split second, your own face falls in disbelief at your actions. But anger quickly replaces that disbelief as you stare at him, furious that he could say something so hurtful to you. “Good, maybe that’ll sober him up a bit,” you retort and turn toward your room, feeling a rush of adrenaline.

As you slip past Rafe, you barely register that he has been standing there the entire time, watching the confrontation unfold. He closes the door behind him, the soft click resonating in the tense silence.

He sits down on the bed, a weighty silence hanging in the air. Without a word, you straddle his lap, pulling him into a feverish kiss, desperate to drown out the chaos that just erupted. You can’t talk about it now; you just need to feel something else, something that’s yours.

Rafe responds instantly, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you in closer. “We don’t have to talk now. Let me take care of you instead,” he murmurs against your lips. With that, he stands up, holding you effortlessly, and lays you down on the bed, his body pressing against yours as the world outside fades away. In this moment, you find solace in each other, the storm of emotions momentarily forgotten as you lose yourselves in one another.

He holds you tightly at the waist, leaning over while kissing you passionately. As he slips his tongue into your mouth, he senses the familiar thrill he remembers. Slowly, he starts to lift your shirt. Realizing what he’s doing, you arch your back, eagerly yanking it off, and pull his shirt off in one swift motion. You grab his face, pulling him in to kiss him again, lost in the moment.

Rafe breaks the kiss, trailing his lips over your cheek, then along your jawline, and down to your neck. He gazes at your breasts, gently cupping both in his hands. Slowly, he takes your left nipple into his mouth, licking and sucking, lavishing attention on it for a few minutes before moving to the right. Soft moans escape your lips as pleasure courses through you.

Once he shifts his focus from your chest, his kisses travel down your stomach. He pauses at the waistband of your shorts, teasingly licking his way back up, over your stomach, between your breasts, and up to your neck and chin, before crashing his lips back against yours.

Kneeling before you, Rafe grabs your calves and plants soft kisses all over your legs. He takes hold of the waistband of your shorts, looking up at you for confirmation. You nod, heart racing, and he slowly pulls them off. A small whimper escapes you, fueled by the overwhelming desire to be closer to him. Once your shorts are discarded, his hands explore your thighs, rubbing and massaging the skin, warm kisses trailing behind.

Unable to contain himself any longer, Rafe spreads your legs apart, positioning himself perfectly in line with your core. He licks his lips. “I’m going to make you feel so fucking good with just my mouth. I want you to cum all over my face,” he whispers, igniting a wave of pleasure in you at his words. He hasn’t even begun yet, and you’re already lost in the anticipation.

With a starving look in his eyes, he gently spreads your folds apart with his fingers, laying his tongue flat against you. A cry of ecstasy escapes your lips, and you don’t care if anyone outside can hear you. You secretly relish the thought of teasing your brother for what he said. It’s been so long since you’ve felt this kind of touch, and it’s all the more intoxicating that it’s Rafe’s tongue amidst your thighs.

Rafe begins to work his magic, he usually watches you from down there but he’s so into it and missed it he could only keep his eyes shut. Licking up and down your folds shaking his head left and right to build you up. You’re moaning like crazy. “Rafe… fuck!” You throw your head back. He begins to stick his tongue in and out of you circling your hole. You still can’t believe the speed he’s able to do this. He moves back up flicking your clit before fully engulfing his mouth over it and sucking on it hard. You begin to pant, it’s hard to breath, feeling the build up in your stomach. Your legs he’s holding back beginning to shake. It’s feels unreal. He won’t let up, moving back and forth from sucking on your clit, to laying his tongue flat and shaking the hell out of his head.

“Oh my god, Rafe I’m fucking - ah.” You arch your back and throw your head into the comforter, you cry out as you cum. He doesn’t let up, eating you out through your orgasm. Cleaning up every last drop of you. Once you’ve calm down he finally looks up at you. You meet his eyes and smile. Reaching down to wipe your arousal off his chin, pulling him to taste yourself on his tongue.

While kissing you reach down and begin to fumble with his belt. He smiles into your mouth. Standing he unbuckles his belt and pulls his pants and boxer briefs off in a swift motion. You lift you legs up and he slides comfortably in between them his hard cock laying on top of you. He’s looking down at you and you up at him. Maintaining eye contact you lick your hand and reach down and begin to pump him. He shivers at the motion and can’t help but watch you at this angle jerk him off with his mouth agape. He begins to fuck your hand throwing his head back when he can’t stand how good this feels. “Fuck baby, just like that.” He groans.

You loosen your grip when he looks back down. “Eyes on me, daddy.” A word you never used before, but it seems fitting because you’ve never seen him more sexy than today, being a father. He grunts at the demand (and the pet name.) You tighten your grip again now leaning down to like his tip. You hold your tongue flat out as he bumps into it with every thrust. You’ve know Rafe long enough to know when he’s about to cum. He doesn’t even need to warn you. His thrusts get faster and sloppier and he grunts above you. “Mama, shit stay just like that, ugh.”

He throws his head back again as he cums. Quickly regaining composure to look back down at you as your mouth fills with his hot liquid and you swallow it all. Finger grazing your upper lip to catch some strays and suck it off.

Before you know it, he’s grabbing you by the waist and moving up to your pillows. Lifting your legs up and finding himself back in between your legs. He’s already hard again, not at all ready to stop at one round.

He aligns himself up with your entrance. But he decides to tease you a bit first. Rubbing his tip between your folds. Rubbing circles around your clit as you squirm beneath him. “Rafe, please I need you.” You plead reaching your hand down to push him in. He swiftly grabs your wrist pinning it above you. Leaning in lips brushing against you. “You had me wait for almost 2 years, you can wait a second.” You stay in this position, so lost in his eyes you don’t prepare for him to smash into you.

He lets you adjust for a second before slowly pulling out and push back into you. He takes his time you both moaning at the feeling. “Faster baby please. I need you harder” you plead. He doesn’t need anymore more convincing. Just like that, he’s thrusting in and out of you at a pace that has your mind racing. You can’t focus on anything but the pleasure. Your eyes moving around the room, rolling to the back of your head and back to him to maintain eye contact. Looking into his even though everything is blurry, you still see the sharpness of the blue staring back at you.

You let out a bunch of oos and ahs that has him gritting his teeth. “You like that baby girl? When I pound into you like this? You were always a little slut for me fucking you like this.” You nod but that isn’t enough for him. He wraps his arm around your neck gripping your hair and pulling your head back. “I didn’t hear you baby.”

“Yes. I’m your little slut, I love when you split me in half just like that. Right there, uhhh, keep doing that.”

Rafe was always smug about his length. Not only his length but the width of him is what had you drooling every time. The way he’d stretch you and brush against your walls is what kept you so enamored with him. It was the ultimate pleasure.

You feel yourself getting closer again. The way you scratch his back and arch into him her could tell too. Before he can let you go, he pulls out and flips you. On his knees he pulls you onto all fours. Dropping a glob of spit on your slit, he gathers it with his tips and slams back into you. This angle causes you to see stars and he hits your cervix every thrust. The grip on your hips has him plunging in even faster. He can’t get enough of feeling you around him.

“Rafe I’m close!” You belt out.

“Not yet baby, let me meet you, come with me.” You cry out not sure you’ll be able to do it. His thrusts start getting sloppy. You clench around him once you start to feel him throb in you. He reaches one hand into your hair yanking you up flush against his chest. Wrapping g that hand around your throat now while the other enters your mouth to graze onto your tongue and then down to your clit to run circles ferociously. You legs start to give out but he holds you up by your throat not giving f you any place to go.

“Raaafee, oh my god” you cry out. Tears streaming down your face.

“Come on baby, come for me now, I’m right behind you.” Your legs shake again, the overstimulation is unbearable now. Both hand still occupied around your throat and your clit. He doesn’t stop as you cum, hand still circling him still thrusting.

“Baby. Fill me up. Please cum inside me.” That’s all it takes for him to give you a couple of more deep thrusts and he fills you up. You feel so warm inside as you feel his come deep inside you.

He stays inside as you drop to the bed. Holding his position for a few seconds as he tries to catch his breath. He stands up and finds a towel hanging on your door. You flip over to lie in your back and he cleans you up. Annoying as he can be he was very attentive to aftercare with you.

He goes to toss the towel in your hamper as you get under the covers. He follow suit. You nuzzle your head into his neck as he wraps his arms around you. The warmth of his naked body is so soothing to you. All the lost memories of you and him come flooding back to you. You never want this feeling to end. He gives you repeated kisses on the forehead.

However, you know that in the morning reality will set back in and you realize he isn’t yours anymore.

You let emotions get the best of you and all you could think of was how terrible this is for Sofia. You aren’t the type of person to sleep with another woman’s man. You silently begin to cry. Happy tears at the thought of laying her with Rafe again mixed with sadness.

Rafe looks down at you concerned. You play it off as a yawn and just try to enjoy the moment you two are sharing now. He rubs your back and you just lay staring at each other until you begin falling asleep.

“God, how I’ve missed that pretty face.” Is the last thing you hear before sleep takes over.

Taglist-

@maybankslover @eringaitskill @luissa266 @lolll505 @dayyzlol @livie4lifestarkeyblyth @calaryssia @leilanizcals @eg-dr3amer3 @ilove-tswizzle @ggggggbu @rafestar

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frantic-fiction · 11 months ago

Text

Shattered Glass 18+

(Gif: leopardmuffinxo)

Astarion x f!reader

Summary: Astarion finally makes do on a promise.

This is part 2 of Secluded Evening. (Could be read as a stand alone)

Warnings: Smut, MDNI, oral fem receiving, PnV sex, unprotected sex, biting (of course) Astarion being a lovesick fool

Word count: 2.6k

Astarion threw another log on the fire; a flurry of embers took flight, dancing in the cold night air. The rest of the camp had already settled in their tents. You were nestled between his knees about five feet away from the flames. A throw blanket cascaded down your shoulders—a notebook on your lap.

He studies the rapid strokes of your hand from over your shoulder. The rough lines of charcoal were blooming into an identical copy of Laz'eal. Astarion pulled a strand of hair away from your eyes and began to weave your locks into a simple braid. He doesn't have a hair tie, and knowing you, you've lost yours. So, he twists the pieces, and once done let's go, kissing the crown of your head.

You barely acknowledge him, and when you suddenly shove the pencil over your shoulder, Astarion chuckles, taking it from you. He watches you begin smudging the charcoal with the pad of your finger. You're adorable when your art consumes you. Every time, it captivates Astarion.

This was how most of your nights were spent. Not always precisely like this; sometimes Astarion brought a book, and sometimes your hand got too sore to draw, so Astarion read to you as you curled on his lap. But as long as it was spent in each other's company neither of you cared much for the activity.

Astarion adored these nights the most, primarily because he could feast his eyes on your beauty without you shying away or throwing a stupid joke at him to break the tension. You were perfect in every way, and when he opened his heart briefly and confessed the broken pieces of himself and the motivations that led him to you. All you did was look at him with unspoken love and hugged him.

Your relationship became something more after that. Sex was not what drew the two of you together. For the first time in 200 years, Astarion had someone he trusted with his every sense of the word. Someone who wanted more than his body and showed their love for him without words. Someone he wanted to spend every moment of his life with despite the fear that thought causes him.

Astarion thinks he loves you but can't find the words when his mouth opens. He's always struggled with expressing his true feelings, but he wants to try with you. He wants to bear his heart to you and show you all that you mean to him. And with all the trust you and Astarion have established, one thing has become a very big problem.

You have begun to treat Astarion like glass, as if one sexual touch will break him. And frankly, it's pissing him off. Astarion finally has complete control over his body and a partner who he trusts. A partner that can bring him to his knees with a simple giggle and to put it bluntly, gods you were fucking sexy.

He's frustrated, horny, and has no idea how to ask for anything he wants. And for fucks sake, if he wakes from a meditation to have you grinding against his erection again, he just might explode.

In his frustrated musing, he didn't notice that you had placed your sketch pad away. He only noticed when you cupped his jaw and moved his eyes to meet yours. "What are you thinking about, handsome?"

It takes a moment for Astarion to collect himself as he stares at your soft smile. "I was thinking it's about time we get you, my sweet, to bed," he pecks your lips before grabbing your wrist and entwining your fingers. You nod and press a gentle kiss to his knuckles.

Astarion holds the flap open, and you duck inside. Kicking your pants off and into the corner, you unceremoniously plop down into the pile of cushions. You began sharing a tent in the shadow curse lands. Astarion found out pretty early on that nightmares of Cazador were less likely when you were in his arms. And thankfully, you slept better, too.

You prop yourself on your elbows and silently watch Astarion move about the small space, removing his outer clothing. He seemed to be stalling, almost like he was silently debating with himself. Astarion is in his underwear when he seems to come to a conclusion. He takes a deep breath and moves towards you. Kneeling by your feet, you watch as Astarion hesitates, his hand resting softly on your shin. Hesitation is soon replaced with a devilish smirk that stretches across his lips.

"Whatcha thinking about pretty boy?"

Astarion doesn't say anything, just slowly begins to crawl up your body before capturing you in a breathtaking kiss. His knee is between your legs; your hands are around his neck, pulling him flush against your body. You sigh softly into his mouth, moving your hands to caress his cheekbone.

He tongues the seam of your lips, and you are quick to gasp, giving him access to lick deeper. Astarion's hands are caressing up and down your curves, cupping your breast and tugging the metal bars of your nipple rings. His mouth moves to your throat, sucking hard at your jugular.

"W-wait!" You choke out, causing the elf above you to freeze. He's quick to remove himself from you, putting some distance between your bodies.

"Shit, did…did I do something wrong?" Astarion's voice cracks; you've never heard him so unsure of himself. You pant hard but are quick to sit up and fall into Astarion's lap, his arms instinctually wrapping around your waist.

"No, gods no," you sigh, cupping his jaw and pressing your forehead against his. The tension in Astarion's shoulders drops, and he squeezes you a bit harder.

"Then what is it, my sweet?"

That has you pausing to figure out the best way to say this. "What was your plan?" Shit, that didn't sound good

"My plan! Are you serious?" He's already pulling away, shutting off completely when you pull him back tightly.

"No! Th-that's fuck, that's not what I meant, Star," at least he's not trying to run, but he's as stiff as ever. "Astarion, I will be as blunt as possible because I care about you. Were you trying to have sex with me because you felt obligated?"

This isn't what Astarion expected you to say because he can't mask the look of surprise. He opens his mouth to speak before clamping it shut. He does this twice more, but you don't rush him, you push stray curls behind his ear and wait.

"No." His voice is small. He clears his throat before speaking again, stronger this time. "No, I want this, and I would appreciate you stop treating me like fucking glass."

“What?”

You're flipped over, and suddenly, on your back, Astarion's body pressed closely against yours. He ruts against you. His cock was hard, feeling painfully constricted in his underwear. "I appreciate your patience with me, darling, but I need to clarify one thing to you right now."

Astarion licks a long stripe up your collarbone, ending just under your ear. You moan softly, trying desperately to roll your hips up into Astarion. "I have never wanted someone more than I wanted you. So, if it's okay with you, my sweet, I'm going to take the rest of our clothes off, and you're going to finally let me feast upon the sweetness between your legs."

You whine and buck, trying to get anything from Astarion's unmoving body. "Tsk, no, no, my sweet. Use your words." He purred, nipping your ear.

"Please! Yes! Oh gods, Astarion,"

Once the words leave your lips, you're tearing at each other's clothes in desperation. After you are both fully undressed, Astarion shoves you back onto the cushions. You expect him to pounce but he hovers staring down at your naked body.

Astarion's deft fingers grab your foot, and he presses a soft kiss to your inner ankle. A pang of heat flared through your lower abdomen. He kisses up to the top of your calf before giving a playful bite. You release a soft yelp, and Astarions lavishes the bite with his tongue. He slowly moves up to your inner thigh, leaving various bruises in his wake.

You're gasping as he ghosted over the spot you wanted him most. His breath fans over your dripping cunt, and you swear he's about to give you what you want. Then he kisses you. Just one small peck on the public area just above your clit, before he retreats. You cry, and one of your hands card into Astarion's white locks.

“No! Please!”

He begins the same slow ascent up your other leg, paying just as much attention. "Now, as much as I love those beautiful noises you make for me. Remember that our camp members are trying to sleep; you can be a good girl for me, right?" He gazes up between your parted legs, and you nod and swear if he asked at this moment, you would have given him anything.

"I thought so," Astarion purred before licking up the entire length of your pussy. You moan out and swiftly clap your hand over your mouth. Then suddenly Astarion is a man starved.

His hand grips the underside of your thighs hard and pulls you down the bed as close as physically possible. He sucks, and licks, piercing his tongue sloppily at your dripping cunt, and you're a mess of pleasure. Your grind against Astarion's face, his nose rubbing beautifully against your clit. If it weren't for Astarion's hands keeping your thighs parted, you probably would be crushing his head in your desperation.

A low groan rumbles from Astarion's chest, and he focuses his attention, sucking tightly on the bundle of nerves. He slips his first and middle finger into your cunt and curls up, causing you to gasp for air.

"S-star…oh gods!" You cried, and he was ruthless with his assault. Astarion pumped his fingers quickly, the sloppy sounds of his mouth mixed with your muffled moan. Your stomach was coiling with pleasure, and you were embarrassed with how fast Astarion was picking you apart. "I'm close." you whimper, rolling your hips against his face.

Astarion, after a moment, releases your clit. Still pumping you with his fingers, he looks up at you, chin glistening with your arousal, a smug grin lazily plaster on his lips. "Come for me, love, be a good girl."

With the last few slips of his fingers, the coil snaps, and you're falling apart. Eyes unfocused, muscled tight, the silent gasp of ecstasy stuck in your throat. Astarion watches in amazement and arousal as you come apart so thoroughly with just his mouth and fingers. His cock is aching pre, now dribbling down the shaft.

Once your orgasm slows, you feel the immense need for more. And with Astarion still nestled between your legs, it has you moving without thought. You push Astarion back and plant yourself on his lap. You mash your mouth against him, chasing the taste of yourself on his tongue.

Astarion groans and cups the back of your head, deepening the kiss. Your palms roam down his chest, smoothing down his abs until you come to his neglected cock. It's swollen and red, and when you grip it softly, Astarions hisses into your mouth, bucking into your palm.

Smearing the pre-come around, you slowly work your hand up and down Astarion's dick in long, languid strokes. His eyes glaze over, and he moans, head dropping to your shoulder. Astarion's cold hands fondled your breast, and he leaned down to suck one of your nipples into his mouth. He pulls the metal piercing softly with his teeth.

You whine and tug on a fist full of Astarion's hair, rubbing your thumb over the head of his cock. "Fuck, darling." Astarion moans, moving to give your other breast equal attention. Your positive marks will be littering your body for days following. And the thought alone causes you to clench your thighs.

You pump your hand faster, and Astarion meets everyone with thrusts of his hips. He claims your lips again in a sloppy dance of wet tongues. Then suddenly Astarion stills your hand.

"If you keep this up, I'm not going to last much longer." Astarion's pants, nudging your nose with his.

"Isn't that kinda the point, handsome?"

"Not if I want to come apart feeling you clenching around me," Astarion's voice is breathless, and you moan at the thought. He kisses your cheek, then your jaw. Trailing his way to your neck. "Would you like that, my sweet,"

Whatever power you had over Astarion had just turned to dust. You bite your lip and nod quickly, letting Astarion push you on to your back. You part your hips, and Astarion slots right in.

"Words, my love. You do know how much I love your voice." Such a fucking tease.

Linking your arms around his neck, you pull him down, hitching one of your legs over Astarion's hips. "Please…I need you to fuck me."

"Shit…" Astarion groans. Taking himself in hand, he smears his dick with your arousal before filling you agonizing inch by inch.

The two of you let out a collective cry of pleasure, and you feel complete. Astarion pulls out and slams his hips back, ripping the oxygen from your lungs, and sets a steady pace. You clutch at his shoulders, digging your nails into exposed skin. The slick sounds of Astarions pumping in and out of you were depraved and did nothing but fill your lower abdomen with molten lava. Astarion wholly consumed your senses.

The coolness of his lips left lingering kisses on your arched neck. The smell of bergamot and rosemary flooded your nose with each shaky inhale. The saltiness of any skin you could taste. It was too much and not enough all at once.

The scrape of Astarion's fangs graze his favorite feeding spot, and you grab the back of his head. "Yes! P-please…" and soon, the icy pierce of his teeth is followed by the cool tingle of pleasure that flows through your body.

Astarion grunts as soon as the blood touches his tongue. He ruts faster against you, grinding you into the blankets. He has to clamp a hand over your mouth to keep your voice from waking the whole camp.

But what can you do? Nothing. Not when his other hand begins to roll your clit in tight circles matching his thrusts. Your hands trail down his back, legs hooking tightly around his torso. The angle of your hips changes, and Astarion is pounding into the spot that has you seeing stars. You're close, and you try to say so, but Astarion hand is still tight around your mouth.

After a last mouthful of blood, Astarions peppers kisses over the bite. "I know, my sweet, I'm…fuck I'm close to."

His fingers are rubbing your clit faster, and his hips aren't letting up the brutal pace. Your legs are quaking, and you feel like you might faint. You clench tightly around him, and then you fall apart. Suddenly, Astarion's hand is gone, and his tongue is in your mouth, capturing every whimper of pleasure you give. And with a few more swallow sloppy thrusts, Astarion falls over the edge with you, filling you with his spent.

Astarion continue to languidly kiss you, both hands cupping your face like you are the most precious creature on the plane. He barely grinds his hips, feeling the last of your orgasms fade until you are both too sensitive.

And it's like someone cut the puppet strings. Astarion falls limply onto you, blanketing your body with his. You comb softly through his hair, gently pulling out any knots. Astarion kisses your shoulder before rolling off of you.

It is silent for a while as you stare into each other's eyes. Astarions is the first to speak. "I love you," His words were barely above the whisper, and if you weren't staring intently at the man, you might have missed it.

You're speechless. Were you dreaming?

"I still believe you deserve more than the broken man before you. But you've chosen me, and I have felt true happiness for the first time since waking up in my grave. And well-"

You don't give him a moment to finish before you're in his lap and tackling him into an embrace. "I love you, Astarion."

The dopey grin on his face has you breaking into your own. You press your forehead to his, and he hugs you tightly. You don't know what tomorrow brings. But being here, seeing Astarion's smile, and knowing he loves you just as much as you love him. It feels like you can do anything.

Okay, friends, this was just so fun to write. Let me know what ya thought. I swear all the love and support I've received from my last few posts have been so amazing. I'm so excited to show you more!!!

If you liked this, maybe you'll like one of these?

Happy Birthday (fluffy)

Reoccurring Nightmares (hurt/comfort)

Tag list?: @heartfully10

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion #bg3 #reader insert #astarion ancunin #astarion imagine #bg3 astarion #astarion smut #smut

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pogueprincess · 5 months ago

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Renegade

summary: You discover one of Aemond’s biggest secrets and are reminded of the horrors of his past on a night out with your oldest brother, Aegon.

pairing: Implied Aemond Targaryen x Sister!Reader

word count: 1.5k

warnings: alcohol consumption, mention of SA, Aegon is Aegon, mention of incest, angst.

note: This was meant to be a self indulgent drabble! lol, but if y’all like it maybe I can make a smutty part 2? Hehe … feedback is appreciated

With your thirteenth name day came great change. It was a grand celebration: A feast filled with music and dancing, various lords and ladies from throughout the seven kingdoms came to celebrate you and Aemond. Though it also meant you and Aemond being separated from one another. This year your mother had declared you would no longer share chambers. You had started your moonblood and Aemond was becoming a man; sharing a room would be deemed inappropriate. Aemond swore to you that he would come visit you each night.

You had spent the majority of your name day feast simply enjoying Aemond’s company. Nestled in one of the corners of the throne room, sharing lemon cake as you people watched. You tried to get Helaena to dance with you, but she was preoccupied; chasing a moth that had flown in through one of the widows. Your eldest brother, Aegon, was drowning in his cups, bothering any serving girl that came within twenty feet of him. In all truth, you were happy to just soak in the atmosphere with Aemond. Just the two of you, as it was meant to be, as it had always been. Your time with Aemond was interrupted by Ser Criston, asking for your hand in an innocent dance. After your mother’s sworn protector spun you around the room for a third time, you caught your balance. Your eyes locked with Aemond’s as Aegon dragged him from the throne room and into the night.

The hours dragged on as you sat in your new apartments. You anxiously awaited Aemond’s arrival, the last remaining piece of lemon cake and a small figurine of Vhagar you carved for him as a gift sat on your bedside table. When Aemond showed up at your door, the bright eyed boy you had seen just hours before was no longer there. His good eye was red and puffy and his stare was vacant. The cake and wooden dragon soon forgotten.

“What has Aegon done to you?”

Things had changed in the weeks since your father’s death, as well as the events that occurred above Storm’s End. Aemond had grown distant from you. Your time together grew scarce.

It was now a quiet afternoon in the keep when you overheard Aegon and his guards' future plans for the evening.

“You’re going to Flea Bottom tonight,” you say to your brother matter-of-factly, “I wish to accompany you.”

Aegon scoffs at you, furring his brow.

“What would Aemond think of this?”

“Aemond does not control me. He is barely ever around as of late,” you admit sheepishly.

Aegon’s eyes narrowed at this, a sly grin appearing on his face.

“Is that what this is about? Is our dear brother not giving you the attention you need?” He drawled as his fingers ghosted the underside of your breast before you swatted his hand away.

“No,” you lied, “I am simply bored.”

It was not a total lie, you were bored. It seemed as though all of your siblings had important roles to play while you were cast to the side. Forced to be imprisoned in the Red Keep until you were bargained off to marry some Lord for a political alliance.

You enthusiastically followed your brother through the winding streets of Flea Bottom as he led the way to a small tavern. The narrow, dirty streets were packed with all sorts of people; merchants and beggars alike, small children clinging to their mother’s skirts. You watched in amusement as stray cats darted around you.

The smell of ale, smoke, and sweat filled your nostrils as you stepped inside Aegon’s dingy tavern of choice. Clearly no place for a princess and far from what you were used to. You felt yourself naturally gravitate closer to your brother as you took in the appearance of the rough-looking patrons.

Aegon had announced your arrival, offering drinks as a pleasure from the crown. With that he heeded a warning: Any fool of a man who dare look at you the wrong way this evening may face the wrath of Aemond One Eye and a death by dragonfire.

As the hours went on and the wine flowed, you found you were having the time of your life. You drank and danced and sang. You had temporarily forgotten all of your troubles. The war that loomed over your family’s head, the loss of your nephew. You had wished Aemond was there to experience the fun with you. You hoped wherever he was, he was having fun as well. You silently thanked your brother for allowing you this small taste of freedom.

“Come on,” Aegon encouraged the young squire, “there is a madam here somewhere who is perfect for you,” he drawled. “I came here when I was your age, my brother as well…. This madam has a thing for the younger ones.”

You sobered up at Aegon’s words. He was taking the young boy to her. The woman who hurt Aemond. You were unable to protest as Aegon snaked his hand around your waist, pulling you close to him. You felt warmth in your bones as his fingers dug into your flesh.

“Come sister,” Aegon chirped, “this should be entertaining, but stay close to me.”

A curtain was pulled back and to your utter shock and dismay: Aemond was there, suckling at the breast of an older woman like a newborn babe.

You found it difficult to witness but even more difficult to look away. You continued to watch in bewilderment as Aemond tore himself away from the woman. Aegon erupted into a fit of laughter, practically falling over at the sight. You couldn’t blame him, a nervous laugh threatened to escape your own lips.

You managed to turn away, diverting your gaze to the squire boy who was looking on in horror. You covered his eyes with the palm of your hand, earning snickers from Aegon’s guards, you glared at them.

“What the fuck is she doing here?” you hear Aemond grumble to Aegon, clearly referring to you.

“Why would you bring her here?” Aemond questions, yet Aegon is still laughing.

You glance over and meet the gaze of the madam your twin brother sits beside. She studies your face, and a look of guilt is evident on hers. She is the woman from your thirteenth name day, no doubt, she has to be. You are unable to deny she is attractive. Her features are soft, welcoming, motherly. You can almost see her appeal. Suddenly you feel ill, and it is not the wine.

“Aegon! I would like to leave now!” You blurt out in a panic, unsure of where to look or how to even behave.

The king ignores you and instead stumbles onto the bed with Aemond. Taunting him, making crude jokes at his expense, mocking him. Barking like a damn dog.

Any positive thoughts you had about your eldest brother in the hours before were now gone. In an instant, it is as if you are all children again. Aemond is that defenseless little boy in the dragon pit. A mere plaything for Aegon and his cronies.

A never ending cycle, so it seemed.

“Aegon! You have said enough!” you scold him, he ignores you yet again.

If Aemond was embarrassed, he did not show it. You finally avert your gaze to his as he stands up abruptly, fully exposed. He is beautiful in this light. You wish everyone in the room could look at Aemond the way you did. You try and fail to look anywhere but below his waist.

“Your squire is welcome to her,” Aemond states coldly, his face emotionless, “any whore is as good as another.”

You find yourself wincing at his words in disbelief. Aemond was not one to ever disrespect a woman. Especially in the presence of others. In the presence of you. You watch the older woman’s face closely, she has the audacity to look betrayed. You wish you could feed her to your dragon. You are interrupted from your thoughts of her burning flesh when Aemond approaches you.

“Had your fun?” He asks through gritted teeth as he passes you, glaring over his shoulder when he does not receive an answer.

“Come now, we are leaving.”

Aegon snickers, now taking Aemond’s place next to the madam. He shoo’s you out of the room as he pats the bed, motioning for the young squire to sit.

“Would you look at that? A Targaryen princess, jealous of a common whore! Gods, our family is fucked up.”

“You are unlike anyone I have ever met,” you say to your brother. It isn’t a compliment. You want to cry.

“Must you ruin everything for everyone?”

“You’re welcome!” Is all he says as you dart out of the room and after your twin brother.

What Aegon seems to forget is Aemond is no longer that defenseless boy in the dragon pit. He is a man grown, with a vengeance and a thirst for blood. May the Gods take pity on you all.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x sister!reader #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #house of the dragon #ewan mitchell #tom glynn carney #aemond x reader #aemond x sister #aegon ii targaryen #aemond targaryen oneshot #aemond targaryen fanfiction #house of the dragon smut #hotd #hotd s2 #aegon ii

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plutoswritingplanet · 9 months ago

Text

It's A Special Death You Saved (Feyd Rautha x Female!Reader) pt.3

a/n: so i lied about this being the last chapter, there's one more, i know im sorry....... also shout out to my friends, who were unbelievably helpful with the smut part because oh, there's smut here

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content (yuuuh yuuuuuuh), Alcohol, like....a tiny bit of Humiliation.

Summary: The month-long courting comes to an end with a bang! As your engagement party commences, wine flows and darker feelings rise to the surface

Pt. 1, Pt.2 Pt.4 (finale)

In the darkness of the night, he still comes to you in your dreams, knife in hand, body taunt and ready to strike. Every single morning, you awake with a gasp, as visions of your tormentor plague you. In some, he slits your throat, reveling in the way red cascades down your nightgown. Other times, it's a quick and brutal stabbing, your insides twisting as you wake.

But then, there are those rare nights where you rise from your bed, sweat clinging to your skin, as you fight with the pressure in your stomach, try to rid yourself of the images, before making yourself presentable for breakfast.

Those dreams, nightmares, are the worst.

White, elegant fingers, grabbing, pulling, pinching every surface of your exposed skin. Defined arms around you, squeezing your pliant body in an embrace that is as tender and romantic, as a snake suffocating its victim. Deceivingly soft lips, mapping a trail down your front, pulling back to reveal teeth, which make that same trail visible, hurting.

In those dreams, he paints you with black. Taints you, until you're molded into his perverse image, until there's no telling where he ends, and you begin. He makes you into a sculpture, in a way that an artist cuts away pieces of clay, slowly robbing you of all agency, until there's only what he wants to see. And you let him, with a trembling smile on your lips, hands twisted into the stained sheets of your bed.

Ignoring him has become an art form as well.

Since your faithful tangle at the training barracks, you did everything in your power, to never appear in the same room as him, or at least, never alone. You became a shadow in your own home, a whisper of the person you used to be. Shame is a powerful thing, and you wore it like a wedding veil over your face. Paul would always help you, silently. Never asking outright what had happened between you and the Harkonnen, but somehow always knowing. Your brother, your salvation, breaks your heart everytime he grabs your hand, and leads you away from the predator in the room.

The date of your engagement party has been set a week into the future. The nervous bustling of the court only heightening your already wracked thoughts, as the inevitability of your situation begins to haul you to the ground.

Your Mother took most of the preparations on her back, directing the servants, the kitchen, the musicians. She picked out a dress for you, some flowing abomination, which hung in your closet, reminding you every morning, that you will have to wear it with a smile. You hoped, there will be wine at the feast, hope that it will be sweet enough to dull your insides.

As the date of the feast comes closer and closer, you begin to spend more time outside.

The air is crisp and smells of seawater, and you can't help but inhale fully, every time. You want it seared into your brain, so whenever you're taken away from your home, you can run back to this memory, to the feel of grass under your fingers.

- You'll catch a cold, if you keep sitting here.

Paul's voice brings you back from your dark thoughts, and you look up, from your spot in the grass. He stands a couple paces back, hands folded behind his back in a manner, that is reminding you of your Father more and more every day.

- Do you want to join me? - you ask, your lips quirking up into a small smile - Or would you prefer to stand there like a pillar of salt?

Your brother shakes his head, before coming closer and plopping down next to you, his skinny legs stretched out in front of him. The both of you sit in silence for a while, enjoying the breeze ruffling your hair, the smell of ocean and the waves crashing into the cliffs. There are seagulls flying over your heads, and you feel the moisture from the grass seep into your clothing.

A wistful sigh escapes you, before you can stop it, and you let yourself fall, laying flat on the hill.

Paul looks down at you, undescribable sadness swimming in his eyes, and an instinct of sister awakes in you, a need to comfort, despite being a wreck yourself. So, you offer him a smile, a tired one, but a smile nonetheless.

- Do you think we could take the horses for a ride today? - your brother asks with naive hope, his eyes turning to the sea.

- Mother won't allow me to go, she wants me to spend my pondering the proper behavior during the feast - try as you might, you can't hide the bitterness in your voice - Besides, I could fall off and hurt the merchandising.

Paul's hand finds yours, and he squeezes your fingers tightly. It's hard not to break, in moments like these. When you're forced to remember, you'll most likely never see your family again.

- If I could do something, anything... - you recognize that feverish note in your brother's voice, it's devoid of reason, impulsive, too much like you.

- But you can't, so you won't.

A frustrated sound escapes his mouth, and he turns back to the sea. You watch him through half-lidded eyes, eyelashes falling heavily on your cheeks. He looks like a Duke, you conclude, and that thought feels strangely comforting. No matter where you'll be shipped off, no matter what life has in store for you in the future, somehow, you know your brother will persevere.

- Do you remember that time Gurney made us train on the beach? - you ask, a sudden wave of nostalgia washing over you, as the clouds float in the sky above you - Cause of the... The balance. We had to try to balance in the sand.

Paul twists his head towards you, surprised at the turn of the conversation, before cracking a smile.

- Yes, he slipped on the rocks, nearly broke his backbone - he starts to wave his hands around in a wonderful reenactment of your mentor's fall, before collapsing next to you in the grass.

Your laughter mingles with the sounds of the sea, as the both of you, the future of House Atriedes, share memories, scenes from the life you've lived together. The good and the bad. The horse races through plains and hills of Caladan, the many, many food fights. It's hard to tell, how much time you spend together, laying in the grass, but when you finally fall into silence, the air has become considerably more chilly. A sign, it's time to return to reality, to your duties.

- You should've been me, and I you - Paul whispers suddenly, and you close your eyes in a pained expression.

Perhaps it's true. Perhaps Lady Jessica made a mistake, and gave a Daughter where she should've given a Son. Now, it's no longer important. Your roles have been set in place, all you could do, is fulfill them. Somewhere back, in the direction of the Palace you can hear a voice calling your names. A reminder, that the world outside this grassy sanctuary exists, and can't wait any longer.

You move to stand, Paul gathering himself up closely behind. Your clothes stick to your body, and you're shivering from the cold, but if you could spend just one more moment exactly like that, you would've taken that chance without question.

An arm snakes around your elbow, and you lean onto your brother's shoulder, as you start to walk back, steps swaying like a pair of drunkards. Then, Paul tugs you closer, you can feel him tense suddenly, as he leans with a sullen expression on his pale face.

- I hate the way he looks at you - he confesses, waves upon waves of righteous Atriedes fury crashing in his voice.

You don't know how to respond to that, so you stay silent, giving his arm a reassuring tug.

That was the last conversation you've had with your brother.

*** While the House Atriedes is characterized by a rather mellow temper, there was one thing they took extremely seriously. And those, unfortunately for you, were engagement rituals.

So, that's why you sit posed like a porcelain doll in a deep chair, next to your soon-to-be husband, at the foot of a long table, surrounded by music, and dancing, and food. There are ribbons hung from the high ceilings, and flickering lights float around them like little fireflies. You watch, as they dance above you, the ridiculous headdress placed on your hair digs into your skul. Color surrounds you, your own dress flowing like a waterfall, elegant, yet delicate. The pools of fabric gather around your legs, a chiffon monstrosity, that you know, is supposed to make you beautiful.

And perhaps you would've felt beautiful, if this was any other occasion. A birthday feast, perhaps. Dare you say, and engagement party with someone you actually loved.

Speaking of which, your betrothed sits beside you, sticking out like a sore thumb. He looks utterly bored, eyes following the celebrating masses, hand playing with a steak knife. Not enough blood for his tastes, you suppose. He's dressed in traditional Harkonnen attire, which you think, doesn't really look that much different from all the other outfits you've seen him in. Black, sleek, efficient. You must be a curious pair, a mass of colorful materials and a black-stone pillar.

The wine, thankfully, is sweet. It warms your face, and turns your insides into a pleasant mush. You should've eaten more, but then again, it was a celebration of your imprisonment, and if you wanted to get drunk, you would. And you did get drunk. Quickly.

The dress moves with you, as you slowly slide down the chair, one leg resting up on the seat. A frightfully unbecoming sight, but you can't find it in yourself to care. Another, clumsy drink from your cup, and you sigh deeply, blinking a couple of times to rid yourself of sudden dizziness.

Your betrothed gives you a look, whether it's of warning or amusement, you're not sure. And you don't care. Your nose scrunches in the general direction of his smooth head, and you take another sip, just to spite him.

- Shut up - you grumble, a slurr entering your words.

- I haven't said a word - he counters, and this time you can see him smile.

- You're thinking, it's annoying.

Feyd Rautha has an unpleasant laugh.

Sharp and low, and very rough around the edges. It's like listening to an old spaceship try to take off, and you're sure you don't want to hear him laugh ever again. That's it, your goal in this, frankly, fucked up marriage, will be to never make your husband laugh. Although, it's best not to think about it so loudly, he might be a hidden mind reader, and would most likely laugh in your face every day, just to torture you.

God. You were going to regret every sip come tomorrow morning.

- You're wrapped like a present - Feyd Rautha leans down with a smirk playing on his full lips, and you have to crane your neck to look him straight in the face - Shall I unwrap you here, while your family watches?

Despite the light tone, you shiver under his gaze. Something in the way his body seems relaxed yet tense at the same time tells you, this shameless man would do it in a heartbeat, if you as much as inclined your head.

- Gross - you groan, hand untangling itself from the amassing of chiffon to push back at his face.

It's the first time, you've touched him out of your own volition, and even in your drunken daze, you note the sudden glint in his eyes. Fingers grab at your wrist, keeping you in place, as he leans further into your touch, turning his head slightly. Wine mixes with sudden embarrassment, as his lips brush against the meat of your palm. Then, black teeth shine and your heart jumps to your throat, as he bites down on your skin, hard enough to make you jump. Tongue darts out, licking a stripe up your thumb, before giving your fingertip a tiny nibble.

You tear your hand away from him, pressing it into your chest with an appalled expression. There are indents just below your thumb in the shape of his teeth, and the confounding feelings you've been trying to stoke for almost a month now, come crashing down upon you.

He looks satisfied with himself, returning back to his seat, and his steak knife. The utensil reflects the flowing lights, and despite yourself you swallow thickly, turning back to your cup, which is quickly becoming empty.

God, it was getting incessantly hot in this cursed dining hall.

Whether it was the wine, or the sudden wave of knee-bending arousal washing through you, you couldn't tell. (It was both, you were fully aware it was both) And you're uncomfortable, terribly so. You fidget in your seat, almost painfully aware of the heat, which has now spread further down. The fabric of the dress slides against your body, skin becoming far too sensitive, too hungry for touch. You try to relieve some of your torment, legs squeezing and rubbing together. Treacherous tongues of self-awareness rear its ugly heads, and you look up, and...

Of course he noticed.

Feyd Rautha places his chin in his hand, and he observes you with a knowing look, which turns dark and terrifying as soon as your eyes meet.

- Careful, lest the court starts talking - he warns you, his voice somehow becoming deeper than before, and you take a shuddering breath.

Dagnerous, this is dangerous.

You're seated far away from your family, from any consolation, and even if they were close enough to intervene, the masses of dancing people, the sound of their laughter... Your heart stops, a snake curling itself around your insides. Truly, if that beast of a man wanted to, he could make do of his threat from earlier, and take you where you sit. Haunted by that thought, both terrifying and arousing, you down the rest of your wine.

It doesn't taste as good anymore. Hell, it threatens to come back up, until you force it to sit in your stomach.

Duncan, you need to find Duncan, or you'll do something incredibly stupid. You'll do something incredibly stupid either way, but at least the regret will be less biting. So, pulling yourself up on trembling arms, you shuffle out of your chair, your betrothed's heated gaze following you on your way through the hall.

People don't even look at you, too enraptured with free food and drinks, and the music, which flows loudly through the air. Good, in any other case, the Duke's Daughter, stumbling drunk through corridors, would certainly lift some eyebrows. Your feet carry you towards the training barracks, a familiar route you've followed many times. Indulging in sex with your Father's most trusted advisor was not the healthiest form of regulating emotions, but you needed something, and God knows, you'd rather die than get it from anyone else. From Him especially.

The choice is made for you, however, as a strong hand wraps itself around your arm, just above your elbow, yanking you backwards, behind a stone column. The world spins in front of your eyes, and for a second you worry the company of wine warming your insides is about to abandon you along with breakfast.

- Do you truly thought, you could sneak away from me?

Finally, your eyes focus on Fey Rautha's face, almost demonic in the low light of the corridor. Shadows play on his expression, falling heavily over his eyes, and you try to wrench yourself from his grasp.

- What I do is none of your business - you slurr out, wringing your arm every which way, his fingers digging painfully into your flesh - Let go of me.

The Harkonnen presses himself closer to you, trapping your body between the stone and himself. His nose nearly crushes itself into the juncture between your neck and your shoulder, taking a disturbing long whiff. You can feel his chest vibrate against your own, as he groans deep within his throat. It sobers you up in record speed, and you start to thrash in his hold. He subdues your outburst, as if he was made for it, before dragging his nose up, towards your hair. You snarl like a wild animal.

- Let me go.

His body moves on its own accord, tearing itself away from you in an instant, legs tripping over themselves, to put distance between your bodies. He looks up at you, muscles tense and an expression of shock painted across his pale face.

The ability to use the Voice was something you rarely took part in. Training sessions with your Mother went well, as expected of a woman, but you still had a lot of work ahead of you. You blink forcefully, steadying yourself against the wall behind you. Then, you notice the borderline murderous look on your soon-to-be husband's face.

- Witch - he spits out, baring his blackened teeth at you.

- I am the Daughter of Duke Atriedes - your voice carries a note of righteous pride, despite dread climbing up your spine - And you will treat me with respect, wedded or not.

He straightens himself with petrifying speed, and as he takes a step towards you, actions overtake reflection. Your hand winds back, and you bring a resounding slap across his sharp cheekbone. While your palm blooms with pain, he seems to barely react, closing the distance between the two of you after a tense beat. Before you have a chance to react again, his hands grab at your face, and his lips crash against yours in a punishing kiss.

Teeth clink together and the momentum of the kiss makes your head collide with the stone pillar behind you. He's fingers dig into your cheeks and your jaw, as he devours you completely, bringing down all your defences in one swoop. You kiss him back, almost immediately, opening your mouth to let him in, to meet his tongue halfway. It's almost grotesque, how much you hate and love this at the same time, the buzzing of the wine mixing with the sound of your racing heart, with the sound of his unabashed sounds of pleasure.

Hands flail at your sides, as you grab all you can take, pulling him even closer by the thick fabric of his tunic.

His hands however, know exactly what they want, and as he lets go of your face, they both sink down. Fingers hook into the neckline of your dress, and he tears it down, your entire body swaying with the force of his movement. Your breasts are freed for only just a moment, cold air hitting them in a way that would be uncomfortable, if they weren't immediately covered by your betrothed's large palm. He palms at your chest, as if he wants to crush it, and you bite back a whine, which threatens to spill from your abused lips.

- Don't - he growls a warning, unoccupied hand tangling itself within your hair - Sing.

And you do. As his mouth descends upon your neglected breast, where he alternates between licks and bites that make your back fly off the wall. Once again you don't know what to do with your hands, finding them entirely useless in the Harkonnen's overpowering grasp. One, grabs at his shoulder, undecided on whether to push him off, or pull him in closer. The other one scratches four lines into his skull, as he sucks on the sensitive skin under your ribs.

Finally, he detaches from you completely, standing straight and regarding you with a look so intensely ravenous, it shakes you to your core. Your exposed chest rises and falls in tandem with your heaving breaths, and you shiver, as cold air hits your skin. His gaze drinks in your dissheveled hair, the way your lips are puffy and red. A beautiful sight for his blackened eyes.

- I know who you went looking for - he starts, stalking towards you once again - Can't have that, can I?

You debate feigning confusion, outrage at such accusation, which hasn't really been uttered yet. But, as Feyd Rautha stops just short of the bottom hem of your dress, you suddenly find yourself unable to speak. Instead, as a last ditched effort to rid yourself of him, your hand extends, a half-hazard attempt at liberation. He swats it away, as one would a mere fly, before sinking to his knees in front of you.

- Lift up your dress, Viper - his voice is like thunder in your ears, and you bite your lips at the sight of his eyes, dark and surprisingly eager.

Hands move clumsily in an effort to gather all those translucent layers. You nearly trip over yourself, earning a rather nasty chuckle from below. As soon, as your legs are visible, he dives between the chiffon, his head dissapearing from sight. You can feel his lips, traveling up the expanse of your calf, giving a light bite under your knee.

Anticipation siezes your gut, and you grab onto the wall, as if that would save you. His hands grab your leg, skin incredibly warm to the touch for someone who looks so cold, and then, with forceful tugs, he starts to manouver you.

You let out an unbecoming squeak, as he yanks your leg over his shoulder. Strong hands keep you in place, and he reaches out around the upper part of your thigh to all but tear your undergarments off of your core. The force of this action makes you jump in place on your one available leg, just to hold your balance, and for a second you consider swatting at him.

That thought leaves you almost immediately after it appears, as an onslaugh of kitten licks unleashes downward. A vague, head like shape moves under your dress, the chiffon floating from place to place like a hypnotizing river. The wine must've heightened your senses to an alarming degree, because as soon as Feyd Rautha begins his ministrations, you're a mess.

It's honestly humiliating, the way you fight for any purchase on the wall behind you, as he begins to lick in earnes, parting your legs further with one hand, while the other wraps securely around your used leg. While there, he cops a feel of your behind, fingers biting into the soft flesh, and you lock your lower lip between your teeth so hard, you can taste blood on your tongue.

As if he's developed some new telepathic talents, his hand leaves your ass, in favor of winding up, and slapping it harshly. The action makes your jump in place once again, a sound stuck between outrage and glee fleeing your throat, before you have the chance to stop it. Right, "sing", you remind yourself, and immediately feel him change his tactics.

Your bundle of nerves opens new possibilities of torment, and as his lips close around the bud, you can't help the whine, escaping through your lips. The music is loud, you remind yourself. They won't hear, no one will hear. His hand pushes your dangling leg further up your shoulder, and your back arches from the stone. You will be sore as all hell after this is done, but for now, it doesn't matter. Nothing really matters, except the way your betrothed eats you out, like a man who's been starved for decades.

- Oh shit - you curse, hands flailing uselessly - Oh fuck!

All of a sudden, everything stops, and your building peak subsides into a dissatisfactory simmer. Feyd Rautha's head emerges from under the fabric, a terrible, shit-eating grin on his wet lips.

- Such language? - he teases, tongue darting out to lap at your arousal - So unbecoming of a-...

- Fucking don't stop! - there's panic in your movements, as you grab the back of his head, and shove him right under your dress again.

The laughter should be unsettling for you, but he returns to his post with twice as much motivation, and however more strength, and before you know it, your orgasm sneaks upon you. A sudden tightness in your core is all the warning you get, before the coil snaps, and your entire body starts to spasm in pleasure.

It's good. Incredibly so. You'd risk saying it's the most intense you've ever came, but never out loud, never to him. That shameful secret was between you and whatever God that was listening. Stars erupt behind your eyelids, your breathing stopping for just a moment.

And then you go deliciously limp, legs giving out completely.

To his credit, the Harkonnen catches you before you hit the floor, the arm curling around your leg proving to be an unmeasurable support. His head emerges from under the dress once again, and he lets you slide down the wall, until you're seated. He sways on the balls of his feet, still towering you, even as he crouches.

You swallow, throat slightly raw from all the noise you've done moments ago, and he follows the movements of your neck muscles with greedy eyes. Still greedy, after taking so much. Truly, he was a Harkonnen. And before you can stop yourself, a thought materializes in your brain, a treacherous little information, which would shake you to the core, if your muscles weren't currently made of taffy.

He blushes pink. Your betrothed blushes pink, from the exercise of making you cum on his tongue alone. God, what a precious sight.

He must've noticed the serene smile playing upon your lips, and his nature to ruin comes to light. His hand reaches back, and you freeze in your spot, as you recognize that damned golden steak knife. The blade shines in the dimly lit corridor, making your breathing faster, questions swimming behind your eyes. You don't really want to fight him in this state, but you fucking will, if he tries anything.

- An engagement present, for you, Viper. - he rasps, licking his reddened lips in an obscene display, which doesn't repulse you quite as much as it should.

- I have nothing to give in return - your voice is stern, and your betrothed flashes you an evil grin.

Then, he presents you the tip of the knife, golden utensil hanging between his slender fingers, and you look up at him, not understanding what is expected of you. Placing one knee on the floor, Feyd Rautha lowers himself to your eye level, for the hundredth of times surprising you with the sheer grace in his movements.

- Kiss - he whispers, into the space between the both of you.

Your eyes fall to the knife, then, to him and you take a long, deep breath. Pride, your biggest flaw, takes a deadly hit, as the man twists the knife in his fingers, looking at you expectedly. You hate him, truly and deeply, and it must be showing on your face, because he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, as soon as your eyes meet.

Swallowing your pride, you keep his gaze, leaning towards the blade. Your lips press delicately against the cool metal and the Harkonnen flashes you a nasty, self-satisfied smirk, before slipping the knife up his sleeve and standing up.

- I'll see you back at the feast - he gives you a small bow, and you press your lips tightly together.

- Fuck you.

- After the wedding, my Viper.

And with that, he turns around.

You're left there, on the floor, your dignity in shambles, the exertion catching up to you all at once, as if his presence alone was the only thing keeping you from feeling pain. A stupid thought, you chastize yourself, before slowly pulling yourself from the cold tiles.

It takes you a couple of shameful minutes, trying to put yourself back together again. The ridiculous headdress, which has slipped all the way down from your hair, will probably never look the same, as when your Mother has styled it, but you can't find it in yourself to care.

The music still plays, as you enter the hall, and thankfully, no one notices your arrival. No one but your betrothed, who raises his drinking cup in your direction, as if nothing had happened. His face is annoying, you conclude, and turn away, your aching legs taking you towards the center of the room, where people danced and sang in celebration of your engagement. What a lovely sight, what a lovely couple. Opposites attract, right?

Bitter, aching and humiliated, you throw yourself into the crowd, let it sway you from place to place, as you dance away this whole wretched week. The whole month-long courting rituals, which were just a bullshit attempt at torture.

It's said, that when Death comes to take your soul, you're allowed one more dance before the eternal void.

So you dance.

#my writing #dune part 2 #dune x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha smut #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #tennis ball strikes again #i would also like to thank tiktok editing community for giving me material to daydream about #im seeing this movie again on thursday totally not because i want to write the most accurate smut in the next chapter

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larluce · 9 months ago

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Arthur and Merlin travel back in time without knowing the other is from the future too AU

Tagging @aceauthorcatqueen , @fallenxjas , @smileytrinity ,@lucifertookmyshoe , @an-entity-i-think , @thecornerofbelu , @griffonskies , @odinjm , @cinnabon-sweetroll-tiramisu , @thelady-mary , @bennedict , @nightninjaboy , @st8-of-grace Thank you for your beautiful comments! And for the ones that gave me ideas, trust me, I'm taking them into account ;)

LINKS TO THE OTHER PARTS OF THIS AU HERE: PART 1 , PART 2 , PART 3 , PART 4 , PART 5 , PART 6 , PART 7 , PART 8 (You're here) , PART 9

A little more of "The Dragon's Call"

Arthur: (at the feast waiting anxiously because Merlin is supposed to save him from "Lady Helen" to become his servant today and he isn't there yet)

Uther: Are you alright, Arthur?

Arthur: (too quickly) Yeah, right, excelent, never better.

Uther: You've been acting strange lately.

Arthur: (thinking) Well it's not easy to act normal around your dead father and your dead sister who wanted you dead. (says) I just haven't been sleeping well. I had... nightmares. Very long nightmares.

Uther: I see... (Thinking) I hope Morgana's condition isn't contagious.

Merlin: (Finally arrives with Gaius at the feast)

Arthur: (turns and his eyes find Merlin's almost immediately)

Merlin: (Thinking, while he looks at Arthur in the distance) Why is he looking at me like that? Do I have something on my face?

Arthur: (Noticing Merlin is without his neckerchief, and he is so young and so beautiful, and he doesn't have his neckerchief on!) Gods have mercy!

Morgana: (enters in her breathtaking dress)

Merlin: (stares at her, but with a mix of longing and guilt)

Gwen: She looks great, doesn't she?

Merlin: (smiling sadly) Yeah...

Gwen: Some people are just born to be queen.

Merlin: (almost shouting) NO!

Gwen: There's no need to sound so disturbed.

Merlin: (composing himself) I'm sorry just... I think she could do better than Arthur that's all. (Thinking) And with someone that is not her brother.

Gwen: He's not so bad.

Merlin: (confused cause Gwen was supposed to agree with him) What do you mean? He was bullying a servant only a few days ago!

Gwen: I remmember. You confronted him about it.

Merlin: See? A total prat.

Gwen: And he also recognised his mistake and apologised. And he didn't arrest you for insulting him in front of his knights though that's technically treason.

Merlin: Okay, maybe not a total prat, but still a prat. (Thinking, worried) He was too nice indeed. Perhaps I was too harsh on him this time?

Morgana: (seeing Arthur is watching in Merlin and Gwen's direction) Have your eye on someone?

Arthur: (Cold) No.

Morgana: (playfully) Is it Gwen? or perhaps-

Arthur: Let's sit. Lady Helen will arrive at any moment (goes to his sit)

Morgana: ... Sure (thinking, while she goes to her sit) What's wrong with him?

Uther: (making an announcement) We have enjoyed 20 years of piece and prosperity....

Arthur: (thinking, resentfully) 20 years of genocide and lies.

Uther: ...It has brought to the kingdom and myself many pleasures but few can compare to the honor of introducing Lady Helen of Mora.

Lady Helen: (enters while people clap)

Arthur: (looks at Merlin in the distance)

Merlin: (very concentrated with his eyes on the chandelier, waiting for lady Helen to stand under it)

Arthur: (smiling to himself, thinking) So that's how you did it.

Everyone falls asleep, except for Arthur who does feel sleepy but is still slightly awake for some reason, so he gets to witness when all the room is filled with spiderwebs and Merlin uses his magic to make the chandelier fall over Helen, who is soon reveal to be Mary Collins.

Arthur: (confused) What... (thinking) Why didn't I fall completely asleep?

Merlin: (whose magic hasn't been able to freeze time since he traveled back in time, but he doesn't know why) Come on, come on! (Tries again to stop time but doesn't work) Damn it! (Shouts and runs to Arthur) ARTHUR!

Mary Collins: (throws the knife at Arthur)

Merlin: (covers Arthur with his body on time and the knife stabs his back)

Arthur: (horrified) NO! (Holding Merlin as they fall to the floor) No, no, no, no! You idiot, what were you thinking?!

Gaius: (running to Merlin) Merlin!

Uther: Who is this?

Gaius: My ward. (checks Merlin) We need to move him to my tower as carefully and quickly as possible. I can't pull the knife out here, he'll bleed to death.

Merlin: (smiling weakely at Arthur) I did it. (Tears of happiness) I did... (Starts closing his eyes).

Arthur: (panic mode) No! don't you dare die on me! (carries him as Gaius instructed) You're going to be okay, you're going to be okay. Stay with me (thinking) Please, don't leave me again. I just got you back. I can't lose you again.

Time skip. Merlin wakes up in Gaius's tower and with his wound bandaged. The knife didn't puncture anything important, but apparently the blade was poisoned. Fortunately, it was a pretty common one and Gaius took care of it rather quickly. Gaius scolds him for scaring him as expected but then hugs him gently and tells him he must not do any effort for at least 2 weeks and rest. Just as Gaius leaves for some herbs, Arthur enters to check on him.

Arthur: Better do as he says. I can't have my personal manservant injuring himself.

Merlin: Personal manservant?

Arthur: My father, the king, decided to reward you for saving my life by granting you a place at the royal household.

Merlin: (happy inside, but pretending to be annoyed) As your personal manservant? Couldn't he just give me gold or something?

Arthur: (playing along) Most would consider it a great honor.

Merlin: Well, I'm not like most people.

Arthur: (laughs a little) You certainly aren't. (Gets close and checks him out little, cause he's never seen Merlin without a shirt before and damn it! is hard not to stare, but as soon as his eyes land on the bandage, he turns serious) What you did was very brave... and stupid. You shouldn't have done that.

Merlin: (still mocking) If that's your way to say "Thank you for saving my life", well, yeah, I'm starting to regret saving your royal ass.

Arthur: I'm serious. Now you're my manservant, therefore my responsability and my concern. You're not allowed to put yourself in harms way, ever, not even for me. (Thinking) specially for me.

Merlin: (bewildered at the sudden concern) Is that a rule?

Arthur: It is now. Do I make myself clear?

Merlin: (touched, he smiles) Yes, my lord. (Thinking) I would die for you a hundred times over.

Arthur: (Thinking, a wave of nostalgia invading him) "My lord"... how much I missed that. (says) Good. Now get some rest (starts leaving, but stops and turns) And Merlin.

Merlin: Yes?

Arthur: Thank you for saving my life. (Makes a small bow, smiles and leaves)

Merlin: ...

Merlin: Did he just bow to me?!! 😨

...

Some explanation: Arthur is now, not immune, but a little more resistant to some mind spells since his mind is from the future and has already passed for all those spells before. Merlin's magic is kind of weak, because the ritual Arthur did used the magic from the tree, therefore Merlin's magic to do the time travel thing, so lets say his magic is a little exhausted and needs recovering, but it just last a few days.

#merlin bbc #bbc merlin #merlin #merthur #merlin fanfic #merlin fic #merlin prompt #merthur fic #arthur and merlin #merlin and arthur #merthur prompt #Arthur and Merlin travel back in time without knowing the other is from the future too AU

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all-purpose-dish-soap · 5 months ago

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3.7k / 38 / post-apocalypse au, part 2

...

You emerge deep in the city. Deeper than you should be.

You traveled on foot via the drainage tunnels connecting Amsterdam to the forest. This city was busy and beautiful once, the way unpolished amber is beautiful, but now it's overgrown and empty except for the undead roving the streets.

Staying underground is the best way to avoid the undead. Especially in the daytime. So when you creep through the streets in the open nighttime air, you know you have to be fast. You must find what you came here for.

You stick to the buildings and skulk in the shadows to take advantage of their poor eyesight to buy as much time as you can. You move in the shadows, turning corners to break line of sight and keeping yourself moving away from the few that see or smell you. But the undead—zombies, runners, biters, muties, whatever they’re called—will catch your scent eventually. And they do. Soon, too many lurch after you in mindless pursuit. They begin to stagger in your direction, stumbling over one another. Their howling voices echo off the walls of the abandoned buildings around you.

As you try to evade them, a few stragglers—those less decayed, those who can catch sight of you more easily and stumble in your direction to feast—begin to give chase. The city is so much more crowded than you feared, and you're quickly overwhelmed with nowhere else to run besides the open streets.

Running in the open is a death sentence. You have to get back underground. With your pumping heartbeat shooting adrenaline through you, you can't remember exactly which way leads back to the forest.

You get the horrible feeling that this city will become your tomb before morning comes. No, focus. You need to keep moving until you find a drainage tunnel. They all lead out of the city. Just go where the rain would go, you tell yourself.

You snake through the streets until you glimpse another stone-walled drainage ditch cutting between the street and walkways. You drop in, pressing yourself to the wall. You try to hide your tracks, hoping against hope that the undead might not realize you've slipped away and lurch off elsewhere, but no. No such luck. The undead are on you already.

You curse and take off in what you hope is the right direction. You push your panic into your legs as you try to outpace the zeds on your tail, but they're as fast as you are even in their undead state. They're not tiring the way you are as your body screams for rest. Your throat burns. You can't outpace them for much longer. They're persistence predators.

When you see the drainage ditch veer and dip into what looks like an underground spillway, your heart soars. The undead can't navigate sewers as well as you can. If you can just make it underground, you can slip away--

Then it comes into view and your heart drops. The spillway is blocked by the remains of a collapse. Piles of concrete and rubble block the way. It's a dead end. You're trapped.

The infected, though unintelligent and uncoordinated, are relentless and ravenous. And they're closing in on you fast.

You don't stop. You can't. You grip at the sharp concrete edges of the rubble blindly, pulling yourself up. The chunks of concrete are huge and ragged, overgrown with grass and slick with dew.

There's no time for fear as you try to claw your way to an exit you hope desperately isn't blocked. It's a small hope, but right now it's all you have.

The infected come up behind you, screeching and howling in pursuit. They're coming.

You climb as high as you can. Sure enough, there's no way through to the other side of the tunnel. Not that you can fit through, not with zeds at your back. On both sides, the walls of the drainage ditch loom over you. The railing at the top is almost high enough for you to climb, but when you try to get closer, stepping over the broken concrete, a loose piece slips and almost takes you with it. It rolls down the pile of debris and knocks past one screaming runner’s shoulder as it goes.

The undead aren't coordinated enough to climb as easily, but it’s only a matter of time. With the sheer number of them and a little more luck, they’ll reach you soon. Or you’ll step on a loose rock or slippery patch of grass and slide right back down into their clutches.

With nowhere to go and no exit in sight, your only option is to either fight, or wait out a slow descent into madness and death like everyone else.

You pull out Soap's gun and load it.

…

Dawn is breaking by the time Soap and his team make it to you, following the sounds of your gunfire.

Soap whistles—a signal to you. The piercing sound makes you flinch through your adrenaline high. You clamp your shaking fingers around your—his—gun. There are still dozens of undead, many now with bullet holes and arrow shafts sticking crookedly out of them. Your quiver is empty. You’re crouched, gun in hand, aiming at one as it draws closer. You don’t have the bullets to waste otherwise—not with your wounded arm.

It lurches forward.

But it’s not your bullet that strikes it through the head—it’s his, and it's a clean shot. The runner's head splits like a peach, chunks of bone and brain flying across broken stone. You turn your eyes up to see Soap lining up a third shot atop a nearby building, and you glimpse his squadmates heading toward you. God damn are you happy to see him. Before another zed can take the mulched one’s place, Soap fires again, reloads, and again. He takes out another with his second bullet before lining up a third shot.

A shout interrupts your line of thought. You look up and see a man stretching his hand toward you, startlingly close, bridging the gap between the safety of the railing and where you stand. One of Soap’s teammates—a man with a black scarf wrapped around his nose and mouth. Ghost, you think his name is. You grab his hand.

Something else catches your attention in the rubble, too—long swaths, claws marks, carved under the mass of something much bigger than you or the undead. They disappear into the rubble and, conceivably, into the tunnel behind.

This is the lead you’ve been searching for all these days in this godforsaken place.

“Distance and cover!” Soap shouts, all focus.

You hear him. But if you withdraw now, you might not be able to follow those claw marks and search the tunnel. Half the undead in the city will be here before long, following the gunfire and howling. If you make the plunge back down into the depths, you might be able to find what you came for and get out intact before the undead get there forst. This could be your only chance.

Before you can move, Ghost yanks you by the hand, dragging you almost entirely up the sheer rocky wall. You bite down on a gasp, scrambling to keep your footing as he hauls you up and over the railing.

Soap’s rifle cracks again. Another biter, this one now trying to scale the wall after you, drops. Its upper torso explodes with a wet thwack.

You double back almost before you know what you’re doing and boost yourself back over the railing. You need to get into that tunnel.

Ghost grabs your arm again before you can jump. “Are you mad?”

“Let go!” you bark.

“I don’t fuckin’ think so.”

God damn it. There’s no time to explain. Or maybe there is, but the adrenaline running through you makes it impossible to find the words.

When it’s clear he won’t back off, you bite him. Just sink your teeth into his hand hard enough to make him let go. He curses and rips his hand away, more in surprise than pain. You take off, vaulting over the railing, rushing to the very middle of the heap. The top of the tunnel. Loose chunks of stone roll under your feet. With Soap’s squad focused on taking out the zeds, you can focus for the first time on breaking your way through these stones.

You wedge your bow under the loosest, topmost piece and wrench it up as if wielding a crowbar. The rock tumbles. You do it again, and again, and again until you feel a steady stream of warm air rise from underneath. You follow it, ignoring the chaos behind you, until you’ve torn open a big enough gap to slip through.

You tuck into a slide, letting gravity take you down into the darkness and out of view.

“Bloody animal—get back here!” echoes after you.

…

You find what you’re looking for within minutes. Roach—he’s alive, but caught in what looks like a trap. A man-made trap. Your heart clenches when he sees you and his tail thumps in a weak greeting.

You’re at his side in moments. “Easy, busy. Don’t move. I’m right here.”

It doesn’t take long for Ghost and Soap to catch up to you.

The scathing words on Ghost’s tongue die at the sight of you crouched next to Roach. They can only stare in shock. Saying Roach is a dog would be an understatement. Roach is massive. Megafauna. He might have been shaped like a wolfhound breed except for his massive, maned shoulders and elongated muzzle full of too-large teeth. You’re on your knees under the huge beast’s jaw, dagger sawing at the contraption holding him. Even laying on his belly, he towers over you.

Roach locks eyes with Ghost and Soap. They stop, standing completely still.

Ghost glances over his shoulder. “Think the big mutt can take care of himself,” he tells you, scanning for encroaching zeds in the dark.

“I’ve got you,” you murmur to Roach, totally ignoring Ghost. You’re still trying to soothe him, but your voice is frantic. “Almost got you out. Just stay still—”

The trap groans under your knife, but it holds fast. Then Roach growls—a loud, deeply unsettling sound that vibrates through the cave walls. His yellow eyes don’t leave the men behind you.

You hear Soap’s voice. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ. Is this what you were looking for when you…” He shakes his head and walks toward you. From his belt, he pulls out a large hunting knife. “Let me.”

“You should stay back,” you call over your shoulder. “He doesn’t know you. Don’t make him feel cornered.”

“Sound advice,” Ghost says.

Roach stares at Soap intently. Roach shifts a paw closer to you.

“Leave the dog alone, Johnny,” Ghost says. “It’s tryin’ to protect her. Doesn’t matter if you think you’re not a threat. You’re as good as dog chow.”

But Soap hesitates. “It’s our trap,” he admits. “If you’d let me help, I could show you how to free him quicker. We need to move.”

As if in response, Roach growls again.

You shoot a frustrated look over your shoulder. “It’s your trap? Why the fuck would you have a—"

There’s a loud crack and the trap splits under your knife. Roach lurches free. Instantly, he limps around you, getting between you and the two men.

“Easy!” you cry. “Roach, heel.” You bury your hands in the fur on his flank. He’s enormous. Your head doesn’t even reach his shoulder. You can’t stop him physically. You need him to listen to you.

Roach steps closer to Soap, staring him down. His breath blows Soap’s hair back.

Soap doesn’t back down just yet. He’s not a threat, right? He proved it to you, now he can prove it to your dog. He hates dogs. Goddamn hates them. Why’d it have to be a dog you were looking for? Big fucking bastard of a dog.

Ghost speaks quietly from just over Soap’s shoulder. “No sudden moves.”

“Easy,” Soap says, raising his hands slowly in what he hopes is a peacemaking gesture. The rifle is slung over his shoulder, out of sight as it can get, and he tries to relax his posture.

You duck around Roach and stand between him and Soap. “Calm down, Roach,” you say again, like you’re talking to a misbehaving terrier instead of staring up at an animal three times your size. “They’re friends. See?”

You grab Soap’s arm and lace your fingers together with his. He tenses in surprise, but you ignore it. Roach goes quiet and looks at you, cocking his head. You hold your joined hands up to his nose to sniff.

Soap looks from you to the dog and back to you. Underneath the tension laced through his whole body, he’s impressed.

Roach sniffs Soap's fingers with yours and seems to relax. You reach up and scratch the fur under Roach’s chin—or as close as you can reach, standing on your toes—and you bring Soap’s hand up to do the same.

"Looks like you're approved,” you say with a little too much surprise in your voice.

Soap swallows as he touches his fingers to Roach's tangled fur, trying not to think about those stories of dogs being able to smell fear. But he forces himself to unclench, just a bit. He's glad you're both okay. And glad he's not about to get snapped in half by a giant fuckoff hellhound.

Roach takes another massive, curious sniff of your hands. Then he moves on to sniffing the top of Soap's head. Then he lowers his enormous maw and licks Soap with a giant tongue.

Soap grimaces. He looks more grossed out than defensive, at least. You smirk.

Ghost makes no move to join the handholding circle. "Not the strangest travelers we've seen, but close," he says. He glances over his shoulder, shifting his rifle impatiently. The others are cleaning up the group of zeds, but the quicker they can get out of here, the better. It’s never a good idea to be out in the city for too long. Especially not somewhere any shambling creature could wander up in the dark.

Soap shoots Ghost a look before glancing back at you. You're still standing close. He lets go of your hand. It's calloused, he notes, like his. It wasn’t like that before. "You've got a way with beasts."

You walk down Roach’s flank, checking for injuries. “He’s not a beast. He’s my dog. You’ve seen what the mutagen does to animals, right? The ones it doesn’t kill. Changes them.” You pat Roach’s flank fondly. “But I adopted him before all this started, back when he was just a normal dog.”

"No one gets to be normal anymore," Ghost mutters.

Soap chuckles. "Well, he's a bloody tank now, isn't he? Big lad. How the hell you keepin' him fed?"

Ghost examines the bite mark you left on his hand. "Got a hunch.”

"I'd apologize, but you shouldn't grab people who don't want to be grabbed," you tell Ghost. "You're lucky I didn't go for my knife instead.

Ghost gives you a flat look. “I’d say you’re the lucky one for deciding against it.”

“Easy, LT.”

Ghost scoffs. "She's just much a beast as the hound.”

You finish your inspection and find nothing major. Just scrapes and bruises. Nothing bleeding. No open wounds to attract more zeds, thankfully. Relieved, you return to Soap and Ghost again, giving Roach another scratch under the chin. Then you notice blood on Soap’s leg, soaking into his jeans. “Is that blood yours?” you ask him.

Soap glances down. "Aye. Took a swipe from one of those undead bastards. It's nothin’.”

"Doesn't look like nothing," Ghost says.

"It's just a little blood. I'm fine," Soap says. He steps away, but staggers on his injured leg. Ghost appears instantly to support him at the shoulder.

You step back, grimacing. Open wounds are risky. There's always risk of infection. Worse, the smell of blood attracts muties.

"I said it's fine," Soap says, but his voice is strained. He's in more pain than he wants to let on.

"Let me see that." Ghost kneels and pulls Soap's pant leg up to examine it. Then he grunts and stands back up. "It's a bad gash, but it's not life-threatening."

"Mm," Soap agrees, obviously trying not to cause more worry for his teammate. "I'm fine. Just gotta walk it off. Be peachy tomorrow." Blood drips around his boot heel.

"You'd better get going," you tell them. "Sun's coming up."

"You'd better find somewhere safe yourself, hen," Soap says. "It's a horror show out here in the daytime. Runners clusterin’ in packs--"

"She'll be fine," Ghost mutters. "Take care of the log in your own eye before you worry about the splinter in hers."

You pat Roach. "Found what I came for. Thanks for that, ah... for your help, Soap."

"Aye. You're a scrapper, that's for sure. Good to know you've got a lot more muscle with that one backing you up." He nods at Roach.

Ghost helps him stand up straight. The three of you make your way back to the entrance of the tunnel. By now, Soap’s crew has cleared away enough that they can help Soap out as Ghost boosts him up. They offer the same to you, but you refuse. They hurry out of the way as Roach shoulders his way through the comparatively tiny passageway. He squeezes through, widening it, and you follow easily. More soldiers than you expect—all dressed and outfitted like Soap and Ghost, armed and armored to the teeth—watch from behind buildings and over rooftops. You get the feeling that they have eyes on every zed in this half of the city. Several of the soldiers converge on you, moving like shadows, to help Ghost heft Soap along.

You tread with the group until you reach the edge of the city. Or maybe it’s the edge of the forest. The tree line half-swallows the streets and homes.

“Look after yourself out there,” Soap calls over his shoulder. You salute wordlessly in reply, and his eyes linger.

You watch them make their way out of the city, disappearing into the enormous trees and tall grass. Once they’re gone from view, Roach nudges you gently.

"I know, I know," you mumble.

He sits on his haunches to let you to climb up and take your seat on his back. You take off running to the east, leaving them behind.

That would have been the end of it. Except it's not long before pass by more runners—more than two dozen of them. They don't bother with Roach, smelling the mutagen affecting him and missing your smell completely smothered in his—but the direction they're heading, they'll run head-on into Soap’s party for sure. And with Soap injured, the smell of blood, being outnumbered...

Dread and guilt coil in your stomach. It doesn't matter how good they are. They'll be overwhelmed.

But it doesn't matter, right? You have what you came for. You should keep going. Mind your business. Stay alive.

Roach paws at the ground, agitated, and you realize you’ve unconsciously pulled him to a stop. You glance up, checking the sun’s distance from the horizon. You owe them. They helped you. Wouldn’t you be dead without them?

You let out a long, irritated groan. Then you nudge Roach to turn around. “Let’s go get them,” you mutter.

Roach bounds off into the trees, his nose leading you both back to Soap, Ghost, and the others once again.

A few of the men almost jump out of their skin when they see the shape and size of Roach bounding toward them.

Roach pulls up beside them in a flurry of grass and dirt clods. “There’s a group of maybe thirty zeds heading this way,” you say, looking at Soap from your high mount. Like it’s the most normal thing in the world for you to be doing. “You’d better hurry or they’ll swarm you.”

Soap and Ghost exchange a look. “We’re moving as fast as we can,” Ghost says. “If they catch up, we fight like we always do.”

“You won’t be able to fight them all. Not without a few of you getting picked off.”

“We won’t abandon your own.”

“She’s just tellin’ us what she’s seen,” Soap says. “Wouldn’t have come back otherwise. Best to leave me out here and hustle back to camp. Easier to hide one person than a whole group. Can’t have you all dying just because I was a right idiot and got myself hurt."

Ghost glares at him. "That's not up for debate.”

Soap smirks back. "You sayin' I can't handle myself?"

"No one's leaving you here. You're coming with us, one way or another.”

"Hell," Soap mutters. He groans from the pain. "Amnae riskin' the team over my injury."

You listen to them bicker, shifting as you try to calculate how much time they have before the muties get here. Not long.

You should just leave now, right? You told them what was coming, which is more than they'd usually get. They can fend for themselves, right? They've done it before. A hundred times, probably. And if you stay, you're putting Roach at risk too.

But Soap's leg... that happened to him because he was helping you. God dammit. You can't just let this go. That's another favor you owe him.

You have Roach lay down and hop off him.

"Hey," you bark over their arguing. "Get on. Hurry."

They both pause. Soap narrows his eyes at you. Getting sniffed at by that big bastard is one thing. But riding him? He gives Roach a very wary look.

Ghost picks up on your plan immediately. He jerks his chin at Soap. "Get on."

...

part 1 / [part 2] / part 3

more Soap / masterlist

264 notes · View notes

gloomwitchwrites · 5 months ago

Text

Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings: oral sex (female receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), multiple creampie, multiple orgasms, brief cockwarming, multiple positions, breeding undertones, talking through it, slightly possessive behavior.

Word Count: 5.1k

A/N: Part Seventeen of Ink & Needle

A/N (2): Thank you to everyone for your patience. With my health issues, I've been trying to write but sometimes it isn't possible. I know this chapter has been a long time coming.

You and Simon finally come together. Simon reveals a few hidden things about himself.

Chapter Sixteen // Chapter Eighteen

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

Wraith.

That is what you’ve always called him. Even now, with Simon towering over you, he is no longer than lurking danger you sensed in Riot Room. He is still a mystery—still a sealed box with no apparent entry.

But you’re receiving pieces. Little by little you’re starting to build the image that is Simon. Ghost, as you once knew Simon, still lingers in the dark recess of your understanding of him. The picture is incomplete, but it is forming. The film is beginning to show its true nature in the dark room.

The wraith you knew—and the one you know now—are fusing.

Before you, Simon is all hunger. You are completely naked. Bare for him. Legs spread wide for his pleasure. And his gaze is locked to that place between your legs, the one that aches for him and longs to be filled. There is a possessiveness to his stare that heats your blood and sends your bones into vibration.

How are you to survive this man? And why did you run in the first place?

Even now, you witness his need, the starvation. Simon has been depriving himself of you, and you are fully aware of this. The other day when you were in his shower, when you gave him permission to fuck you, Simon resisted.

He was waiting, and now you’re here.

A banquet. A feast. Food for him to gorge on.

Simon’s hands rest on the insides of your thighs. It’s not a harsh touch, though the rest of him is all hard lines. There is no mask. You see Simon for who he is. Blonde hair. Dark eyes with pale eyelashes. A few scars on his face and the ones on his body covered in ink.

Simon is not hiding, and the knowledge of that is enough. It’s trust. And something more.

“You’re so beautiful.”

The compliment catches you off-guard. You’re so absorbed in admiring him that you forgot to listen.

“Thank you,” you murmur, heat rushing to your cheeks in embarrassment. It’s such a silly thing to say in the moment, but it’s all you can muster.

The corner of Simon’s mouth quirks in amusement. His large hands stroke up and then down your thighs absently. The movement is soothing, and you feel your muscles relax beneath his touch. Simon gently squeezes, fingers lightly digging into your skin as he begins to descend to one knee. You watch from between your legs, momentarily paralyzed as he makes himself comfortable. You notice a slight wince, but it’s so brief you might not have caught it if you weren’t paying attention.

From this position, all you can see are Simon’s broad shoulders and thick chest, his strong neck with its blackout tattoo. His blonde hair is a bit messy like he’s been constantly running his fingers through it, but really you were the one grabbing him.

Simon blinks, the middle of his brow creasing slightly. “You still want this?”

He might sound steady but it’s all in the eyes. There is pain there—a hesitation bordering on trepidation. You ran before. Twice now. Perhaps he thinks you’ll slip away again.

“I want you,” is the answer you give, because it’s true. You do want Simon. You crave him like an addiction. A caffeine fix you never want to part with.

All the muscles in his shoulders relax. A calmness appears to settle over him, and though his face is mostly pensive, you notice the small smile that seeks the light. It’s such a tiny thing. A flash of happiness.

His chest heaves, and then his arms snake under and over your thighs, locking you in place. One hand splays wide over your lower belly while the other firmly grips your thigh. There is no escape from him, but you wouldn’t try.

Simon is who you want.

“And I want you,” he replies, voice almost a growl.

He adjusts his hold, pulling you closer to his mouth. Simon’s breath is hot against the inside of your thigh. From between your legs, Simon watches, his lips landing against your skin just shy of his fingers. It’s slow but purposeful, each kiss moving lower and lower to what is clenching—needing him to be inside.

Simon’s lip graze against your pussy, and everything tightens, anticipating the moment he makes contact. The other times Simon has eaten you out, he’s done so with stamina and enthusiasm. Right now, he begins tentatively, the tip of his tongue just grazing your sex.

It’s a tease of a touch. A flash of pleasure that quickly vanishes.

Simon repeats the movement, giving a bit more, sending you squirming in his hold.

“Simon,” you gasp as he lazily runs his tongue over you.

“Fucking love the way you taste,” he says, almost absently.

Your fingers find his biceps the second his tongue returns, stroking slowly. Simon is exploring as if he’s never ventured here before. As if he hasn’t eaten your pussy countless times already.

Your hips want to move. They want to seek out Simon’s mouth. To have the constant pleasure before it explodes into fragments. But you are unable to do much with your lower half. Simon has you locked in, and he’s taking his time.

Each stroke is agony, and yet so fucking satisfying. He gives a little more each time until his tongue flicks back and forth over your clit in a steady pace. The hand splayed on your lower abdomen descends, and you don’t really notice until a finger parts your pussy, sliding inside.

It’s a nice stretch, but insignificant. What you really desire is Simon’s cock. You’ve been craving him, but not how the two of you fucked in Riot Room’s basement green room. There was passion there, but that was between two strangers.

This is different. This is more, and that is all you desire. To be more with Simon.

Simon sucks your clit into his mouth, the tip of his tongue toying it in little circles. Your back arches, hips flexing, but there is nowhere to go. It only shoves you further into Simon’s hold. He growls—almost a warning, like he wants you to quit wiggling.

Your breath comes in short pants, breasts heaving with every inhale. But Simon doesn’t notice. He’s too preoccupied with eating your pussy. Every part of you is tightening, the coil building under pressure. Like floodgates preparing to open, you too are close to bursting.

Simon circles your clit with the tip of his tongue is just the way you need him too, and everything tenses. All the limbs and muscles in your body suddenly clamp, shaking. The exhalation is cut off—choked—before blooming into a depraved moan.

Tension releases, and then you’re truly writhing beneath him. Simon does not cease, his tongue and fingers moving in tandem, stroking so perfectly it’s sending you into overstimulation. You claw at his arms, gasping for breath, wanting to beg but unable to find the words. They keep escaping you, floating off into the air where you cannot catch them.

Your moans grow ever louder, the orgasm pounding through you until you feel it behind your eyes.

“Simon,” you cry, tears beginning to form in the corners. “Please—I can’t. No—no more. No—”

With that one word Simon withdraws, his mouth leaving your sex but not his fingers. Those remain inside you, pumping lazily. His lips and chin are glossy with your wetness, and his eyes are heavy-lidded.

Simon kisses the inside of your thigh. “You good, love? Or can I have a bit more?” He punctuates his questions with a slow, deep thrust of his fingers.

You whimper, nails biting into his skin. Simon leans in and kisses the inside of your thigh again. This time, there is teeth. He bites. Sucks. Soothes with a few kisses.

“Want me to fuck you?” The raspiness in his voice has your pussy squeezing his fingers. He smiles against your skin, as if that alone is an answer.

It is what you want. To be his. To know him as you know yourself. Riot Room was a discovery, but this is a binding. You are giving yourself to him, and he to you.

Releasing his bicep that you’ve been clinging to; you rest your hand against Simon’s cheek. He turns into the touch, eyelids closing briefly as he inhales. Your thumb brushes over his cheekbone as Simon’s lips graze your palm.

“Need to be inside you,” he mumbles, almost absently.

“Simon,” you murmur, voice a caress.

He sighs heavily as if your voice is a soft spring rain. Simon glances at you, those dark eyes all fire, and you see the resolve forming there. He is a pillar. An obelisk. A monument to be erected.

Slowly, he withdraws his two fingers from your pussy. Keeping them together, he opens his mouth and slides those sticky digits over his tongue, sucking them clean. Strong arms release their hold, and then Simon is standing tall, an imposing form before you.

He observes you a moment, the silence stretching under his intense stare. It’s like he’s seeing all of you at once and absorbing the information to commit to memory. Just as it feels too much, and your heartrate kicks up, Simon reaches out, grabbing you by the neck.

It is not a cruel touch. It is possessive. Using that leverage, Simon draws you up to a seated position. His lips find yours, and you taste yourself on his tongue.

Simon whispers your name and you reach out, your palm splaying wide over his tatted pectorals.

“First time is for me,” he says, voice breathy. Simon presses his forehead against yours. “Might be a bit rough.”

“It’s okay,” you reply. “You won’t hurt me.”

Simon hums low in his throat. “Not worried about that. I’d never hurt you.” He goes in for another kiss and this one completely steals your breath. “Second time is all for you. Promise.”

“Take what you need, Simon,” you murmur, running your fingernails gently over his skin.

He shivers, and then grabs your wrist, drawing it away from his chest. “On your hands and knees, love. That’s how I want you.”

Simon’s hands fall away as he shifts back. You hesitate for only a moment, the anticipation pooling in your belly. Slowly, you twist, planting yourself firmly on your hands and knees, presenting your backside to Simon.

You expect his hands to be on you immediately, for him to grab and devour. Instead, Simon’s fingers are whispers against the backs of your thighs. They explore upward, traveling over the curve of your ass to settle at your lower back. Lightly pressing, you submit to his silent instruction, arching your back and pushing your ass into the air. Tucking your legs together, Simon grasps your hips, guiding them up a bit higher.

One hand falls away while the other stays. Behind you, you hear the clink of his belt buckle, of leather brushing against denim, the sound of a zipper. You’re propped up only be your knees and forearms. Fingers digging into the bedding, you wait in wanton anticipation.

When Simon’s hands return, there is no gentleness in the touch. No sensitive love. He is hungry, and his hands speak to that. They both grab hold of your ass, squeezing—almost painfully.

You gasp, only to choke when Simon swipes his tongue over your pussy. He pauses at your entrance and then delves inside, curling the tip to run along your inner wall. Simon fucks you with his tongue, stroking repeatedly until your press your face against the bed and groan aloud.

Simon consumes, and you’re so lost in it that when he ceases tasting you, you don’t realize that it’s no longer his tongue but the head of his cock. He keeps a firm hold on your ass, the head beginning to push in.

At first there is resistance. Simon has your legs pressed together, creating a tighter space for him. It’s silly, really. He doesn’t need it, but fuck does it feel good.

“That’s it. Breathe. Good girl.”

Simon pushes in a bit more and the stretch short-circuits your brain. You don’t remember Simon being this large at Riot Room. You needed patience then, but this is beyond simply breathing through it. You’re being cracked open, split in two, cleaved.

“Breathe,” soothes Simon, stroking one hand up and down your spine. “You’ve taken me before.”

Whimpering in answer, you try to steady your breathing. Simon waits until your next stable exhale. He slides in a bit more, and your toes curl.

“Doing so well, love. Breathe for me again. That’s it.”

With another a steady breath, and some help from Simon, he seats himself entirely inside you. This angle is overloaded. You’re stretched to a point you didn’t think you could reach, and Simon hasn’t even started to fuck you yet.

You reach behind you—seeking him. Simon grasps your hand and he squeezes it before bringing to up to his mouth for a quick kiss against your knuckles. He gently releases your hand, and you bring it back to the bed.

Simon smooths both hands up and down your back before they settle. They find a home on the curve of your ass. Again, Simon grabs hold, and using this grip, slowly slides you up the length of his cock until just the head is inside.

The drag is slow. Languid. A beast with sharp teeth wanting to fill its appetite.

“Oh fuck,” you murmur into the bed, your walls fluttering slightly.

“Fuck,” groans Simon, the vowel elongating slightly.

With that same searing hold, Simon slams you down his length until your ass bounces against his pelvis. He repeats the motion, sliding slowly upward before bringing you back down on him again.

“Fuck,” you whisper into your forearm, because it’s all you can utter.

The stretch is unrelenting, and the angle hits deep, penetrating to a place that has your senses tingling with frenzy.

Simon creates the movement again, but this time the retreat isn’t slow. He sets a pace, bouncing you up and down his cock. With the position you’re locked into, all you can do is dig your fingers into the bed and take it.

He said he’d be rough, that this first time is for him, but it’s not painful—and it doesn’t scare you. If anything, it is primal—lustful. A deep root sinking further to make a home in the earth.

Simon is claiming your body in the way he needs to, and you accept this gladly. If he needs to fuck you like this, you’ll take it. Every time he buries himself inside you, he hits deep, treading toward pleasure.

Penetration alone won’t get you there, but these movements are enough to take you somewhere, and right now, you’re spinning. Clinging. Holding on with all your strength as if that will somehow ground you in the moment.

You’re not sliding across the bed. Simon’s hold on you is too firm. But your upper-half is slipping—melting like a late spring snow.

His grunts behind you are low, coming from somewhere deep within his body. With a slight twist, you dare a look back.

Simon’s head is dipped back in ecstasy, lids shut, jaw clenched. All the muscles in his arms, chest, and stomach flex with every thrust. He looks like a god—a fallen angel. Lucifer himself reborn from the ashes, and the ashes are the ink that marks his body.

One of his hands slide up to grasp your waist, and this hold is more intense. You gasp—choke, rest your forehead against your bicep as Simon continues to fuck you relentlessly.

Time is fleeting. You are lost to the rhythm of his pace, of the tight stretch and the sweat the blooms on your skin.

It is Simon squeezing your ass briefly and promptly withdrawing that brings you back to awareness. You don’t feel sticky between your legs. He did not come. But your confusion turns to sudden pleasure as Simon’s mouth returns to your pussy.

It’s just a few quick strokes of his tongue, and then Simon is flipping you onto your back, dragging you to the very edge of the bed. With one hand, he pushes your left leg wide, and with the other, Simon brings your right leg flush against his front, ankle at his shoulder. He hooks his arm around the leg against his chest, creating an anchor. His free hand rests against the inside of your thigh.

Once you’re in position, Simon returns to your pussy, keeping the same pace as before.

His shoulders are a bit hunched, body leaning forward slightly as he drives forward and back, skin smacking against skin. Other than that, it’s just your breathing and his, and the slick sound of your pussy taking him.

This time you’re free to writhe against him. The bed is not enough. You need to feel his skin.

Reaching out, you try to grasp for anything. What you receive is tenderness. The hand on your thigh disappears, and Simon snags your seeking hand, trapping it against your pelvis. But it’s not a rebuttal. It is not a refusal.

Simon is holding your hand, fingers intertwining.

“Look at me,” he growls, his hips stuttering slightly. You glance up. Make eye contact. It is brief. Fleeting. You are unable to hold his gaze. “Fuck, love. Look at me.”

Your eyes snap open, and Simon grinds his hips against you.

“I want to look into your eyes when I come inside you.” His chest heaves. “Don’t look away.”

You don’t. Never. You hold his gaze as Simon’s pace becomes a hurried, frenzied thing.

Simon groans, eyelids fluttering, and then he’s holding himself flush against you. You feel it then—his release. Your pussy is overly full, and you don’t care at all.

Simon’s breathing is deep, shoulders heaving slightly with every breath. At first, he seems a bit dazed, but then he smiles, and your heart flutters at the sight. After all of that, and he’s still holding your hand.

Without speaking, he brings that hand up to his mouth, pressing his lips to your fingers before bringing it back down to the bed. Simon finally releases them, placing his hand back on your inner thigh.

He does not withdraw. Simon stays inside you.

“Give me a couple minutes,” says Simon with a shaky breath. His hand on your thigh meanders inward, and then his thumb brushes over your clit.

The touch is a shock, and your pussy reflexively clenches around him, all the muscles in your abdomen tensing slightly.

Simon grunts when you squeeze around him, and then chuckles. “We’ll get back to it.”

“You want a second round?” you ask, breathless.

You hardly did anything and yet your limbs feel like rubber.

“Not up for it?” he replies, a cheeky expression on his face.

You roll your eyes and Simon’s deep laugh makes you grin. “Fuck you, Simon.”

“If you insist,” he croons, rocking his hips slightly.

“Stop,” you groan, even as Simon continues to rub your clit.

You begin to squirm, and Simon eases your leg back to the bed. He shifts again to accommodate it, and that one movement sends a bolt of pleasure up your spine.

“Said I wasn’t done with you.”

“I know,” you mutter as if this displeases you. It doesn’t. You do want more, even if your limbs ache.

Simon ceases playing with your clit and returns to stroking your inner thigh. “You good?”

You nod, and reach for him again. Simon accepts the touch.

The two of you linger there for a few minutes before Simon slips from your pussy with a gentle moan. His gaze falls to the place between your legs, and you feel his cum dripping out. Simon is transfixed, staring intently at your pussy before his gaze sweeps to your face.

“Let’s worry about you now.”

With effortlessness, Simon drags you into a seated position before drawing you into his arms. You instinctually wrap your arms around his neck as Simon turns to sit on the bed. He shifts backward, coming to rest against the old headboard. Adjusting you in his lap, Simon puts you into a seated position, your back to his chest, legs open to the room and draped over his slightly bent legs.

His hands caress over your body.

Abdomen. Breasts. Throat.

Simon leaves nothing untouched. He is so gentle—so careful with you. His face presses against your temple, and he sighs as if this is his happiest moment. You snuggle further against him, matching his sigh, allowing your head to rest against his shoulder.

Hands delve. Ascend.

Simon brings one up to the front of your throat while the other sinks between your legs. He goes right past your clit to press two fingers into the mess.

“Mine,” murmurs Simon, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple.

Lazily, Simon moves his fingers in and out of your pussy. The palm of his hand rubs against your clit. The swirling, coiling sensation begins to build again. The back of your head presses against Simon’s shoulder. You reach up and snake your arm to the back of his neck.

“Lift you hips for me, love.”

The instruction is delivered with a sultry purr. You do not hesitate. Simon’s fingers slip from your pussy and in their place is his cock. He slides home and you moan aloud.

“Feel so good,” he says softly, rocking his hips, creating a sleepy rhythm. “Made for me.”

Simon’s hand tightens around your throat while the other settles over your clit. Like his hips, Simon rocks slowly, moving the two in tandem with the other. There is no exertion or need to find the finish line.

There is only you and him pressed together.

The fire in the hearth burns low, creating long shadows in the room, and hardly reaching the bed.

Simon’s head tilts slightly, and with his hold on your throat, he guides your face to him. You already know what he wants, and the kisses that follow are just as slow and lazy. Without rushing, you could stay like this forever. Even your orgasm blooms with the gentleness of pressed linens after a wash.

By the second orgasm, Simon’s hips begin a steady thrust, bouncing you lightly in his lap. Like this, he still does not stop kissing you—still doesn’t remove his fingers from your clit. Every touch and stroke are pushing you over the edge until you entirely melt into him.

He understands. He does.

Simon’s thighs tense beneath you, and his kisses pause. You gasp, wanting him back, and Simon dives in, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth as he finishes inside you.

Simon releases your lip, goes in for one more kiss. This one is deep—a claiming.

He eases you off his cock, some of his cum slipping out in the process, and then helps you settle into the bed.

“Come here,” he says softly, sinking down onto his back beneath the sheets, arms open and waiting.

You crawl into him, snuggling close, inhaling his scent. It wraps around you and fills your lungs. Peace sinks into your skin, your veins, and the marrow in your bones. It is all you know. All you aspire to be.

You are safe here in Simon’s arms.

His lips brush against your forehead and you snuggle in a bit closer, gently stroking your hand over his chest. Your eyelids are heavy, and you’re not really looking at him, but your fingers wander, traveling over his skin, tracing lines and circles in a languid fashion.

“That’s nice,” he says, voice gruff.

“I’ll keep doing it then,” you reply, pressing a kiss to his ribs before returning to your task.

Beneath the ink are divots and rises. They are scars—this you already know—but you’ve never really touched them or even asked about them. You don’t believe that it’s your place to do so. With Simon, you don’t want to push. You want him to come to you.

From his chest, you move to the furthest part of his shoulder. His entire are and most of his shoulder is a blackout tattoo, and beneath it is a rippling map of scaring that stops near his elbow. Still, you do not question, but you give this part of him just as much attention as the rest. You don’t want him to think you’re avoiding it.

“They’re burn scars,” he says, voice a bit flat.

You lick your lips, deciding it’s best to say what you’re thinking. “Can hardly tell with the ink.”

It’s true. It mostly blends in. If anything, it adds an interesting texture. Someone glancing at it might think it’s a creative choice before they thought it was burn scars.

Simon sighs and then glances up at the ceiling. He grasps your wandering hand and brings it to his mouth, kissing your open palm before returning it to where he took it from.

You do not keep tracing. You keep your hand still.

“Got it while I was in the military.”

This you already figured out. His military career is still a bit of a gray area between you. Simon briefly addressed what he did, that he was essentially special forces, but he didn’t elaborate, and you didn’t press him then either.

But you were the one asking. British Intelligence came inquiring about Archie to his family, and you thought Simon might have some insight you could use to figure out if you should worry or not. It does still bother—still wiggles at the back of your mind like a blind worm.

“Before or after Riot Room?” you ask hesitantly, unsure if this is this the route to go.

Simon blinks a few times in rapid succession, still staring at the ceiling. “After.”

He does not elaborate and you do not press. You curl up tighter against him, snuggling into the crook of his arm. Simon shifts, his arm draped under and over your back tightening. He pulls you in, and leans in for a quick kiss on your forehead.

“It’s why I tattoo now.”

You frown. “They kicked you out for burns?”

The question comes out quickly, and you inwardly chastise yourself for it. You’re digging around.

Even with the knowledge you do have, that doesn’t sound right. If someone is able-bodied, and they’re psychologically okay, why would they turn him away? It doesn’t make sense.

“No,” he says, and you hear the sadness in his voice.

Whatever the memory, it’s a painful one. Still, you do not seek out more answers. This isn’t a place for you to run around in without his consent. It doesn’t mean you don’t want to know. You do. You want Simon to open up about these things, to reveal these pieces even if they are mere fragments of understanding.

“But you have your shop now,” you reply, deciding to divert the conversation elsewhere. You return to running your fingers over his skin.

Simon’s smile returns—a genuine one. Even the tips of his cheeks gain a pinkish hue. “I do.” He turns his head so he can look at you. “And you.”

You laugh and start to roll onto your back, but Simon draws your right back to him, grabbing the nape of your neck to bring you in for a kiss.

It is sweet and passionate.

A lover’s kiss.

Wraith.

But perhaps not a wraith any longer. That name could be set aside.

There is nothing hellish about him, and the danger you sensed all those years ago is simply a part of him. A history of violence you don’t entirely know yet but would like to understand if it brings you closer to him.

Those burdens shouldn’t just be on his shoulders.

Simon’s kisses become soft again. Lazy. You linger in the moment, seeking a few more before deciding to ask the next question.

“Are you done with me tonight?” you ask, fingers lightly grazing the line of his jaw. You catch your index finger just under his chin, drawing him back for another quick kiss.

“Could be. Up to you,” he answers, a bit of that heat returning in his gaze.

“Up to me?” you respond, one eyebrow arching in question.

Simon goes in for another kiss, and this time he pushes you onto your back. Your legs naturally part of him, and Simon settles between as if the two of you have done this countless times before.

He keeps his hand on your neck, but his kisses do not abate. They become deeper—hungrier. Incessant and insistent. Your lips part and Simon’s tongue delves inside. You suck on it. Release. Pull a guttural groan from him.

“If it were up to me,” he rasps between kisses. “I’d fuck you all night and into the morning.”

His words send a spiral of pleasure to your core. Your thighs quiver and then tighten around his hips.

“I don’t believe you,” you reply when you finally have a chance to catch your breath.

Simon presses his pelvis against your sex and his hardness is all the answer you need.

“You’re insatiable,” you giggle as Simon teasingly nips at your bottom lip.

“Only for you,” he coos, his teeth finally making a bit of contact.

Heat rises to your cheeks and floods your body. This softness is nice and you want to stay like this. Just the two of you in this old cottage.

“What’s the plan, Simon?”

“Plan?” he mumbles, head dipping so that his lips can nip and kiss along your collarbone.

“Are we staying like this the whole time?”

Simon nods. “You’re not leaving this bed,” he says against the curve of your breast.

“What if I have to pee?”

“Allowed.”

You snort. “To eat?”

“Of course.”

The tip of Simon’s tongue brushes over your pebbled nipple.

“What if I want to go outside? Breathe some fresh highland air?”

At this question, Simon gently bites, pulling a little gasp from you. “I’ll open the fucking window so you can look outside.”

“Simon,” you hiss, smacking the side of his chest.

His head lifts, those brown eyes of his piercing you like a spear. “I want you to myself for a bit.”

I want you to myself for a bit.

There is a desperate tone to his voice that worries you, but you dismiss it.

It’s nothing, and you are with the man you care for the most.

Your fingers slide over his cheek and then thread through his hair. Simon shifts forward, finding your lips again, and you open for him.

He can have you alone.

He can have you just to himself.

taglist:

@km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @cherryofdeath @sapphichotmess

@saoirse06 @ferns-fics @lialacleaf @unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett

@ravenpoe67 @tulipsun-flower @creamwhxre @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat

@ninman82 @lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @theshrikeandcanary @yawning-grave81

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@haven-1307 @voids-universe @itsberrydreemurstuff @spicyspicyliving @cod-z

@keiva1000 @littlemisscriesherselftosleep @statixx-x @umno-yeah @webmvie

@ash-tarte @eternallyvenus @blackhawkfanatic @talooolaaloolla @sadlonelybagel

@aykxz98 @carma-fanficaddict @xxkay15xx @iloveslasher @sammysinger04

@dakotakazansky @suhmie @rogerrhqpsody @cinnabeanz @emmylous-world

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trashmouth-richie · 4 months ago

Text

➶ pt 1 1/2: DULEX (the gnat) a mid/prequel || emperor geta x reader

➶ 18+ smut 🥀 this takes place somewhere after reader meets caracalla and geta the first night she comes to Palatine Hill and where part one ended.

➶pt i: dulci ut rosa {sweet as a rose🥀 } pt ii: vitiosus + deliciosus

pt iii: frangere me 🥀 pt iv: ad caelum vel infernum, tecum sum

Licking up the hot spend that threatened to spill from your lips, you looked up at your Emperor. Your knees had gotten used to the stone floor, the sand no longer bothering you as it cut through your skin. Geta’s groans were low and guttural, every time. They never swayed, and neither did you as he pumped your mouth full every night.

His chin was tilted upward giving you a clear view of his thick neck. It resembled a tree trunk, a knob in the center where it bobbed with satisfaction, veining with cords that would tighten when he denied himself the pleasure of release. Some nights were longer than others, but they all started and ended the same way.

You told him every detail of what Caracalla had said during your evenings with him. Even the minute details of what he nibbled on during the vesperna, which was mostly fish, sucking the bones between his teeth and then using it as a tool to dig out the tender flesh between his gums.

Geta sometimes laughed at the things you told him. Other times he was angry, brooding beneath that glorious wave of honeypot curls.

Tonight, he didn’t ask for the secrets immediately on his arrival. Gets simply looked you over from head to toe, and when his eyes finished their feast he turned, cocking his head for you to follow him.

He walked with hands behind his back as he strolled an inch ahead of you, so close that if your hands and his were loose, they’d touch. He showed you around the palace, paintings with various strokes of colors making up different frescoes along the great walls. All of which made up the Roman Gods. Apollo and Diana in one showcasing the sun and the moon. Neptune, riding a massive stallion, a hurricane in his wake.

It was exquisite, the different materials used to makeup each piece was fascinating. Geta admired silently, and when he spoke in his native language, you were surprised.

Latin was becoming less and less common, but when he spoke, it rolled off his tongue in eloquence. Pure, unbroken, seductive. Flowing in a way you hadn’t heard in years. You could listen to him for hours.

Further down another corridor led to a great display of busts of Emperors before himself. He paused at one that looked fairly new, the marble uncracked and pristine. Geta, moved his fingers along the base of the heavy stone uttering quietly, “pater meus.”

You stood before the behemoth looking alter, taking in the intricate carvings of the handsome face, one that looked nearly identical to the man staring back at it. Turning towards him you managed, “Ita, Quomodo mortuus est?”

A ripple of shock wove like a needle across his face. Geta looked at you before you spoke, “mortuus est ex morbo.” It was no secret that Caracalla and Geta’s father fell ill and died unexpectedly.

Still, you’d never lost someone close to you before.

“Me paenitet,” you whispered. Even though Geta was a strange man to understand, you were still sorry for his loss. Emperor Septimius Severus was a great man, powerful and demanding to those around him, but still loved by Rome.

Geta looked at you with narrowed eyes, “death isn’t feared by warriors, only those who are weak are afraid of what lies beyond our world.”

He looked as if he would say something else, but he never did, only jerking his head as if to shrug clear his mind before turning on his heel walking quickly the way you came. This time, he walked further ahead of you, his feet slapping the marble floor as he went. A rolling sensation spurring in his nerves.

Geta had times of showing brute strength, other times he was almost kind to you, a friend perhaps. But his mind seem to change like the direction of the wind, like he pushed down anything that could possibly make him happy, make him let go.

“Tell me what he’s done on this day,” he suddenly ordered over his shoulder, his voice back to the bark it usually had, “from first light to his chamber.”

Stumbling over your words you began the lengthy, and extremely boring explanation of how Caracalla had spent his day. Before you could finish and before getting to the closed off corridor, Geta grabbed your arm pulling you down past the massive stone pillars. Into the open.

The humid air hung thick and wet on your skin. The moon was draped with clouds, a poor night for prey. With his finger pointing to the dirt, he motioned for you to kneel, and you looked at him startled. Out here, anyone could see you and report your trickery to one of the generals or worse, to Caracalla.

Raising his eyebrows in protest, the pieces of the puzzle seemed to fit as he assembled your hesitation, “No one will see your whore mouth as I fuck it, they are all tucked into their beds, or drunk.”

Nodding curtly, you obey, slinking to your knees, only to be stopped by his hand and brought back to standing before him. A look you couldn’t place was etched onto his features, as if he was fighting himself in his head, holding himself back.

Geta had been pissed beyond belief after visit his father’s busy. All he could do was be reminded of how his father left him here to rule with his brother. Caracalla wasn’t fit to be an Emperor. He was barely fit to be anything more than a wet dog.

Rage had filled his head as he stomped back to the hallway that was tainted with his moans and the slurp of your gags. He wanted to brutalize your mouth, maybe he’d end up knocking out one of your teeth, or bruise your throat so terribly that you couldn’t swallow anything but liquid for a weeks.

But now as you stood before him, he suddenly felt a sense of calm. Geta was always sure of what he wanted, what he desired. Since your arrival, you somehow seemed to put his maddening thoughts at ease. Just seeing your eyes and the way the suffocated moon shone in them… he couldn’t keep this act up much longer.

“Don’t… don’t move just yet,” he nearly whispered, releasing your arm and moving his fingers across your collarbone. His thumb outlined the marrow beneath the skin, and he moved to the curve of your jaw before placing the pads of his fingers on your lips.

He was right. They felt like the most expensive silk gold could buy, and for the first time in Geta’s life, he wanted to feel them on his own.

He’d fucked practically all the women of Rome, yet he never allowed them touch him in that way. But watching your lips move when you spoke the native tongue back to him made his cock jump, and his chest tighten. They moved in such a seductionous manner he felt as though he was in a trance. Your voice hypnotized him, your lips the object of his innermost desires.

Without thinking anymore of it, Geta leaned in, aligning his lips to yours, as he melted on the hot humid night beneath the Gods and anyone else to witness— he melted into his first actual kiss. As he pulled away from you, a delicate humming noise tickled his eardrum, a pestering sound, barely audible, something he’d been hearing more and more frequently…

-🔆part 3 is already being written besties

latin translation:

dulex— gnat

pater meus— my father

Ita, Quomodo mortuus est?— yes, how did he die?

mortuus est ex morbo— he died from an illness

me paentit— i’m sorry

☻ taglist: @joejoequinnquinn @fallout-girl219 @hellfireadmin @all-will-be-well-love @anythinggoesemily

@eddiesguitarskills @prestinalove @palomahasenteredthechat @wiltinglovers @razzeith

@workingwndrz @probablyin-bed @songforeddiemunson

#emperor geta smut #joseph quinn #emperor geta #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #emperor geta x you #emperor geta x reader smut #emperor geta x reader #emperor geta fanfic

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dangermousie · 12 days ago

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Top Dozen cdramas - 2024

This can obviously change but nothing truly exciting looks to air for the rest of the year so that's unlikely. My Top Dozen for the year are likely be set in stone.

It's a very idiosyncratic list which has two mini dramas, three moderns (!!! for me that's insane) and a lot of vibes dramas.

12 Hard to Find - all vibes all the times. A tragic romance that feels like a Gothic fairytale, this is what minidramas could be.

11 Love In the Desert - out of all the dramas on this list, this is the one that screams most "a good time." It's a romance and visual feast and webnovel madness and sexy good time and it made me cry.

youtube

10 Fortune Writer - a mini that is so smart and meta and fun about narratives and fate and villainy and fighting the story itself. So clever.

9 Derailment - a puzzle and a love story, telling most anything about it would be a spoiler but this story about a rich girl from 2025 who seemingly wakes up in a parallel universe in 2023 in body of a poor doppelganger, and the young man who was in love with the original has everything including addressing what it must feel to people to have a transmigrator possess a loved one.

youtube

8 Tender Light - the ending was just - it's the reason it's not n1. But the rest of this drama about an abused wife and an idealistic young man refusing to bow to societal pressure was just exquisite. It addresses morality and loneliness and complicity and sacrifice. Just incredible. Poetry in motion.

youtube

7 Will Love In Spring - a modern romance cdrama? In my list? Is the world ending? But seriously, this is such a gorgeous, realistic yet intense exploration of love and loss and trauma. It made me utterly reevaluate Li Xian to boot.

youtube

6 Snowfall - this is such a fever dream of a mood piece of a vampire romance, with seriously BDSM and gay vibes, as well as utterly incredible canon age gap ride or die OTP with Ouyang Nana bothering to act for the first time in her life and Vengo Gao embodying a gentleman vampire to perfection. Li Muge remains one of my favorite directors for a reason.

youtube

5 Heroes - the story of three very different men all consigned to the dustheap of history by changing times (the best swordsman in the era of guns, a former imperial guard of a regime about to be overthrown, a constable obedient to obsolete code who studied for imperial exams which got abolished) as the Qing dynasty is about to fall, this has fights, humor, three (!) separate love stories, philosophy and utter and complete heartbreak. The performances, the ideas, the filming and the writing all combine to make a bleak masterpiece with a 99% death rate (I am not kidding, only tertiaries make it out.) If I were in charge, it would get all the awards.

youtube

4 The Legend of Shen Li - the one truly mainstream idol costume hit on the list. It's an adult, passionate xianxia that reunites Zhao Liying and Lin Gengxin as deities and battle powerhouses in a love story that is so full of yearning and passion and intensity I feel like peeking through my fingers. This is everything xianxia romance tries to be and almost never is. This just might be my favorite xianxia of all time, tbh.

youtube

3 Eternal Brotherhood - a dark horse whose existence I didn't even know about before it aired. Visually stunning despite its tiny budget, this narrative about three sworn brothers in a kingdom and world in crisis, is pitch perfect in its humor, its intensity, its tragedy and its themes (also THREE!!!! amazing love stories despite not being a romance-centric show.) The battles, the friendships, the traumas, the darkness at the heart of it all!

youtube

2 Fangs of Fortune - the sole drama that can rival JoL2 for me (only caveat is it's still airing), this is visually the most jaw dropping drama I've ever seen, but it's also high fantasy the way it should be - making me feel so immersed that stopping feels like coming up from a deep dive or waking up from a hypervivid dream. It has impeccable performances (many from actors who I don't normally even like), and its plot and relationships and themes - fate and sacrifice and choice and found family bonds and trauma and so many other things - make it feel as if it was made just for me.

youtube

1 Joy of Life 2 - THE drama of 2024 for me. It's somehow better than the incredible first installment. It's funny, it's heartbreaking, it has insane performances, a narrative that hits all my personally favorite themes (a person trying to remain human in an inhuman world, righteousness not being weak), a large cast of fascinating characters who feel like they live in front of me (there are no throwaway roles in this), my favorite ship of the year (though it's not even a ship-centric show) and above all, Zhang Ruoyun's live wire of a performance as Fan Xian, arguably my favorite cdrama character of all time. It should not work yet it does. Brilliantly.

youtube

#cdrama #joy of life 2 #fangs of fortune #eternal brotherhood #the legend of shen li #heroes (2024)#snowfall #hard to find #fortune writer #love in the desert #derailment #tender light #will love in spring

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jinnie-ret · 1 year ago

Text

Ninth Member!Reader 🪻

<-------- back to ot8 masterlist

<--------- back to main masterlist

Fake Fights - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) F | A

You and Minho decide to strike revenge and prank the boys after they leave practice early because of the tense mood you both created.

Fallen Angel pt 2 - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) A | F

The Stray Kids members have two maknaes to comfort at the end of their 'I'll Be Your Man' cover. One upset because he thought he wasn't good enough, and the other an injured, fallen angel, left hurt because MNET hadn't done enough safety checks on their equipment.

Scarred Knees and Insecurities - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) A | F

When the old scars from your youth, become fresh wounds in your adulthood, the boys are there to pick up the pieces.

Heatstroke - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) F | A

Y/n suffers from heat stroke on the day of their performance at Lollapalooza.

Bite My Tongue - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) A

When an interviewer decides to pick on you specifically, the boys do their best to hold back and get you out of the situation.

Daredevil - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) F

The boys never expected that their shy noona could be such a daredevil.

My Aegi - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) F | A

Y/n was glad she had the boys there to help her raise her kid sister. She didn't know what she'd do without them.

It's a Brit Thing - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) F

The boys find it hard to understand their British member a lot of the time...

Who I Am - Stray Kids x Ninth Member Non-binary!Reader (Platonic) A | F

The boys support Y/N for who they are, and show them that they truly have their back when a podcast goes wrong.

Don't Push Yourself - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) A | F

You thought you were doing the right thing for yourself, but it was only a matter of time before your habits became unhealthy, and the boys didn't even notice until it was too late.

Period Pains - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) F

You're keen to see the boys reactions to what you go through every month.

Super Shy - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) F

Y/N is surprised when the boys turn up at her album debut shoot, and they reassure her on her worries about her new daring look.

Let Noona Handle It - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) F | A

After a difficult, chaotic concert, you prepare a feast to take care of your beloved dongsaengs.

Family is Complicated - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) A | F

After your troubling phone call is overhead by all of the boys, they comfort you and reassure you that they are your true family.

Gyaru, Jjang Yeppeuda - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) F | A

Despite her normal confidence in owning her aesthetic, Y/N begins to feel uncomfortable when she feels the judging stares of other idols.

Togetherness - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) A

Out of all things, the last thing you expected to hear was that your parents are getting a divorce, but it was fortunate that the boys were there to hold you together.

Generation Z - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) F

She's the youngest of the group and the boys can't keep up with her internet slang.

People Pleaser - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) F | A

In her One Kid's Room episode, Y/N reflects on how it was hard for her not to be so kind and sweet to everyone, because she just wanted them to like her.

Hellevator - Stray Kids x Ninth Member Male!Reader (Platonic) A 💚🖤

He's going through voice changes in their debut era and fans are already sending in hate.

Cigarette Duet - Poly!Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader | A 💚🖤

You get hounded by your boyfriends after they catch you smoking. How will they react when you disappear and go off the radar?

Placebo - Stray Kids x Hybrid!Ninth!Reader | A | F 💚🖤

The boys are shocked at how your hybrid features present themselves when you are feeling particularly emotional.

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mellowwillowy · 5 months ago

Note

1) I just feel like you should know that my sister looked over my shoulder when I was reading one of your TWST pieces, saw the cannibalism, and the first thing she said to me was “Where can I get the villain origin story of whoever wrote this?”

2) Can you please write about how the RSA boys + Rollo would react to the MC’s “diet”? Sorry if you don’t do requests, I couldn’t find anything saying if you did or not.

It all started when I was still on the loose and not chained in the psych ward sis-

Neige

Neige is surprised. He didn't expect you to have such a gruesome yet somehow healthy diet. Everything from your diet sufficed all the nutrients you need after all.

In fact, he was more surprised that he didn't know this earlier. The first time he tried your diet, he had to puke every now and then due to the taste not fitting his taste buds yet. But he kept on trying and even managed a recipe to make it easier for his stomach, giving you a new option on the menu.

Cheny'a

Cheny'a is not really surprised because as a feline, he sometimes has the thought to taste human too. Just some intrusive thought of playing the predator and prey dynamic. But what makes him curious is how God also preys on humans like a predator.

It amuses him, knowing that the God is not as salvaging as he thought. Cheny'a is by far one of the people who is aware of everything but has no intention of leaving or thinking you are in the wrong.

Rollo

So this is what the God eats every day? Rollo is fascinated by how different your diet is when compared to the norm that is forced into society by humans.

Or perhaps simply you or the chosen ones are allowed to feast like you? Is he the chosen one? How will he know if he is meant to be the chosen one or not? Perhaps he will know if he has a taste of your diet. It might not be to his taste but all he needs is to adjust his palate to it and he will soon be acknowledged (acknowledge himself) as the chosen one.

#I love RSA!!!#Theatric Guest #Yandere TWST #Yandere Neige Leblanche #Yandere Chenya #Yandere Rollo Flamme #x GN Reader #TWST self aware #TWST

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thegnomelord · 11 months ago

Note

Sorry for blowing up your inbox, but you've really got my creative juices flowing. So I want to expand on 2 ideas.

No. 1

Shrike Harpy Reader w/ oblivious Graves (bc from my knowledge, he's usually a vampire or regular guy) or Ghost (bc he was human before)

In which Shrike reader is getting progressively more obvious with their advances bc Ghost/Graves don't understand. The particular idea I had was where they think it's some kind of threat or prank. So reader is getting more obvious, and they think that the threat/prank is getting more intense.

That would be hilarious! Obviously, they will either find out or be told about the advances eventually. But the idea that you are courting them and they miss the mark entirely is so funny to me. Especially if their teammates laugh and refuse to tell them the obvious truth.

No. 2

Going off of the spider's sexual dimorphism + a different version of monster au. Pairing spider hybrid reader w/ octopus (cthulhu?) König (if you do reqs for him), where spider reader looks at him and is like:

So you're telling me there's an eight-legged hybrid, approximately five times my size, that could snap my spine like a toothpick, just beyond enemy lines.... Do you need someone to volunteer for a solo recon mission any time soon?

Oh no! My recon mission turned into a hostage situation, how unfortunate. But while I'm here, I should interrogate him... yeah, interrogating is exactly what I'll be doing with this giant tied up man rn....

👑 anon

No, no, anon I'm always so happy reading all the stuff you guys send me! I know next to nothing about Konig except the stuff I've read about him that turns him into a really perverted disgusting degenerate and while I'm not comfortable writing that, I hope one of my mutes picks it up bc it is super cool! I got a dancing with Ghost ask I really wanna do so Graves it is lol

CW:SWF-ish turns suggestive at the end, Graves being oblivious

Graves hates being the butt of the joke.

For the last couple of months he's been getting 'gifts' in the form of chunks of meat stabbed through various knives. It had started a knife being stabbed through burgers and steaks(typical American food), which he couldn't eat, but slowly progressed to rarer and rarer pieces of meat until he wound up finding just raw and bloody chunks of meat; a leg of some large animal turned into a pincushion, a still beating heart stabbed through with a knife, livers shish kebabed on a bayoneted blade. . .

And he'd find them everywhere, in the communal fridge, in his office, in his room. And while he didn't mind the free meal, he was a little unnerved. He knew it was you doing it because he had screened the minds of all his shadow's, but he didn't know why you were doing it.

He can see the way his shadows smirk at you when he finds another bloody organ skewered on your favorited knife in the fridge, your feathers puffing up and a not so quiet chirp escaping your lips when he sneaks the meat away to feast on.

You also become more touchy with him when you notice him accepting your gifts, though he has no idea of it. He trusts you, which is why you're allowed to sneak up on him, your wings spreading out to wrap around him like a cloak as you chirp a "Hello commander."

It makes him jump out of his skin, and though he chastises you about it, it's never as harsh as he could make it, his shadows giving him a knowing look that he can't reciprocate.

That's the worst part. None of his shadows will tell him anything.

He doesn't know much about your species of harpy except for the generalized knowledge of extreme speed and craftiness, so he can't figure out if this is some kind of joke, or threat, or you just seeing him as part of the flock? Or maybe it means nothing? He's especially confused when you grow bolder and one day he walks into his office to see a Bison leg sitting on his desk, once again skewered. Where did you even get the bloody bison? Hell knows but certainly not him.

Eventually a shadow grows annoyed by your constant bloody gifts in the fridge and with a very annoyed huff drops a harpy encyclopedia on his desk.

He'll need to get them a gift basket after this; he spends the next few hours just reading about all kinds of harpies, ears progressively getting hotter as the book delves deep into every aspect of the harpies, each sub-race's specific courting and matting habit and making him feel like he's reading porn.

Then he finds a chapter about your type of harpy, eyes growing wide like dinnerplates as he reads about your quirks. He doesn't know whether to go search for a cross or tissues. He reads more and more, turning pages upon pages, his eyes scorching every anatomical picture into his brain and making him think of what you're packing, his pants growing tight as the minutes tick down.

Just his luck that you'd decided the moment when his face is the hottest to walk into his office without knocking, another skewered offering on a plate in your hands.

"Christ!" He yelps, slamming the book shut and looking at you like you're his parent and caught him looking at a playboy magazine.

You puff up in surprise, your wings spreading out a bit before flattening back to your back, a soothing chirp leaving your lips. It used to mean nothing to him, now he knows what it means, his cock getting a bit harder in his pants.

"You alright commander?" You ask, walking closer, the talons of your feet clicking against the ground.

"Yes, yep, perfectly fine." He grunts, desperately hoping his vampiric state will suppress the heat in his face, but to no avail. "You-" His eyes settle on the plate in your hands, his body practically conditioned to salivate when he sees a familiar knife sticking out of the food.

"I?" You ask, then you note the book on his desk, your head tilting in confusion. "Graves?"

He swallows, eyes darting from the food to you, and he doesn't know which one he's starved for more. "You've been wooing me like a dolly huh?" He asks.

"Yeah." You're unsure of what else to say, in your head, had he not wanted your advances he would have never taken your offerings. Then you realize. "Don't tell me you just noticed." You deadpan.

Graves gives that awkward chuckle you've grown to love, and you decide you need to be bolder. You place the plate on his desk and lean over it, a coo rumbling in your chest— deeper, rougher, seductive.

"How about I show you what I want?"

#gnome's tea break #x reader #gnome correspondence #trinkets from the hoard #phillip graves x reader #phillip graves #cod x reader #cod modern warfare #monster cod au #monster 141 au #👑 anon #gn reader #phil

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sentientcave · 8 months ago

Text

Heavy Weighs the Crown

Had to stop working on everything else and write a whole bunch of this instead. Usually I like to finish things that I think might be on the longer side before I start posting, but we're gonna live on the edge with this one. Expect updates in 1-2 Bearimys.

Chapter One - Sweetpea

Chapter Index - Next Chapter >

Contains: Generic fantasy setting, Princess Reader, Large men picking up reader like a football, No Y/N, A spot of magic, Some exposition, Reader's dad (deceased) was a real piece of work, Reader descriptions kept as neutral as possible but keep in mind that she is a character to me and does have a specific appearance so things might slip through. This is just me having a bit of fun with a fantasy setting because it is my favourite type.

~3.4k Words - MDNI

Sunlight streams down through the light scattering of clouds above, as you carry your nearly empty basket into town to buy a few things for your auntie Kate. She’s not truly your aunt, but over the past few years it’s hard to think of her as anything less than family. She’s not warm, exactly, but she’s honest, and you know that you can trust her with anything.

Kate would usually be at your side when you go into town, watching the crowd with hawkish intensity, as though she still expects agents of the new king to materialize and snatch you away, but she’s away on business, and her wife much less paranoid. You expect that anyone who was ever looking for you has given up on you now. After the civil war, there was a time of instability, and you laid awake many nights, half expecting armed men to break into your bedroom and snatch you away, but everything is smoothed over now, and there’s no reason why Price would feel like he needed you to cement his rule.

You’re happy to just let him have the kingdom. You have more freedom as an ordinary girl, and you’re happier now than you ever have been. You were miserable living in your father’s halls, just a spindly little flower growing without enough sun or rain. And your people are happy now too. It twists your stomach something fierce, to think that your father was never a good king, but the reality is that he wasn’t. People starved while he feasted behind his walls. He sent good men to wage war on his behalf, to die in far off lands when they should have been home building better lives for themselves and their families. He allowed his chosen men to terrorize the women and children and old men living in the towns still. Things had been bad.

So yes, let Price have the crown, and the castle, and the responsibility and anything he likes. What difference does it make to you now?

What matters now is the sun on your face, and the gentle sound of birdsong around you, and the dull bite of the occasional stone through the soft leather soles of your shoes. The air smells sweet and green, although there’s a slight prickle at the back of your nose that tells you that there will be rain tonight, or tomorrow morning at the latest. There’s nothing to worry about aside from whether or not the children in town will like the end of the book you have tucked into your basket.

You see a young man sleeping by the side of the road on your way into town, his horse tied to a long halter while he lounges beneath a tree. As you pass by, a bird flying too close startles the horse, and it pulls up the peg it’s tied to, and bolts. The young man doesn’t stir, so you dash after the horse without a thought, dropping your basket so you have both hands free to seize the halter.

You try to dig in your heels to stop the big, white-stockinged horse, but it half-drags you a little ways down the road before finally stopping, swinging it’s head around to look at you as though you’ve personally offended it. “Come on,” you tell it, exasperated. “You don’t belong out here.”

Arms wrap around you from behind, hands much larger than yours close over your wrists. “You’re awfully pretty for a horse thief,” a voice says in your ear.

“I’m not a horse thief!” you protest. “I was trying to help!” The horse snorts, as though it intends to tattle on you for something that you most certainly were not doing.

“And you didn’t think to wake me up?” The man behind you lets go of one of your wrists and spins you around, the movement smooth and graceful, like you’re two dancers at a ball, rather than two strangers meeting along a country road. But when you look up, you find the all too familiar face of one of Price’s knights.

“Sir Garrick!” you gasp.

“Princess,” he says, smiling. He’s far too handsome, his smile bright, teeth a little bit too sharp. “How very nice to see you. I thought for sure you’d have left the kingdom by now.”

“No! Oh no.” You push against his chest uselessly. He’s strong, so much stronger than you. Despair claws at your ribs. Your nightmare-come-true may be wrapped in a pretty, familiar face, but you have no desire to return to the capital. “Please let me go. I promise I don’t want the kingdom. Price can have it— You can have it. I just want to be left alone, I swear, I’ll never—”

“Hush, sweetpea.” He tucks a few of your thin braids behind your ear, fingertips grazing down your neck. “I have to bring you in. But you can make your case to Price. Maybe he’ll let you come back, alright? Don’t fret. He’s always been reasonable.”

You’re not certain how to get out of this. Sir Garrick has kind eyes, but his grip is like steel. He lifts you up easily and sets you on his horse before you so much as think of protesting or making a feeble attempt to fight him off.

“We’re not far from the capital. We can make it there before dark,” he continues, voice low and reassuring, as though you’re worried about the travel, and not the destination.

“But— What about my aunt? I should let her know where I’ve gone.”

“We’ll send word. Don’t you worry, your majesty.”

“No, no, don’t call me that. That’s for kings and queens, and I’m neither.” I’m no one, you want to shout.

He's amused by that, amused by you, as if you're just being a silly little girl. "I suppose we'll settle on sweetpea for now." He holds his palm out and three little white birds materialize and fly off in different directions, spectral and iridescent as soap bubbles. And then he swings into the seat behind you and pulls you most of the way into his lap, wraps strong arms around your waist, and nudges his mount into a walk.

“So,” Sir Garrick says conversationally, his voice low, lips far too close to your ear. It’s overly familiar, but you’re already practically sitting in the man’s lap. “What have you been doing out here all these years?”

“Um. Gardening. Embroidery. Taking care of my chickens. Lessons, for some of the children that live nearby. Just letters and arithmetic. I’ve been thinking about organizing a proper schoolhouse.” You can feel your nerves bubbling up as you babble, thoughts coming to you disorganized and stilted. “I never realized how few people can read. It seems a shame. I do a few hours of reading around town, help out at the church. I keep busy. I haven’t any real purpose, so I have to go out of my way to make one.” You sigh, thinking of how you had left things at a particularly gripping point in a story you’d been reading to the town children. They’ll be disappointed if they never hear the end of it, but you still have hope that Price will decide you’ve become something of a country bumpkin with no place in the court, and let you go back home soon. “How have you fared? Is your family well?”

“Quite well. My sisters will be glad to see you again. They always thought you were sweet. Rosie’s opened her own dress shop in the city, and Camellia has five children now. I think Kylie and Jorah were just two or three last you saw them. My mother lives with Cam to help out.” Sir Garrick’s mother and sister used to work at the palace, and he had been apprenticed to the court wizard before he specialized in battle magic and became a knight. You hadn’t been friends, exactly— You’re not sure you ever really had friends— but he’d always been nice enough, when your paths crossed.

“And what of you?” you prompt gently. “Have you found yourself a wife?”

He laughs lightly. “I’m working on it. I’ve a girl in mind, but I think she’ll take some convincing.”

“Oh I doubt that, Sir. You’re perfectly unobjectionable.”

“High praise indeed, princess.”

The two of you chat idly as you travel, mostly about nothing, but it’s pleasant enough. Sir Garrick— Kyle, he insists you call him— is far more charming than you remember, and he makes you laugh so much that you’re certain that you’d simply fall right off the horse if he wasn’t holding onto you so securely. He’s the very picture of a romantic hero, all chivalry and smiles, handsome in the dappled light under the canopy of trees as the road carries you from farmland to forest. You come to a bridge, and he dismounts so his horse can drink, and lifts you down so you can stretch out stiff muscles. His touch lingers, strong hands resting on your hips for a few beats longer than would be appropriate, but you don’t really mind.

You part from his company so you can relieve yourself a little ways into the trees, glad he’s not concerned about you making a run for it. His assurances that Price can be reasoned into letting you go home once you’ve spoken to him is enough to make you cooperative. You’re certain that he’ll take one look at you now and send you right back home. You’ve never had any luck with the young men in town, and if that’s any indication, you’ll be back to your little bedroom in Kate’s house before the week is up.

You fix your clothes and walk back to the road, humming lightly under your breath. Kyle is speaking to a flat glowing disc that hums with energy, floating above his palm. He gives you a smile and a nod and retreats to the tree line while he finishes his conversation. You catch a glimpse of a face on the disc as he turns, searing blue eyes meeting yours for a moment. Price, certainly. You recognize those eyes.

Kyle’s gaze slips over to you again as you kneel by the creek, one arm keeping your skirt out of the water while you trail the other hand through the water idly, the cool stream a pleasant offset to the heat of the afternoon. If you were alone, you would consider stripping down and going for a swim, but as nice as Kyle is, he’s still a man, and not one you know particularly well anymore, if you ever did.

When you look over again, he’s tucking the crystal disc into the front of his tunic, and a wolf is behind him, stalking out of the woods, low to the ground and ready to pounce. “Kyle!” you shout, pointing behind him. He turns quickly, a spell glittering on his fingertips, but the wolf pounces before he can cast it, both crashing into the packed earth along the side of the road.

You rush over, although halfway there you wonder what help you expect to be, and an arm snatches you around the middle, hauling you back. You’re beginning to get a bit annoyed at how much you’ve been manhandled today, and you start kicking as you’re lifted off your feet. “Let me go!”

“Easy, sweet girl. Let the lads say hello,” a deep voice says behind you, the sound rumbling through you like a cat’s purr. “No danger ‘ere.”

You look at Kyle and the wolf again. Only there isn’t a wolf anymore, just a large, naked man laying on top of Kyle, kissing him ardently and more than a little messily. The sound of it makes your cheeks burn. “Oh.”

The man who was a wolf stands up, and you look away, too flustered by the sight of so much bare skin to do anything else. The big man puts you down and turns you to face him, putting your back to the werewolf. “Johnny, put some clothes on before you say ‘ello. We know you were raised by savages, but you don’t need to act like it,” he says firmly, his heavy hands on your shoulders.

You stare at the skull embroidered on the black tunic in front of you, recognizing the emblem, and then the black fencers mask tied around the man’s face, obscuring even the shape of his features. You see a glint of light when he drops his chin to look at you though, gleaming eyes that look at you inscrutably. You know him, by name and reputation and deep, rumbling voice, if not by his face. No one knows him by his face, but he was as highly ranked a knight as Price was, one of your father’s personal guard before the war. Often tasked as your guardian, a solemn but comforting presence always. “Hello, Ghost,” you say, cheeks burning all the hotter. “Been a while.”

“Not as long as you might think,” he says. You can almost hear the smile in his voice. “Been keepin’ an eye on you.”

“What do you mean?” you ask. “For how long?”

“Knew where you were this whole time. Wun’t about to let you disappear, princess.” He tucks you against his side, keeping an arm around your shoulders protectively. “Johnny. Come meet our girl. Best behaviour.”

Johnny the werewolf grins at you as he walks up, still adjusting the drape of the tartan fabric around his hips, broad chest bare and dusted with hair, swirling blue tattoos printed on his scarred skin. His hair is shaved on the sides, a stripe of it left long in the center. “Nice ta finally meet ya, princess. Officially, anyway. We’ve bumped intae each other once or twice, but I was told no’ ta approach unless ye approached first, aye? Shame ye never did.” His smile is crooked, his too-bright blue eyes intent on yours. “Think we’ll get along.”

“The whole time?” you ask, skipping back a few paces in the conversation, glancing up at Ghost. “But Kyle said—”

“Sorry, sweetpea,” Kyle says airily. “I lied.”

“Typical tricksy wizard shite. But dinnae ye worry none, we’ll keep him honest for ye.” Johnny grabs your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles, and then to the inside of your palm. His rough fingertips push your sleeve back, and he kisses the inside of your wrist too. When you squeak, he gives you a heated look and does it again, teeth grazing sensitive skin as he opens his mouth and licks a stripe across your pulse.

You’re warm from the tips of your ears to your chest, your breath catching on ragged nerves. You tug your hand out of his grip and cradle it with your other, like you’ve been burned by his brash touch.

“Johnny,” Ghost says, exasperated. “S’that what you call best behaviour?”

“She likes it, sir.”

“I most certainly do not!” you protest.

“Oh, aye ye do. Werewolf, ye ken. Can smell ye.” Johnny taps the side of his nose and winks at you. “Ye dinnae need ta be embarrassed, sweetpea. Ye can hardly blame yerself, faced with all this.” He gestures to his admittedly impressive physique, the broad and lean shape of near-perfect manhood on immodest display.

“Let’s move.” Kyle’s hand brushes your elbow. “You can ride with me again.”

Ghost shakes his head and turns, pulling you with him. “No. Come meet Nox.” He whistles, and a huge black shape hurtles down from the sky, glossy black wings snapping open just before the creature hit the ground, flapping a few times so that it lands lightly on four mismatched limbs, stirring up dust leaves. You shrink back against Ghost’s side, eyes wide. A gryphon.

The massive beast has a raven’s head and wings, and shiny black fur on it’s haunches. The catlike tail, with it’s tuft of feathers at the end, twitches back and forth as the bird head tilts to regard you, dark, slit-pupil eyes watching you with interest.

You look up at Ghost for reassurance, and he nods. “Go on. Offer ‘er your ‘and. She won’t bite. Hey, girl?” he scratches the gryphon behind the ear, and it opens it’s mouth to make a vibrating, keening sound that makes Kyle’s horse snort nervously. “That’s right, sweetpea’s a friend.”

You offer your outstretched hand to the giant creature, bolstered by Ghost’s calm, and it sticks it’s beak under your palm, making the same keening sound again. The last of your apprehension melts away, and you step closer, smiling. “Aren’t you a pretty girl?” You scratch the spot where her beak meets her feathers, and her eyes close for a moment.

Johnny reaches for the Nox’s side, and she whips her head around and hisses at him, her throat feathers fluffing up defensively. “Och, yer no’ goan ta git my fingers, ye wee beastie. Thought ye was gettin’ soft.”

“Away, Johnny. Let the girls get to know each other.” Ghost stands behind you and guides your hands to points just behind Nox’s jaw. The gryphon croaks and leans her head on your shoulder, nudging Ghost with her beak.

“Not so scary,” you coo, pressing your face into the soft cloud of feathers. “What a sweet girl.”

“How about it, Nox? Can she ‘op up?” Ghost asks. The gryphon croaks again and backs away enough to lean her front half down. Ghost picks you up and sets you on her back, on a flat saddle that sits right behind the joint of her massive wings, which fold up over your legs like she’s holding you steady. He pats Nox on the neck and starts walking, and she follows, padding beside him, sticking her beak between the joints of his leather armor playfully whenever he takes his hand off her.

You grab the edge of the saddle, mindful of Nox’s feathers, and it takes a moment to adjust to her movement. It’s not the side to side sway of a horse, but she’s steady, like she’s trying her best not to spill an inexperienced rider. Thoughtful of her.

Behind you, Kyle scrambles up onto his horse, and Johnny hustles to catch up, positioning himself on Ghost’s other side, giving Nox a wider berth.

“Thought we weren’t supposed ta tell her we were watchin’,” Johnny said. “Price said—”

“She ought to know. I wun’t too ‘appy about it in the first place, but a deal’s a deal.”

“A deal with who?” you ask.

“I’ll let Price tell you that much, sweetpea. But if it were up to me I’d’ve dragged you back home years ago.”

You shake your head tiredly. “Home is where I was. And I’m going back as soon as this business with Price is done. I don’t know what he wants, but I’m sure we can work something out. Kyle said he’s reasonable.”

“Oh, did ‘e?” Ghost asks, amusement colouring his deep voice. “S’pose that’s ‘ow ‘e had you comin’ along purrin’ like a kitten, hm?”

The blood drains from your face as you turn to look at Kyle, but he doesn’t look guilty, or like he’d been lying to you. “Well, again, I’m perfectly happy to cooperate. There’s no reason why he wouldn’t let me go when he gets what he wants, is there?”

Johnny chuckles, exchanging a look with Ghost that’s inscrutable. “Aye, ye’ve got a point. I’m sure ye’ll have no trouble dealin’ with the old man. Born diplomat, aren’t ye?”

Your stomach twists with nerves. It’s been many years since you’ve seen John Price. You don’t know him as well as you know Ghost. You’d always found the big, faceless man strangely comforting, easy to talk at, if not to, especially when you were still young and silly. But John Price, when he fixed you with those fathomless dark blue eyes, had always rendered you speechless, turned your usually clever tongue to lead. He was a knight captain then, a natural leader of men, a hero. Not someone that your father wanted you to get close to. It’s easy for you to see why now, with your father dead in the ground and Price wearing the crown, but you were glad for any excuse to stay away.

You wish you could ask Nox to fly away with you on her back, maybe home, but maybe somewhere else entirely, where no one knows you, where you can start again without the weight of the crown hanging heavy over your head, an executioner’s ax waiting to fall.

***

Image credits: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4

#Fantasy AU #cod mw fanfiction #x reader #x fem Reader #141 x reader #Heavy Weighs the Crown #Cave Writing #This is mostly gonna be fun and light-hearted I just really enjoy fantasy and I've been watching a lot of DnD content lately #“He's always been reasonable” Kyle lies thinking fondly of his boss - the least reasonable man in the realm #Let me know if you need any content warnings in here but I feel this one's pretty light

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