#as always i picture them as humans but nothing in this is explicit. so. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

blindmagdalena · 7 months ago

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The Dark of Sleep

18+ 3k homelander x reader. no pronouns, no y/n. established relationship, angst, referenced child abuse, referenced sleep deprivation, insomnia, lactation/nursing (no pregnancy referenced), somnophilia, sleepy comfort sex, cream pie, cock warming.

Homelander wakes from a nightmare and seeks comfort in your ever welcoming arms, not minding that you haven't quite woken yet.

Settling has never been an option for Homelander. He has always needed someone who is fierce and will love him until death, who will be on his side no matter the shadow that befalls it. Someone who will destroy and be destroyed by him. He has always needed you.

Homelander doesn't sleep well.

Vought was always testing the boundaries of how human he really was. There came a time when he was a boy they began to reduce his sleep by an hour every few nights.

Each day they would repeat the same grueling tests to see at what point the lack began to affect not only his cognitive abilities, but his powers.

Given the sheer amount of Compound V in his system, there were some who wondered if he really needed to sleep at all.

It would have been miraculous if he didn’t. It would be one more aspect of his perfect design that they could pat themselves on the back for.

Unfortunately for both him and them, it was not so.

When they realized the deprivation did affect him, they wanted to understand how badly. They continued the deprivation until they had reduced his sleep to nothing at all, keeping him awake by any means necessary. He begged for sleep.

It’s a marathon, John, Vogelbaum told him. Eleven days. That’s the record for a human. You can beat that, can’t’cha, tiger?

Tiger. It always made him feel stronger when Jonah called him that.

Ultimately it was less about his perseverance and more about his endurance. He didn’t have much choice in the matter of whether or not he would fall asleep.

Every time he started to doze off, an alarm would blare in his room, startling him back awake. I’m sorry, he would sob, riddled with guilt for the perceived failure.

There was never any answer.

His memories of that particular stretch of time are few and far between. He knows that on the fifth day, he started hallucinating. Only then did they finally allow him to sleep, realizing that–in his delirium–he could potentially destroy the facility if they didn’t.

Ever since those experiments, he’s had difficulty falling asleep. Guilt worms its way into his stomach each night, a cold dread that builds the closer he gets to a doze.

He never entirely got over the feeling of disappointment that came with the revelation he was indeed afflicted with this little aspect of humanity.

The scientists had seemed so excited by the prospect that he wouldn’t be.

He often wishes he wasn’t. The guilt is nothing compared to the nightmares that precede it.

Things began to change when you entered the picture.

Unlike him, you love to sleep.

He’d begun to think you might suffer from low grade narcolepsy with how easily you fall into it. Any time you’re being driven in a warm car, snuggled against his side watching television, or you’ve simply been stationary too long, you start to doze off with an ease that he’s never known.

It’s just really easy to sleep when I feel safe, you told him when he called you on it. I feel safe with you.

He had no choice but to kiss you senseless for that.

The time he spends with you changes his perception of sleep. Instead of viewing it as little more than a necessary evil to maintain the condition of his body and mind, he thinks of feeling your body against his.

He thinks of your breaths, deep at first and then growing shallow as you begin to dream.

He thinks of the way he holds you and–even more wonderful–the way you hold him, inviting him into your arms again and again for the explicit purpose of sleep.

No lingering threat of alarms or disappointed looks through a pane of glass. Just you. Just this.

I feel safe with you.

The nightmares lessened. Nowadays he generally sleeps however long you do, but old habits die hard.

Homelander startles awake, heart racing, the after-images of his nightmare still flashing behind his eyelids every time he blinks.

It takes a moment to register his reality: cuddled up snug against your back, wide awake too early in the morning, the sun only just starting to rise. He exhales roughly, nuzzling at the back of your neck, then your bare shoulder.

The weight of you in his arms is a constant warm comfort, the smell of you intoxicating. He's not even sure he could sleep at all without you anymore.

Even the way you snore endears him.

He holds you close while the nightmare fades into the back of his mind, his pulse gradually slowing, soothed by the steady beat of yours.

Given the chance, he can't help but explore you. He runs his hand along your naked side, trailing the slopes of your body from your ribs to your outer thigh, then back up. He knows the shape of you as well as he knows the New York skyline.

At times he feels like every curve of you was made just for him. Under the sensitive pads of his fingers he can feel little goosebumps prickling along your skin where he touches you, featherlight and ticklish.

You make a soft sound in your sleep, giving him pause. The corner of his mouth quirks slightly.

Mmm...

He kisses the junction between your neck and your shoulder, ghosting his hand back down your body. On the slide back up, he cups your breast. Supple and full, with every drop of it dedicated to him.

That you do this for him is still a wonder. That you would allow him this forbidden thing without judgment or agenda. It leaves him awestruck: one more trauma that you’ve spun into golden comfort.

He thumbs gently at your nipple, coaxing it until wetness seeps onto his thumb. His cock gives an answering throb at the feel of it, of your body responding to him involuntarily in your sleep.

"Babe," he whispers against your skin. No response. He licks his lips, his own heart rate picking up with excitement. He kneads your breast slowly, his mouth bone dry, achingly thirsty for the answering rivulets of milk that drip onto his hand.

Still you don’t wake. He gingerly lifts away from you, helping you to roll back into the dip in the bed his hand pressed into it creates, your torso turned towards him.

You’re deep asleep, your head lolled to one side.

Leaning in, he meets your pearl-soft skin with a kiss just at the swell of your breast, peppering more further down. Your scent fills his nose, sharpest in the line between your breasts. He runs his mouth slowly over them, between them. You smell of maple and summer rain. Heady, sweet, wistful.

“Babe,” he says once more, voice too soft to actually rouse you.

Just enough that he’d be able to say he tried to wake you. That you’re not even conscious adds to the taboo nature of what he’s about to do, thrilling something deep inside him.

Despite your encouragement, getting what he’s always wanted has never stopped feeling like thievery. Like something he was never meant to have.

His stomach flips while his cock throbs as he takes your nipple into his mouth, eyes fluttering shut. He rumbles a quiet moan for the taste of you filling his mouth, tongue pressing against the firm bud.

You taste sweeter than you smell, your skin even softer against his tongue. He sucks slowly and gently, flooding his mouth nearly to the point of spill before he swallows, greedy for the taste of you.

You sigh a sweet little noise and his heart jumps again, lids flickering open to glance up at you.

Still asleep.

He rolls your nipple with his tongue, presses it into his top teeth just enough that more nectarine warmth spills into his mouth and you shiver against him.

Fuck, he thinks, nearly moans the thought aloud into your skin. Arousal mingles with the cream-sweet smell of you and it sends a pang of heat through him so intense that his body curls against yours, his hardening cock pressing into the curve of your ass.

He moves his hand a touch more firmly down your body, over your stomach, further until his fingertips brush your clit. He begins rubbing slow, gentle circles while he continues to suck.

You moan so very sweetly, a breathy sound pulled from deep in your chest even as you sleep.

Resisting the urge to bite, he holds you to him, grinding against your ass.

He's achingly hard now and more than a little desperate for your active participation. He lifts from your breast with a wet pop, panting softly.

"Babe," he murmurs, louder now, more urgent. "Honey... Wake up," he says, breath tickling the shell of your ear. He rubs more firmly between your thighs, coaxing you in more ways than one.

With a sharp inhale you finally wake, disoriented with sleep.

"Mmm, wha—Nnnngh..." you moan, reflexively grabbing him by the wrist.

He always runs warmer than you, but even so he can feel how hot your skin is against his. You come out of sleep with feverish need already in full gear, your cunt velvet soft against his fingers.

He exhales a heated sigh along your neck. He uses the arm crooked under you to catch hold of your jaw and turn your head to face him, kissing you fervently.

"Need you," he murmurs between kisses. "Couldn't help myself," he says by way of half-hearted apology, the words tumbling out in an urgent stream of desire. “M’so hungry.”

He craves more than milk, more than a fuck, more than pleasure and flesh. He knows there is an emptiness inside him–knows even the people who put it there–and that so few things in this world have ever scratched the surface of what it would mean to fill that pit.

Your love has come the closest.

Settling has never been an option for him. He has always needed someone who is fierce and will love him until death, who will be on his side no matter the shadow that befalls it. Someone who will destroy and be destroyed by him. He has always needed you.

Still half asleep, you reach between your legs, beyond his hand, and grasp blindly at his cock, surprising a breathless little moan out of him. Parting your thighs, you guide his cock between them and then tighten them back together.

"Don't stop," you tell him, voice frayed with sleep and arousal in equal parts.

He eagerly puts his hand back to work massaging circles over your clit, stopping only briefly to bring his fingers up to his lips, sucking them into his mouth, savoring the heady flavor of you while thoroughly wetting them before he puts them right back where they belong.

He thrusts against you, fucking the plush, warm space between your thighs, your cunt wet and perfectly soft along the top of his cock.

Hooking your arm over the back of his neck, you slide your fingers into his hair and grip it gently, bringing his mouth to yours. He licks your own taste into your mouth, groaning his pleasure, his fervence. You clench your thighs until he breaks from your lips with a gasp.

“Inside,” you urge him, licking your lips. He stares at the shine of them, transfixed by how kiss-swollen and delicious they look. “I want you inside me.”

He nods deliriously, pausing his stroking of you in order to align himself, letting out a shaky breath for the wet heat of your cunt against the head of his cock.

The novelty of this never dies; how fucking good it feels when your pussy opens to him, the silky pull of your quivering walls stealing the breath from his lungs.

The hungry flutter of noise that scrapes up your throat as he bottoms out nearly makes him come then and there.

He screws his eyes shut, filling both palms with the weight of your breasts, kneading with tight restraint, spurred by the quickening breaths that bloom from your parted lips.

Your eyes meet his, bleary and wild.

“I love you,” you say breathlessly. “Mm, you feel so good. Harder, wanna feel your strength,” you moan, breath hitching when he obeys you, when he lets go just a fraction more of his power and his skin slaps against yours with force enough to make you gasp.

Your words wrap tight around his heart like a fist. He swallows the lump in his throat and kisses you once, twice, thrice, each one more desperate than the last.

He holds your stare, lips parted, brows furrowed. He’s never fucked someone who holds his gaze the way you do. It’s as if you don’t want to miss a single moment of the pleasure you give him.

It drives him insane.

He wants nothing more than for you to never take your eyes off of him, to shower him always in your love. Your attention would be wasted anywhere else.

You were made for him.

“I love you, too,” he says, voice strained, hips rolling in sharp, deep thrusts that really make you start to sing for him. "Ffffuck, fuck," he moans, thrusts turning jagged the closer he climbs to his release. He slides one hand down your side, hikes your leg up so that he can fuck you deeper.

He's determined to bring you to the edge with him, adjusting until he finds the angle that makes you cry out and yank his hair.

"Homelander," you gasp, your skin pricking with goosebumps, pussy locking up around him the closer you get.

You're fully awake now, shaken from the haze of sleep, but helpless to do anything but hold on against the onslaught of his thrusts. You squeeze his hair with one hand and grab his wrist with the other.

"Oh, god. That feels so f-fucking good, gonna make me, make me—"

He doesn't get to hear the rest of it, but he feels it.

He feels your whole body tense in exquisite agony; your hold on his hair tightening, your nails biting ineffective crescents into the invulnerable skin of his wrist, but it’s the soaked convulsing of your cunt quivering tight all around him that hurls him over the precipice of his own release.

His brows knit tightly together, eyes screwing shut right before that last tether of control snaps and he drives his hips up. He comes hard on that deep thrust, spilling load after load into you, your pussy greedily milking his cock with the aftershocks of your own climax.

He forgets to breathe for a solid minute, the orgasm shaking him to his core. He sucks in a shaky breath when the tremors settle, exhaling roughly as he gently rocks his hips into the wet mess he's made of your cunt, burying his face into your chest, nuzzling at the same breast he’d had his lips on.

The two of you spend a few moments just breathing, gradually floating down from the high of it, peaceful silence falling over you both. He nuzzles you, smiling dreamily in the aftermath of his pleasure. He kisses your breast as you stroke your fingers through his hair.

When you cup the back of his head, subtly pulling him to your chest, he takes the hint and sucks your nipple back into his mouth, exhaling a deep breath from his nose.

He falls into a near trance like this, his eyes heavily lidded and glazed over. Your fingers card through his hair, your body a warm sanctuary that he keeps himself buried deep within, your limbs slotted perfectly against one another.

Each stroke along his scalp sends pleasant tingles down his spine. You bring him a peace that he once could have only imagined for himself.

He feels your love in every tender touch, hears it in the steady thrum of your heart. He's thoroughly addicted to you, intoxicated by the effortlessness with which you soothe him, with which you love him.

“God, that was amazing,” you murmur. The praise is so tender, so earnest that it helps him come down slowly from his high, turning his freefall into a gradual descent. “You're amazing."

Once satiated–at least for now–Homelander pulls from your breast with a soft pop, placing a kiss upon it before adjusting properly behind you, allowing you back onto your side. He nuzzles at your neck, kissing the shell of your ear. He moves to pull out, but you stop him.

“Stay,” you tell him, voice wrung out and as sweet as a vanilla milkshake. You stroke his thigh, nails scraping exquisitely along his skin. He loves the way you feel against him after he fucks you; warm and thoroughly claimed. “Feels good.”

Smiling–amazed by all that you are–he eases himself flush to you once more, wrapping both arms around your middle and squeezing as tight as he dares, wringing a cute little hum from you.

You interlace your fingers with his, squeezing his hand in turn.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs at your ear, brushing his lips over the shell of it. He’s been in relationships before–he’s loved before–but it’s never felt like this. It never felt like something eagerly shared with him until it was coming from you.

Now that he has it, he’d sooner burn the whole world down than ever be without it again.

You give a ticklish little shiver against him. “Go’sleep,” you tell him, snuggling into your pillow. “‘Fore I get grumpy.”

He laughs, settling his head down on the pillow behind yours. “Is that a threat?”

“Mmhm,” you say, and before he can respond, you–in all your delicious cruelty–clench down on his spent cock hard enough to make him groan.

He buries his face into the back of your neck, exhaling a rough little breath. It won’t be long before the wet heat of you riles him right back up and he’s ready to go again.

“Gonna make me hard again,” he warns, licking his lips. He’d much rather go for round two than go back to sleep.

“Gimme another hour,” you say, the words beginning to slur as you fade back into it yourself, a smile audible in your voice. “Then you can make that my problem.” He grins, those words like music to his ears.

Just as he said–you’re fucking perfect.

#is it too early to post smut? oh well it's finished so YOU GET SMUT #now that i've finally finished this i have to write my actual plotty fics...#homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander #homelander fanfiction #x reader #my writing #fluff #smut #lactation kink #somnophilia

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contentloadingandstuff · 2 months ago

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Smut Headcanons - Furina & Navia

A/N: While I have the Furina stuff I promised (smut + relationship + parenting headcanons) ready, I decided to split them up in three posts to go with another character. This way, the reader can enjoy exactly what they want. Anyway, enjoy! CW: Nothing, just vanilla ice cream here.

Furina de Fontaine? Yes, of course she is nothing if not the best at this whole “sex” thing! There are hardly any things she struggles with less than marital fornication, she'll have you know!

Please go easy on her. She has no idea whatsoever.

While it's true that throughout her long life she had read through many explicit books and brochures, mostly without pictures, her lack of personal interaction with the male body leads to her being quite clueless the first few times around. She doesn't really know how to please you, more - she barely even knows what she likes herself.

It's natural for gods to be less sexual than humans, which is all the more unfortunate for Furina. She kept the lifespan, but was left with a human set of emotions and needs that was doomed to wither over the centuries. But not all is lost - now that her days of godhood are over and she could finally become human - with a human lifespan and the ability to fully express her emotions. It will take time, but, with enough practice, she'll catch up.

Communication is key. Don't hesitate to “order” her around. Tell her what feels good, what doesn't, what you'd like her to do and more. Furina will follow your example and share what she can - although the storm of moans and whimpers should serve as more than enough of a pointer.

Furina is surprisingly confident in the bedroom. When she finds something she likes, she'll definitely let you know. She will, between shivering and gripping the sheets, encourage you or give you some pointers, as much as her state will allow. She's not scared to initiate and when she does, she always goes in with a plan. Knocking her off balance with some teasing of your own is sure to leave her in tatters though…

Furina is quite the fan of plays and works talking about romance, so her view of the subject is much closer to “making love” than to any other way to describe sex. As such, she enjoys plenty of prep before the main event - a romantic dinner, some proper foreplay, some teasing beforehand… She enjoys working yourselves up to the main thing. Getting in the right mood is a must for her, and when she's there, there's no keeping her hands off you.

Don't let her outspoken and loud way of carrying herself fool you - the closer you get to her, the more shy Furina becomes - especially if no clothes are involved. She'll have you believe that it's completely natural for a small girl like her to be intimidated by a taller and far stronger man, unwilling to openly state that she happily lays back and lets you do whatever you want to her most days.

On the occasion that she has something specific in mind, it usually involves a bit of dressing up - she's quite fond of theater, after all. She can afford costumes and dresses galore, both for you and herself. It does take quite a bit of time, getting herself perfectly dolled up for the occasion, but it's no problem - seeing herself so disheveled, undressed and messy after you're done with her is totally worth the effort.

A nice session of light play-acting is Furina’s favourite way to spice things up. She can be whoever you want - a damsel in distress, longing for the body of her noble knight, an actress getting some more hands-on rehearsals, or perhaps her favourite - the shy, freshly taken bride. Furina never parted with her wedding dress and takes it out for a spin, from time to time. It fits her perfectly, and thanks to Chiori’s expertise in material selection, is also easy to clean from… certain substances.

But sometimes all Furina wants to do is let loose, be herself and just get some lovely, passionate pounding. Doggy no doubt has its bonuses in that regard, but she’d much rather see your face twist in pleasure as her slick hole pleasures you to completion. She enjoys missionary the most, with her hands clasping around yours for support or desperately clinging onto the sheets below. Furina is all about kissing, so expect your mouth to be occupied, and remember - nothing is hotter for her than you looking her straight in the eye as you nut inside. She won’t complain if you boast about how much you’ve filled her up - after all, you’re quite the lover, and it’s only right for you to be proud of what you can do to her.

Don’t be alarmed if you find Furina shedding a few tears while her guts are being rearranged - that’s just how she responds to overstimulation. She doesn’t want you to stop any time soon, of course… But a kiss and a squeeze of her hand would surely motivate her to take you further in!

She spends a lot of time grooming herself to perfection, with most of the time going towards shaving herself. She enjoys nice, smooth skin everywhere below the neck. Furina does mind hair, and you would make her very happy if you kept yourself like that as well. Why would she want to have all this nasty hair obscuring the goods?

Furina is aware of how unlucky she is, to be created with not much of a cleavage. She tends to be hyper aware of her deficiency - or at least that’s how she views it. Your girl tends to skip out on nipple or boob play for that exact reason. She’s yours, and so is her body - if her body can’t offer you all it should, she’s not a good wife, is she? She would love you to be able to slide your cock between them and fuck them to completion, but they are, unfortunately, very flat. Over time, however, your love and encouragement helped her dismiss these harmful beliefs of inadequacy. So much so that she's grown to cherish her form.

She's proud of what she has, and loves to show herself off with expensive sets of lingerie. Unlike, say, the extendable cutlery she bought, these come in use regularly. She always picks those one size smaller to accentuate the nice fluff around her thighs and belly - a woman must have some plush on herself, after all! Couple that with long gloves and thigh highs, one darker and one brighter to match her eyes of course, and you've got yourself an outfit Furina feels beautiful in.

And desired, too. They are nice, yes, but not as much as the feeling of you stripping them off her. She likes passion, and very much enjoys seeing you lose control of your desire for her. Don't hold your moans, say whatever comes to mind - even if it is her name over and over and over again, she will listen intently and whine your name in concert.

The bed’s your stage, while you and her play the main roles.

For her, you are the main attraction of the show. You and your glorious, male body. Navia? She's a big fan of that.

The straight posture, the beautifully flat, strong chest, these powerful arms, the big hands, the meaty calves… You're incredibly handsome, so why wouldn't she spend her nights worshiping and touching you?

When it comes to herself, she doesn't mind most things. Sure, she likes being the center of your attention, but being the receiver excites her much less than giving. While she'll take a long while to cum with your tongue, just sucking you off is enough to make her squirt on her fingers. Sex is all good, but she'll be more passionate if you just lay back and let her do the work.

Let her take the lead - here, you're the star, and she's more than eager to see you enjoy yourself. Navia loves servicing you and bringing out those delicious, deep moans and sighs. She gets absolutely soaking at the thought that it's all the doing of her skillful hands and abundant body.

Navia Rich cleavage, fat butt and a spacious pussy - Navia has it all, and you're more than welcome to help yourself. She'll be thrilled if you make good and frequent use of her, as - surprise surprise - women have needs too. It's unfair - why can you be absolutely horny for her, but it's improper for her to drool over you? Well, that's how it is in public, but behind closed doors, you're game.

Navia is the unchallenged queen of handling your manhood. Learning about you, memorising the shape of your cock, adjusting her insides to fit you like a glove, learning where to touch to make you shiver… It was great fun, and Navia enjoys having the chance to explore you further with various kinks. She's not going to say no to anything when it comes to your hefty package, that's for sure.

While not having much for herself, Navia owns a host of toys to use on you in the sheets. Would you like her to tie you up? Maybe edge you with a pocket pussy? How about tying the base of your cock for some extended sessions? Whatever you want, whatever you need, she likely has it in her collection - and if she doesn't, it won't be for long. All she needs is your word.

Navia is known for her positive and energetic approach to her role, but every girl needs a pick-me-up once in a while, doesn't she? Navia won't mind if you come over and sneak with her into a closet or let her get under the desk for some naughty time~

Nothing turns her on more than your pleasure. Seeing your hand tighten around the armrest as she edges you, feeling your hand push her head up and down as you use her throat as a toy or hearing you struggle to get all the cum out when she milks you for all your worth is something she greatly looks forward to. So much so that, if you give her this privilege, she'll whip out a Kamera to keep that moment for years to come.

Of course, it will be focused on you. She wants to capture what she loves the most - your pleasure. She'll let the Kamera roll as you rail her into the bed, capturing all these lovely moans and expressions of bliss, as well as your grunts as you selfishly chase your own pleasure, uncaring if she will handle the pounding. One of her favourites is recording your balls as they slam against her cunt in doggy or missionary, capturing your voice and the obscene noises her pussy makes as your fuck her to completion. She'll return to them when she’s away, rubbing and fingering herself to the image of you in careless, primal bliss.

That's another thing she loves to see - primal lust. The sight of you senselessly and violently fucking a toy is her favourite thing to get off to, especially that she knows she's going to be the toy next. Be rough with her - she can take it. Just don't you dare go silent on her, now! You have a voice, so use it - moan, whine, sigh and growl for her. Navia wants to know just how much you enjoy using her body.

But sometimes she's in a more needy mood, especially when you've been quiet the last few times around. Navia knows that there's nothing worse for a guy than denial, so she'll strap you down and play with your dick, edging you without pause until you cry and beg for release. Or, alternatively, she'll work your head and prostate, forcing you to give up everything in your balls to her. The longer it goes on, the more you struggle, and the more frantic your pleas become. Music to her ears.

Navia finds it so hot when you act needy, even when it's as simple as asking for some attention. Want a handy? She'll give you a helping hand, no questions asked. Need your balls emptied with some mouth work? Navia is on the case. You're in need of a quickie? Feel free to bend her over and yank those panties down - she's on the pill, so cum away. Be ready to zip down your fly for her too - sometimes, a quick suck can really lift her spirits. When she has a day off, expect lots of messing in the sheets.

Morning sex? Yes please! She'll gladly have you wake up to lewd sounds of slurping and her lips wrapped around your cock, if you'll let her. And once you fully wake up, you'll get to feel her ride you in the rays of the morning light.

She's the type of girl that loves cum. Expect lots of positive encouragement to blow your load, no matter if it comes quickly - it's a compliment for her doing a great job, right? When you finally give in to her talented ministrations, she'll make sure to put on a show for you. Each part of her (except the hair, cum is quite annoying to get out of there without taking a shower) is fair game when it comes to coming. If you feel like giving her a mouthful, she'll swallow it up and show you a clean mouth as proof. Her favourite spot, though, is the face - it might mess with her make-up, but its warmth and smell feels so naughtily good on her face, and she'll make sure you're watching her gather it up and lick it off her fingers with a proud, smug smirk.

Navia isn't a fan of condoms, not at all. She’d much rather take a pill or slap on a patch than wrap you in rubber. Besides, Navia always wanted to have plenty of kids, so when the time comes, she'll passionately encourage you to knock her up. Having her stomach swollen with a baby - that you put into her, which she will make sure to praise you for - makes her feel beautiful, even if she has to buy bigger clothes. Luckily for her, she can still suck your cock with a big belly, so it's not much of a problem in that department.

With Navia, it's cowgirl all the way. Not only do you get to see her tits swing and her beautiful face, but you also get a taste of her excellent riding skills. She likes this position as it allows her to see your face contorted in pleasure. She will adjust the pace and depth to better milk you, or keep you on the edge of orgasm and enjoy seeing you lose your mind to pleasure.

Thanks for reading!

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invinciblerodent · 7 months ago

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These days I kind of can't stop thinking about how much I enjoyed the possibility of being from Orzammar in Origins, specifically because just being who you are put so much of the early game in a wholly different context.

Like, a dwarf from Orzammar has, by definition, lived literally under a rock their whole lives!! They've never left the underground, and yes, while that also makes their ignorance of surface squabbles (the mage issue, the Ferelden/Orlais conflict, everything with the city elves and the Dalish, etc.) make a lot of sense, it also comes with so many interesting new angles that I'm honestly so surprised still that I've never really seen it mentioned very often, if at all. (Even though we even get an explicit moment to reflect on it, when leaving with Oghren.)

In Origins, the moment a dwarf first steps out through the gates of Orzammar and begins the game, is a profoundly life-altering experience. Dare I say, even more so than it is for an elf or a human. Because stepping out, for the first time, they are entering an entirely new world, and for the first time, in front of them is a vast expanse of nothing but air.

The end of the prologue, it's not just a fundamental personal change that awaits you, it's also a displacement so complete, that it's absolutely dizzying to even think about.

That first time a dwarf feels the sun on their skin, they are made sun-touched, a surfacer: stripped not only from caste and kin, of identity, but also faith and memory, any favor their ancestors may have still held for them, and any possibility of ever returning, as far as they know. (Aeducan may even have a bitter little chuckle over the irony of how they could very well have just one day before shrugged off the concerns of their surface brethren completely, only to be made one of them now.)

Their whole lives, they had always been able to see the opposite wall of the cave, or at least to know for sure that it's there, along with the miles and miles of unchanging, crystal-littered rock stretching protectively over their heads-- now all of that is gone. There's nothing between them, and the infinite and ever-changing blue, grey, orange, black of the open sky they've never seen, and in the distance, there's no wall-- just glorious, humongous mounds and spires of rock jutting up into the belly of the sky, the likes of which they've only ever seen from the inside.

Orzammar, despite no sunlight ever penetrating that far, is always lit bright, and it's heated by the lava streams and pools below. A dwarf has never known anything colder or warmer, brighter or darker, never seen seasons change... the biting winds and the frequent rains in Ferelden are completely new to them, not to mention the terrifying cracks of thunder that sound like the very Stone over them cracking in two, the bright flashes of lightning illuminating the night for but a moment, or waking in the middle of the night to what sounds like countless fingers pat-pat-patting the tarp of their tent, or the fact that animals -which are varied and plentiful and wholly alien- sometimes just randomly fall into the sky, like the rumors say! They might know academically that with birds, that just sort of tends to happen, but they've never seen one take off!!

Hell, all of surface flora and fauna are completely new to them-- it's likely they've only ever seen a tree or a dog in a picture book. Flowers, they've likely only ever seen as an expensive and frivolous luxury few can afford to have for a while, and even then, they are by necessity brought in removed from their roots, dead, wilting, taken from their natural place... while here, blooms just spring up underfoot willy-nilly, not entirely unlike mushrooms at the home which is not theirs anymore.

And... there must be something organic, something comfortingly animal to the scent of hundreds of warm bodies crammed into a sealed hole in the ground-- which is just gone now. The air is fresh, clean... empty, cold, lonely. No smell of spilled ale, piss, and vomit, no thick scent of the combined breaths and bodies of all their people... no scent of belonging, the air that moves their lungs now is no longer that which has moved those of all they've ever known, and every breath washes more, and more, and more of who they once were from inside their very body.

Being on the surface, it's like being thrust into an alien world, with which all just expects you to be intimately familiar. What do you mean the grass, the bugs, the birds, the leaves are strange? What do you mean you've never eaten leaves from this plant, fruit from this tree, the flesh of this creature you've only ever heard about? They laugh when you avert your eyes from the sky and try not to think about falling into it, or when you startle at the feeling of falling water suddenly hitting your skin, as if that was somehow funny, charming.

The night, which you've never before seen fall, is a comfort from all that endless, boundless seeing- but after the Joining, not even that is a relief.

Because if you're a dwarven Warden, all the dreams you've had in your life have been nightmares.

So you cope. You learn, and adapt, and endure.

Strong and immutable, like the Stone from which you were rent.

#dragon age #dragon are: origins #warden aeducan #warden brosca #uuuhhhh what else #no wonder Bartrand and Oghren struggle #Oghren specifically is such a tragic figure and he was done such a tremendous disservice in being made a comic relief character #i kinda climbed into this just a little bit with my #oc: arie aeducan #and made this kind of some of the basis of her relating to leliana #how they both are displaced from their homes and healing from the fatal betrayal of a loved one #uuuhhhhhh #maybe tagging this as #squirrel writes #just to keep it there because this is a bit closer to my creative writing type thingies than just straight up meta #CAN YOU TELL I'VE BEEN REPLAYING ORIGINS BOY I SURE CAN'T

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pascalispretty · 1 year ago

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Leading Blindly

Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1966

Warnings: Reader is a sex worker, loss of virginity, Mando has a huge dick, woman on top, reader has a size kink, blindfolds.

Summary: A young Mandalorian seeks relief for the first time at a Canto Bight brothel.

A/N: My entry for Day Two of @absurdthirst's Kinktober - the prompt was 'Loss of Virginity'. I'm picturing an early 20s Mando here, but imagine what you like! My thanks as always to my beloved @misscharlielulu. (ao3).

The blindfold hadn’t been the strangest request you’ve ever received. The client had requested you specifically according to Lenera, the madam, as she helped knot the fabric tightly over your eyes. A Mandalorian she had whispered, almost in awe. You had waited in your room for the client, the heavy footfall signalling his arrival long before he spoke.

From sound alone you couldn’t gauge much; the heavy thumps of his armour as he set them down, the voice that sounded young even with the modulation provided by the helmet, the sharp inhale of breath when you pulled your silky slip up over your head to let him look at you.

His touch, when it came, was gentle but faltering. A virgin, you suspected. Everything spoke of newness and uncertainty, from the difficulty he had in articulating what he wanted to the hesitancy in the hand he rested on your waist.

Eventually he had agreed to lie back on your bed, his head propped up on the stack of plush pillows while you straddled his lap.

It’s how you find yourself in the Mandalorian’s lap, one hand resting on his abdomen as you slowly grind down on him.

“Don’t worry, Mando,” you whisper softly as you unfasten his pants. “I’ll take good care of you.” His breath escapes him in a hiss as your fingers slide beneath his waistband and wrap carefully around his cock. Even without your sight, there’s no mistaking it; he’s huge. You can barely wrap your fingers around the width of him, and the length is just as impressive.

In your years of working in the finest Canto Bight establishments, you’re not sure you’ve ever seen his equal on a human, much less such a shy one.

“Oh,” you whisper, trailing your fingertips down the length of him to better gauge just how big he is. “You’re so big.” For most men, it would have been nothing more than an ego stroke; for the Mandalorian, it’s just the truth. And unlike most men, who would have received such a comment with delight, the Mandalorian beneath you squirms.

“I- I didn’t know. Is it- Will it be a problem? I wouldn’t want to hurt you.” Instead of proud or aroused, he sounds embarrassed.

“Oh, you sweet boy,” you murmur, and he squirms again beneath you. “I can show you how to make it easier?” He whines when you make your offer, his gloved hands gripping harder at your hips.

“Yes, p-please,” he manages. It’s such a pity he won’t take the helmet off; you want to kiss his forehead and tell him what a sweetheart he is.

“You may need to take one of your gloves off then, Mando. Whichever hand is your dominant one.” Your fingers are still wrapped around his cock, stroking lightly. The thick weight of it in your hands practically making you drool. Certainly you can feel yourself getting wetter, slick pooling between your legs and making your thighs feel sticky.

His hands leave your waist, and you hear him slide one of the soft leather gloves off and drop it onto the bed beside him. With his glove off, he touches your waist again with new hesitance. You wonder how often he does this; has the chance to touch another person, with no barriers between you. It’s such an unexpected feeling of intimacy from a mere brush of the fingers, and your cheeks grow warm.

“You- you’re so soft.” He says, and the marvel in his voice is so endearing.

“Thank you, sweet boy.” With reluctance, you let go of his cock in favour of dragging your fingertips up the insides of your own thighs, gathering the slick smeared down your skin. You hold your fingertips up for his inspection, turning them to try and show the wetness glistening in the low light.

“The more aroused a woman is, the wetter and more relaxed she is. It’ll make it more comfortable, especially with what you’re hiding.” You tease gently, leaning back a little on his lap to try and give him a better view between your legs. With your own fingertips you part your folds, putting yourself on display for him.

“You see this, sweet boy?” You ask, tracing lightly over your clit and managing to make yourself shiver. “You want to make sure this gets plenty of attention. And if you have time, you should use your fingers inside too; it helps to open the muscles up.” He sucks in another breath, and you wish so badly you could rip the blindfold off and look at him, helmeted or no.

“Would you show me?” He asks eventually.

“Oh Mando, you’re so polite,” you say lightly, drawing a light circle around your clit. “You’ll spoil me for all my other clients.”

As far as you can tell, he watches intently as you play with your clit, showing him how to start slowly and softly, the signs a woman might make if she’s enjoying herself. The closer you get to coming, the more you feel him starting to squirm beneath you, and for one moment you wonder if you should stop, lest he finish too soon, before even getting inside of you.

“Keep going. Please, please don’t stop,” Mando whines at you – he must have noticed your hand starting to slow. “I want to watch, please-” The soft sincerity in his voice is what sends you over the edge, your free hand steadying yourself on his abdomen as you come. His hands clutch tighter at your hips, so hard that you hope he leaves you a mark to remember this encounter by.

When you get your breath back, he dips his ungloved hand lower.

“Can I?” He asks, and you nod enthusiastically before he can even clarify what it is that he wants. You moan loudly when he dips his fingers just barely into your cunt, a low groan rumbling through him as he feels just how wet you are.

“Oh, that’s it, sweet boy,” you murmur as he carefully slides one of his fingers into you. It presses deeply inside you, so much farther than your own can reach. That familiar heat starts to build again in your core, flames licking your insides as his finger brushes past an electrifying spot within you. You start to rock your hips, fucking yourself on his finger. He soon responds in kind, matching your pace as his gloved hand clings to your hip.

“Another, another,” you beg breathily after a moment. His fingers are thick, but you know his cock is so much thicker; you want to be as prepared as you can be. You whine as he slides the second finger in, your muscles easily flexing to accommodate him. Still riding his fingers, you bring your palm up to your mouth and spit, before wrapping your hand around his cock again.

He groans at your touch, his cock throbbing in your hand, and you can’t take it any longer.

“Mando, sweet boy,” you pant, his fingers still working inside you. “Are you ready?” No words escape him, just another low groan as he slides his fingers out of you. He’s breathing raggedly, even through the modulator of the helmet, and you swipe your thumb over the head of his cock. “I need you to tell me, sweet boy.”

“Ye-yes,” he manages. You notch the head of his cock against your opening, your muscles straining to accommodate the blunt, weeping tip. Slowly you ease yourself down onto his cock with tiny flicks of your hips, impaling yourself gradually. Beneath you, Mando is doing his best to hold still, to resist squirming for fear of hurting you.

“That’s it, sweet boy.” Your time with him so far tells you he enjoys being praised. “You’re making me feel so full.” With the first few inches of him buried inside you, you get braver with your movements, taking more of him with every downstroke.

By the time he bottoms out inside of you, you’re so full you can barely breathe. You’re not sure you’ve ever been this full, not even when that pretty Twi’lek socialite had paid you to let her fuck you with her fist. You rest your hands on the planes of Mando’s chest, your fingertips flexing as you try to adjust.

Your client isn’t much better off than you are. His breathing filters raspily through his helmet, his hands clinging to your hips as he tries to ground himself. When he gives a tentative thrust upwards, you moan loudly, the sound completely unfeigned.

Between the two of you, you set a relatively slow pace. He doesn’t want to hurt you, he’s made that much clear, and you expect he also doesn’t want to end things too quickly. His first attempts to meet your movements are erratic, but he learns to follow your rhythm, rocking up into you as you ride him. His gloved hand remains anchored to your hip, his bare hand begins to roam over your body, cupping one of your tits and squeezing carefully.

Mando braces his feet on the mattress behind you, allowing him to push somehow deeper inside of you with his thrusts. You tip your head back and moan, trying to recall when you had last experienced this much genuine pleasure with one of your clients. It’s not long before you start riding him in earnest; you don’t expect him to last long no matter what you do, but you want to enjoy his masterpiece of a cock as much as you can.

It’s not long before his thrusts become more erratic, his breathing coming harder from beneath the helmet. You try not to be too disappointed, instead quickening the pace, fucking yourself harder onto his thick cock.

“I’m- I think I’m gonna come, where…?” He eventually manages between low groans, and you arch your back as pleasure races up your spine. You won’t come, not so quickly, but it still feels delicious to hear the Mandalorian sound so utterly wrecked beneath you.

“Wherever you like, sweet boy, wherever will make you feel good,” you practically purr at him, your fingertips digging a little harder into the fabric of his clothes. His movements become clumsier, his hand squeezing a little tighter at the flesh of your tit. It’s not long before he comes inside you with a sharp groan, an almost pained sound; you hadn’t expected him to last nearly this long.

Even before he’s finished riding out his climax, you feel his seed start to drip out of you, forced out by the sheer size of him. You give him a moment, letting him catch his breath. He doesn’t relax though; even as his cock is softening inside you, the bare hand on your tit disappears, only to come back to your hip once again gloved.

Carefully, he lifts you off him, ignoring the come dripping out of you as he sets you on the bed beside him. With the blindfold on, you’ve no way of gauging just how much of a mess you’ve made, or what kind of state his clothes might be in. You listen silently to his movements as he stands and begins to put his armour back on; the soft clips and buckles, the heavy tread of his boots as he steps back into them.

“Am I- do your clients normally say thank you?” He asks eventually. You’re so taken aback by the question that you can’t help the giggle that escapes you.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a client quite so polite as you, Mando.” You’re in no hurry to move; you lounge back on your bed, legs spread obscenely. “Come back sometime; I’m dying to see how much of that cock of yours I could fit in my mouth.”

Tag List:

@avengersfan25 @misscharlielulu

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin smut #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction

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pastel-greene · 6 months ago

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The Daughter | king!sukuna x curse user!reader

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 - Magnets | Chapter 3

Summary: The mother of curses happens upon a blind child and decides to impart a portion of her power to them as an experiment of sorts. The power morphs the child in their image until they are part curse and part human. So what happens when they get employed by the King of Curses? Will humanity bloom as newfound emotions flow between the two? Or will they usher in an era of never ending terror?

Notes: not all of this will be canon, it will be loosely based off of the jjk universe :) taglist is open, comment on any chapter to be tagged in future ones

Genre: female reader, fluff, angst, ‘loads’ of smut, violence, sukuna true form but like not with the weird face lmao just double set of eyes and arms, dark reader

Warnings: profanity, explicit smut (two dick sukuna, sadistic sex, biting, oral m & f receiving, pet names, more to be added), violence, depictions of gore, dark minds cause yk, mentions of rape, toxic relationships, chaotic neutral reader, trauma, possessiveness from reader and sukuna, torture, vampire themes (reader’s blood is infused with the Mother of curses so if a curse user is to drink it it basically gives them a temporary stat boost bc what can i say vampire sukuna seems hot), and more to be added as story progresses

Word Count: 6.4k

This work contains mature content, so absolutely no minors I will block you if I find out :)

Sukuna’s POV

Screams ring out in his ears as he plows into the concubine beneath him. Tears fill her eyes and blood trickles from various bite marks he has left across her body. Her hands helplessly pull against her restraints as her thighs beg to close and bar him from the assault he’s laying on her insides. Both of his cocks stretch her to lengths she doesn’t have as she writhes in pain, his pace so brutal he thinks he hears her pelvis crack. She tries to form pleas for him to stop but her tongue doesn’t let them pass, as she knew he might just kill her on the spot. So she just spasms there screaming and accepts the assault.

He couldn’t care less about her pain, he almost wanted to completely destroy her, slam into her until she splits into two and finally shuts the hell up. But that would affect his relationship with her father. He controls a substantial farming operation that keeps the land from starving. In his youth, he would have just slaughtered the world and been done with it, but what’s the point in being King if there is nothing? He had found that some people had an ounce of worth for their intellect. They may not be worth a damn as fighters, but they created things he had come to enjoy. Like this delectable slut crying beneath him. Her curves were full, her skin soft and supple, her eyes always so full of fear driven obedience. A perfect fuck toy in his array of options.

He slams into her rougher causing her eyes to go wide as he penetrates her cervix. She is so perfect yet so fucking disgusting. She no longer felt right, her obedience no longer made his cock twitch, her perfect skin no longer held the attraction it once did. She was weak, pathetic, and not you. You. A cocky bitch just begging to be knocked down a peg. Begging to be forced down with his weight and torn apart from the inside. Would you scream for him? No, you wouldn’t be that boring. You would be calling him dirty names no one else would dare to. You would hurt him every time he hurt you and fight him every step of the way for dominance. You wanted to fuck him? What a joke. You didn’t know what you were asking for, and if he decided to, it wouldn’t be your choice to begin with.

His cock finally starts twitching inside the useless sow beneath him as he pictures fucking her. He hated that it was so difficult to touch you, he wanted to feel you more. He wanted to bury his face in your neck and get lost in your smell. He wanted to cover you in his smell so he could inhale the birth of your combined scents. He wanted to bite you until your skin broke and leave you covered in bruises from his mouth’s assault. You would look so fucking pretty marked as his. Even better if his claim to you reached even your insides. He would cum in you over and over again and keep you too full of his cocks for any of it to escape. He wanted to marinate your insides with his seed until they would only wet for him. He wanted you in his bed covered in blood, sweat, cum, and tears as you took him better than any other bitch could and begged for more instead of pushing him away. Fuck yes, focus on that picture, yes, yes, yessss.

With a few more pumps he was filling his concubine’s holes with his seed until it came bursting out past his cocks. He panted a few times before looking down. He felt a wave of anger wash over him at what he just thought of. That girl is a peasant, a run through whore with no respect. He didn’t want to fuck you, he wanted to put a spike through your eye socket and let your nude corpse hang from his throne. It took everything he had to not take his anger out on the passed out girl beneath him. It wouldn’t bring him real pleasure anyway and would cause more trouble than it was worth. He pulled his cocks out and used her sheets to wipe them clean before grabbing his robe. He had more hearings to attend for the day and a good idea of how he was going to let off steam. For the villagers’ sake, there better not be many.

(Y/N) POV

Your new servants had come not long after Geto left. They took your measurements and went over design specifications with you before taking down your preferred booze. You had spent the rest of the day in your room, taking a mental inventory of everything you now had. Your room was ridiculously huge. You genuinely weren’t sure what to do with everything in it. You had a large mat for sitting and a table in the middle of it that you had decided to move to the side of it. You doubted there were enough people here to need the other side available for seating, and the newfound space gave you room to workout on. You knew there was a shared training space, but you figured you could occasionally do it here if there was someone already there. You figured you had pissed the King off earlier and wanted to avoid him when you could, because you knew your smartass mouth would end up losing you visitation days. You don’t think Uraume liked you either. Geto might be fun to spar with, so you probably wouldn’t run if he was there.

You looked around at your empty shelves. You asked the servants what people usually filled them with, and while they weren’t sure what the other sorcerers put in them, they guessed relics, personal items, or books. You weren’t one for keeping stuff as you considered most of it to be clutter, but you wondered about where you could get books. You thought of the anatomy and science books Ireiri used to keep and sometimes show you parts from. You missed her. You missed Kento too. Your whole life was miles away. Or well your old life. Until further notice this was your new life. You sighed as you pulled back the curtain to look out the large window that acted as one of your room’s walls. The sun was starting to set. They were probably just waking and would soon find the letters you had sent for them explaining that you would be working here for a while and not to worry. You were going to let yourself continue to steep in useless emotions when there was a knock on your door.

Before you could respond it swung open. The King himself sauntered into your room like it was his, and well technically it was but you would still call it rude. You bowed your head to him and kept your eyes on the floor as he walked up to you and sniffed.

“Good girl, not a drop of alcohol in you. I didn’t know you were capable of following rules after your earlier outburst”, he said while towering over you.

“What can I say, I am full of surprises my King.”

“King Sukuna, address my name in all of its glory”, he said with what you were sure was a pompous grin.

“Forgive my error King Sukuna. I didn’t mean to hurt your name’s ego”, you said knowing damn well you shouldn’t but couldn’t help it. You wanted to rip the stick out of his ass and beat him with it.

A loud crack echoed throughout your chambers as you felt a slap land on your cheek for your insolence. The impact caused your head to slump to the side, before you cocked it up at him with blood ridden smirk. He had busted your lip, so you straightened your stance and let him watch you lick the blood from the corner before resuming your bow.

“Crazy brat”, he said while thinking about how well you took his strength. Most people would have been left with their heads facing the wrong way from that hit, but instead you smirked through blood tinted teeth. “And to think that I had come bearing gifts. I don’t think you deserve them if you can’t keep that mouth under control though. Naughty bitches shouldn’t be rewarded”, he said with a smirk while using one of his hands to tilt your chin up. “What happened to the good girl that greeted me?”

You fucking hated these pet names. You knew he was just taunting you, but you also knew you would have to comply to get your gifts and for him to leave. And you really wanted a drink at this point. “I sincerely apologize King Sukuna”, you said as you continued to stare up into his eyes. His upper set stared back into yours while the bottom set looked down at the blood smeared across your lip.

“Let me touch you without you leeching my power and I will consider it forgiven.”

You really didn’t want to but knew that there wasn’t really a way around it. Constantly disobeying him wouldn’t be fruitful in the long haul and definitely wouldn’t help you get out of this any quicker, so you sighed and slightly titled your head while still looking at him, “You may touch me for now”.

He chuckled at your allowance, “Why, thank you. How graceful of you to allow your King to touch you.” His hand reached out to your lip before his tongue appeared and lurched out, licking up the residue of your blood. You went to jump back at the unexpected appendage dragging across the side of your lip, but his hand grabbed your hair and kept you still. A feral look started unwinding in his eyes as he tasted you. A look you knew all too well. He was absorbing the Mother’s nectar that pulsed through your body, nostrils flaring as his senses became overridden.

“If you take too much at once your heart will stop— regardless of how strong you are. It will fuel you and boost your abilities, but it is a double edged sword. Not to mention I would die and you would be forever cut off from it”, you said hoping it would convince him not to give into the bloodlust that covered his features.

You weren’t wrong. He could feel his power grow, his blood pumping into his muscles, his ears could hear the smallest of sounds from a mile away, his eyes could see things in what felt like a bird’s eye view and zoomed in one at the same time. Is this how you always were? Was your body this in tune with everything around you? His skin was on fire. He could feel yours with such detail, the warmth it radiated, the power humming through it. If he concentrated enough he felt like he would be able to feel your feelings.

He shoved your face away from him and stepped back, “What are you?”

“A vampire”, you said with as straight of a face as you could.

He blinked a few times as his jaw hung open. “A vampire? They’re real?”

You burst out into a tearful laugh and slapped your knee, “No, of course not! But you should have seen the look on your face, it was almost cute”, you said before composing yourself and quickly trying to fix what you were sure was another mistake, “I apologize for joking with you King Sukuna. It just seemed like it would be funny. I am not a vampire, but I cannot tell you why my blood is like that. I have no issue serving you or allowing you to help yourself to it on occasion, but there are some secrets I must keep. Keeps things fun and fresh, y’know?”

No. He did not know. All he knew was that you were the most insufferable brat with the biggest balls he had ever met. You had just lied to and humiliated him and then laughed in his face. Then told him you would continue to keep secrets from him for your own entertainment. Honestly, he was baffled. He never had to deal with insolence like this. Most people would have never dared talk to him like this, and if they had, they would have been struck down on the spot. If you weren’t growing more and more useful by the day he would have already killed you. Maybe he could tie you up and use you as a blood bag, or kidnap one of those friends you wrote to. That would likely end up with an all out brawl between the two of you and as much as he hated to admit it, he didn’t want to kill you. So he just pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

Awh, you actually felt a little bad about how flustered he looked. He had opened and closed his mouth a few times before resorting to the classic sigh and bridge pinch. You guess there actually was a chance he had never been joked around with at length.

“I am sorry King Sukuna, truly. My joke was insensitive and disrespectful. I truly didn’t mean anything deeper than to get a laugh out of me and maybe you. I am sorry if I have upset you”, you said with your brows knitted together.

Pity. You were giving him pity. As if he didn’t feel angry enough, you were now looking down on him. “Give me your hand”.

You were confused and slightly nervous given the dark look swimming in his eyes, but you obeyed and placed your hand within his. Within a split second he was applying a crushing force to it, your bones breaking under his temporary boost in strength. You bit and sucked on the inside of your cheek to keep from releasing any noises or tears for him.

“Beg for forgiveness”, he said while digging his fingers in between the bones of your hand, blood dripping onto the floor. He watched as you stared up at him with anger lashing behind your pupils. He could feel your urge to fight him right there, but his urge was the same. He had put up with your cheeky remarks but for you to so openly look down on him as if he was weak enough to need pity was a line he wasn’t going to let you cross without consequence. He spread his fingers as the ligaments holding your knuckles tore apart. Tears swelled in your eyes but refused to pool over the edge. That’s it, cry for him.

God you wanted to take him into the realm in between and tear him limb from limb. You wanted to stab your energy through each of his wrists and wrap it around his hands before slowly pulling them off his body. You wanted to watch him scream in pain for you, but you knew that would be a shortsighted win. So you swallowed your bitter pride and begged. “Please, King Sukuna forgive me.”

“Beg harder brat”, he said while clenching his fist, your bones starting to snap sideways through your skin as blood now poured onto the floor.

You hated begging but fucking hell your hand hurt. You had experienced pain before but never have you not been able to end it. You hated him. Fuck joking around with him. Fuck letting him touch you. Fuck letting him experience your blood. He didn’t deserve any of it. He was a spiteful little shit too cocky for his own good. Maybe you could say screw it to the whole deal and just fucking end him here. Maybe your Mother would accept him as a gift and he could become a mindless slave for her and bow to you both. Fuck, you’d be damned if he would make you run to your mother for help though. You would turn him into a slave on your own. It may take time, patience, and groveling, but you would find a time to strike. Send your magic right into his mind and never let go. Poke holes into it until he is just a puppet for your amusal. And then you would walk him around the realm, leashed and on his knees for you. A good boy. Fucking asshole, you would ruin him, “Please King Sukuna, please forgive me. I am so sorry for what I said. Please stop hurting me. I promise I will be better for you, I will be good for you.”

Looking down at your teary eyes, the watered down blood residue on your lower cheek, your mangled hand drenched in red, and hearing you beg to be good for him had his cock twitching on the spot. He pulled his fingers out of your hands and licked the blood off of them, relishing in the feeling that washed over him again. “If you would just be a good girl for me all the time I wouldn’t have to hurt you like this, your words are so pretty but those eyes still look like they want me dead. Close them.”

He wanted you to close your eyes? To go back to seeing the world in black? Fucking asshole had no idea the depth he was torturing you with such a simple command, but if you resisted he would know. So you closed your eyes and felt his hand wrap around your throat and pull you up towards him, “You are mine, brat. I own you and you will obey me one way or another. Do you understand, pet?” He brushed the hair around your face as he waited for your response.

“Yes, King Sukuna,” you managed to get out in a choked gurgle. He is right. If he could see your eyes right now, it would all be murderous intent.

He licked along your jaw to your ear before pricking it and licking up the blood that pooled, “Good girl”.

The King had left shortly after that and to your surprise allowed your gifts to be brought in. You wasted no time downing a few shots before looking at the hand he had mangled earlier. It had healed before he had even let you go, but you were still pissed. Talk about no sense of humor. You make a few jokes and he shreds your fucking hand and treats you like an object. You punched the air a few times as your frustration built. You needed some sort of release. Sex, yes. Sex would be a great release. Someone to burn off some of your energy so you could calm the fuck down. But there was no one to do it with. Ughhhh you hated it here and it had only been one day. You sighed as you stared down your empty glass. Kento would know how to calm you down. He would have you seeing stars and forgetting all your troubles within minutes.

You decided to cut your losses on sex and go for a walk instead. You hadn’t been given a curfew, so you had your servants take you down to where the river hugged the border of the shrine. You drank straight from the bottle as you sat with your knees up to your chest and looked into the water. It felt so calm, so free, so peaceful. You think that if you were to die you would want to drown and allow your body to float to the bottom and never be found. You could deteriorate into the water until you were one.

“Rough day”, Geto asked as he walked up to where you were sitting.

You were sure he already knew the answer so you just scoffed.

He sighed at your response or lack thereof. “Hey, hey, HEEEEY—.”

“WHAT”, you shouted before giggling at his use of your own antics.

He gave you a smile before coming to sit beside you, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Okay we don—.”

“Just what is his problem? All I did was joke with him and he tore apart my fucking hand? I would just not speak to him and avoid crossing paths, but he came into my room. How the hell can I avoid him if he comes to me? I am obviously going to say something stupid, because that’s apparently just a me thing, so why make situations that don’t need to happen? He is just insufferable”, you interrupted. You were so frustrated with your situation, but saying it out loud also made it sound childish. You were just as much to blame for this mess. You should know to just speak to him as little as possible and play along with his delusion to make your life easier. It felt simple enough until he actually spoke. Everything he did got under your skin, you hated everything about him.

“Are you done?”

“Oh fuck you too”, you said while taking another drink. “I know I should just keep my mouth shut and that I am part of the problem. I have just never had to answer to anyone like I do him. I am strong enough to not have to bow my head, yet here I am, constantly forced to look at the floor.”

“You two are so alike”, he said quietly, “you’re both so strong that your first thought is to deal with things through violence. It is like two opposing magnets trying to make a connection, you just constantly fight for dominance.”

He wasn’t wrong. You hated that you had to be the one to analyze your behavior and not him but maybe that would be easier. Without really thinking you laid your head on his shoulder, “Thank you for talking with me even though you don’t really like me.”

He looked down at where your head lay before looking out at the water with you, “I know I am such a saint helping the perpetually needy”, he said while smiling which earned him a light punch in the side. “You’re not all bad. If anything, this is the most exciting things have been here since the war.”

“I know, right? I’m funny and exciting, dammit. Finally, someone here sees it”, you say with a drunken hum at the end. This, right here, was nice. It felt like being home. You smiled and gave another hum before sitting up. “I should probably go back to my quarters, thank you again for talking with me.”

“And here I thought you were going to burden me with carrying you back to your room after drooling all over my shoulder”, he said while also getting up and brushing himself off.

“I had considered it, but I figured I had burdened you enough for a day. Check back in tomorrow, yeah”, you say with a smile while waving your hand carrying the empty bottle of tequila and heading back to your room. Your servants followed you close behind, making sure you didn’t trip over any of the steps on the way.

You woke early the next morning and had your servants take you to the training area. You started with a good amount of stretches as you tried to calm your mind. Currently, your goal was to play along with Lord Spooky, so you could minimize your interactions with him. Life here was probably going to be lonely, but you were supposed to start actually training as one of Sukuna’s guards in a few days. You honestly didn’t know what all that entailed. He already ruled most of the land and didn’t have any immediate enemies, so what was your purpose? Uraume was basically his personal secretary and Geto traveled to deal with diplomatic issues.

You moved your body into a handstand as you continued to ponder. Would you continue your job as an assassin and kill those who defied him? That was the only real guess you had, because why else would he need you? He didn’t know about your blood when he first met you, so you doubted you were called to be a refillable potion for him. Did he know about your ability to enter people’s minds? Were you here to get inside people’s heads and find out just how loyal they were? To weed out potential traders before they even have a chance to act? You had absolutely no idea and this train of thought had obviously derailed from the calming track on the spiraling one.

You took in a deep breath as you continued to hold yourself upside down. You thought about your time with the Mother. She was way more cruel than he was, but she had a right to be cocky. She could wipe anyone off the face of the earth with just a thought. She is as old as time and could outsmart any creature. So why you? This wasn’t the first time you had asked yourself this question. You had no idea why she spared you and you don’t think she really did either. She would always just say curiosity and leave it at that. You wondered if you were making her proud with this decision. You knew that curses had been on the rise ever since you started working and that the ones you created were vastly different than hers or the ones organically created, but it didn’t feel like enough. Maybe that’s why you chose to serve Sukuna. He had obviously been gifted when it came to cursed energy and was cruel like Mother, like you too in a lot of ways. Deep down you are hoping he will show you the path to making Mother proud, but maybe it is just a lie you’re chasing down a rabbit hole.

You let out a sigh as you stood up from your position, shaking out your wrists and rolling your neck. You hated how lost you felt in your own thoughts, so you decided to stop thinking all together as you tapped into your energy. You could feel it expand around you as your senses changed. You could feel the energy of everything around you in greater detail than before. You could see the faint life forces of the bugs around you, feel the energy of the wind that surged into your being, see all of the servants working on the shrine and the fear that possessed them to scrub until their hands cracked. An all too familiar presence crept closer to where you were. You knew they had been walking this way for quite some time, but also knew they had already sensed you, so running was obsolete. You stood at the edge of the training grounds barefoot. To most onlookers, it looked like all you were doing was standing there. But those who could see cursed energy, could see it very faintly drapsed across the area like a spider web made of mist. Letting you know everything going on down to the smallest detail. If you wanted you could enter someone’s mind or simply listen in on conversations happening behind closed doors. You could even pool your energy into an area and create a curse if you so felt the need.

Sukuna cleared his throat as he drew closer onto the field. “Good morning King Sukuna, my apologies. I didn’t realize you used the training grounds in the morning. I will leave you to it”, you said while bowing and turning to take your leave.

“I didn’t say you could leave, pet. Continue your training, it was in your stipulations after all”, he said while walking towards the center of the training ground.

You really didn’t want to stay, but you had no choice, so you decided to continue to work on your body control. You went from a push up, into a handstand, into a one handed handstand pushup, and then back down to repeat. The Mother had taught you that one of the most effective ways to truly control your cursed energy was by learning how to control your body. You worked in slow controlled movement, allowing your energy to run along your muscles like water.

Sweat began to form on your body and visibly swam down your muscles since the top you decided to work out in was the equivalent of a modest sports bra. It wrapped around your neck, curved down from there to over your boobs, before connecting with itself in the back. You hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but now that Sukuna was here, you felt a little exposed. It’s not that you were shy about your body, but you could feel his gaze wondering over to you. His type probably has smooth skin free of scarring and devoid of muscle like a doll. Not that his type mattered to you. Because it didn’t.

“What exactly are you training by doing that”, he probed from above you.

“A key to expanding your understanding and control over your cursed energy, is to feel the general energy within you body and how it flows. Understanding how it flows and being able to feel it at any given time allows you to guide it. Which allows you to enhance certain parts of your body at a second’s notice. If you add cursed energy to the regular energy, then the effectiveness multiplies, King Sukuna,” you said through steadier breaths than he expected. To him, the concentration looked like strain, like you were having a hard time when it actually sounded like you were doing nothing when you talked.

He got down beside you and started copying what you were doing, but let out a frustrated groan,”I don’t feel anything. It isn’t working.” You weren’t looking at him but he could see your lips twitch into a smile. Brat.

You stopped your cycle and knelt beside him, “I can show you how to do it, but it would require me to touch and look at you, King Sukuna”.

“Wow are you asking me permission to touch and look at me? I never thought I’d see the day,” and he wasn’t lying. Part of him loved you asking him permission, but the other missed your rudeness. He didn’t regret punishing you yesterday, but now he was worried you might start treating him like everyone else did.

“Yes, King Sukuna. I figured it would be in my best interest to start following more of the rules”.

You weren’t smiling at him, you weren’t trying to joke with him, you were talking to him with complete indifference. He didn’t realize you would be that upset over what happened. Your hand was obviously fine now, so why were you being so cold? “You have permission for both, but if you fail to teach me, I will punish you again.” He knew that probably wasn’t the best choice of words but it definitely sparked something within yours eyes. He watched as you bit the insides of your cheeks, obviously trying to withhold a shitty remark. He wanted to hear it, though.

You took a deep breathe and swallowed what you wanted to say, “I will do my best to please you, King Sukuna.” He even hated the way you said his name with respect. He liked the way played with the vowels before.

“First, you should take a really deep breath. Feel how it fills your lungs and provides your body with oxygen”. He watches as you take a deep breath and motion for him to do the same. With a slight eye roll over how stupid this feels, he follows suit. He can feel it enter through his nose and how the muscles in his body soak it up.

“The feeling is faint but that is how your energy feels when you focus on it. Now let’s start in a narrow pushup position”, you don’t move but motion for him to. He gets into position with all four of his arms on the ground. You tell him to slowly descend and really allow himself to feel how his muscles work. He starts going down, but doesn’t feel anything.

He groans again, “It still isn’t working. I am beginning to think you are just lying and I should shred your other hand.”

“You will not shred my fucking hand due to your lack of fucking patience to follow a simple direction. I am not lying and my teaching will work if you would just shut the hell up and listen”, you cleared your throat as you remembered you were supposed to stay composed, “King Sukuna. So please just listen and follow my instructions”.

There you were. He knew he was being annoying, but he had to find some way to get you to act like normal again. “Wow and here we were doing so good on manners”, he says while going back into position. He starts going down quicker than he was supposed to so you put your hand against his chest.

“You need to go slower than how I was. It is easier to feel the energy when your motions are so controlled it looks like you aren’t moving”, you say keeping your hands on his chest and guiding him down. He looks up at you while you do it and you know your face is a little pink. His chest is firm and warm. You wonder what it would feel like to lick and bite his muscles. His skin is softer than you would have imagined and he smells so good. He smells like jasmine and petrichor. It beckons you to pull his hair back and kiss down his neck before crawling into his grasp. You want to know what it would feel like to makeout with him while his other mouth sucks on one of your nipples. He has so many hands to make sure no part of you lacks attention. You quickly pull your thoughts out of your loins as you focus on his energy. You begin to see it flowing throughout his muscles and start tracing the patterns with your fingers.

He can feel the way your fingertips ghost over his skin as you continue to avoid eye contact with him. With how big you talk, he didn’t think you would get like this just from touching his bare chest. Not that he was really one to talk. The way you were ever so lightly touching him and staring at his body, occasionally meeting his stare, had him thinking all kinds of thoughts. He thought about how your skin tasted and felt against his tongue. He wondered about how your tongue tasted, how your cum tasted. How that snarky mouth would feel wrapped around his cock. He wanted to know if you could control your inside muscles like you’re showing him and milk him like he has never been milked. He wants to see the face you make when you cum and he wants to be the one you make it for. He wondered how it would feel to have you straddle him and lay against his chest as he stroked your hair. Stupid little thoughts really.

He was so caught up in them he almost didn’t feel the flow of his energy under your fingertips, “I can feel it now. I can feel the energy flowing through me.”

You clear your throat and remove your hands from him, “That’s good. Once you are confident you have pinpointed it, start moving at the speed I was through the motions”, you say while scooting away a bit to give him room.

He continues through the motions until he has it down. He does it for a few minutes before asking how to imbue it with cursed energy.

You tell him to stop and sit up. You bring yourself closer until your knees are touching and grab two of his hands, putting them in between your own. “I am going to put my cursed energy into the energy in your hands. I won’t let it travel any further from these two and you will be able to feel it. I just need to show you how it feels, because it isn’t a process I can explain since everyone’s energy is a little different. But once you feel mine moving with your natural energy, your body should be able to figure out how to do it.”

“An inch past my hands and my other two will snap your neck, okay?”

You can’t help but smile and roll your eyes a little, “that is fair.”

You hold his hands and close your eyes as you focus on releasing a sliver of your energy into his fingers and through his palms. He watches you closely, the way your eyes flutter under your lids as you concentrate, the way your lips and chest move in sync with your breathing. He doesn’t know what he is feeling or why, but it isn’t not nice. He almost never wants this moment to end, but then he feels it. He has added cursed energy to his body before but it has never felt so connected. It is like he can feel every fiber of his being, control every atom. His own cursed energy wraps around yours, making you shiver slightly, before letting go of his hands. Your energy leaves with you and his continues to race from his hands throughout his whole body.

“This…this is incredible. I feel like I am actually alive for the first time”, he says in a quiet tone for only you two to hear.

“I am glad I could help, King Sukuna.” You get up and dust yourself off. “I think it is about time for me to wash this sweat off, though,” you say as you begin walking towards your quarters.

“Will you train in the morning again tomorrow,” he asks to what seems to be to both of your shocks. He didn’t even realize the words were coming out until they were spoken. What were you doing to him? Earlier, he wanted to tear you limb from limb, and now he wanted to never stop being touched like how you just did.

“Do you want me to?”

“What you do matters little to me”, he says in a very disinterested tone as he gets up and tries to regain his composure.

“I will be.”

“I said it didn’t matter. Now stop looking at me and speaking so casually, brat”, he retorts as he starts doing the training he originally came to do.

“Yes, King Sukuna”, you say with a small grin as you bow before leaving the training grounds.

Crazy. You were going to drive each other absolutely crazy one way or another.

Notes: this one is a bit shorter than the last but the next one will probably be quite long and will most definitely have them fucking. I hope you all enjoyed it ;) some more notes about this chapter

- Geto didn’t like the reader previously because he didn’t believe in the rumor he had heard like the King. He believed they were just an alcoholic with a knack for spreading lies. This is why he had so much hate for them in the beginning. He opens up to the idea of liking them when they practically managed to kick his head off without him even being able to react. This also makes it easier to laugh at their shitty jokes since he isn’t in such a mood over being near them anymore. When they come out in the garb he prefers to see women in he is shook. He knew that they had attractive features but he didn’t think they were his kind of attractive. The he watched them mouth off to Sukuna (something he has always wanted to do) and live?? And keep up with his attacks and literally stun all three of them?? Yea, he was kinda like damn I didn’t know you got down like that. He is by no means in love with them but he wouldn’t be against a good fuck. He is okay with being friends though as they keep things interesting.

- Sukuna fucking hates the reader and wants to annihilate them. But also hold them against his chest and brush their hair. He wants to show them levels of pain they didn’t know possible. But also wants to be the one to comfort them and make them feel better. He doesn’t love the reader, but also wants to be around them for more than just sex or power. He doesn’t understand why he is drawn to them and doesn’t want to kill them, but it has been happening since before they arrived. Mans had someone stalking them for quite some time. He hates how they mouth off and disrespect him, but also hates when they don’t. He will hurt them for not being able to keep up with his ever changing whims and then comfort them while telling them to be better from no on. Is it toxic? Duh, it’s Sukuna babes. He is not a soft or even reasonable lover… yet anyway. Who knows where they’ll end up.

- The reader was aware of someone stalking her but anytime they noticed them, their energy immediately disappeared. They have had many people watch them and plan to attack them in the past and they slaughtered all so they didn’t think too much about it. She has the same emotional conflict as Sukuna. There is obvious sexual attraction, but also he is a complete asshole, but so sweet sometimes. She is no saint, nor is she fragile, so maybe she deserves that kind of love. She can always dish it back out if she chose. Sukuna would secretly love it because no one has ever been able to truly hurt him. But realistically they are two kids that were dropped on their heads into cursed energy apparently. Born to be monsters, but who knows if that will be all their legacies leave.

Taglist: @missroro

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five-and-dimes · 7 months ago

Text

And When You Asked For Light/I Set Myself On Fire

It is Dream’s function, his duty, his purpose, to fulfill dreams on the rare occasion he is called to them. Therefore, he has no right to say no to Hob Gadling in his dreams no matter how he himself feels. Hob disagrees.

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Dream does not often visit Hob’s dreams. Or at least, he hasn’t before. It’s strange to him, to wander the subconscious of his beloved, despite having recently been given explicit permission.

“I did not know.”

“How could you not know?” Hob asked, sincere confusion on his face. Hob had been so earnestly shocked when Dream had returned his sudden kiss and stumbled confession of love. Apparently, he had assumed his feelings were unrequited, because he thought Dream had known of his feelings this whole time and simply ignored them.

“I dream about you all the time,” he explained, “How on earth could you not know I love you?”

The words still send a pleasant shiver down Dream’s spine. Love. Love. Love.

“It would be a gross invasion of privacy,” Dream stated, “I only enter humanity’s dreams if I sense there is a problem needing to be dealt with, or if one of my subjects has cause for concern. Otherwise, your dreams are your own.”

He did not say that he had always feared what he might look like in Hob’s dreams. A monster, perhaps. Nothing at all, perhaps. He feared Hob’s mind would cast him in a role he was not ready to play.

Hob’s face softened, and he chuckled, “Well, consider this a blanket invitation,” he leaned forward, more confidence than he had had the first time, “You’re always welcome in my dreams. They’re mostly about you anyway,” he said teasingly, “Hope that doesn’t offend you.”

“It does not.” Hob laughed at his response, and then they are kissing again and again and again.

He is still hesitant to disrupt the dreams of his lover too frequently, but he has begun to visit him once or twice a week, on top of seeing him in the Waking. It feels greedy, after so long seeing each other only once a century, and he is certain Hob will soon grow tired of him. But for now, Hob still welcomes him warmly, and so Dream will indulge for as long as he is allowed.

On this night, when he steps into Hob’s dream he cannot help but smile as he sees himself surrounded by Hob’s memory of the White Horse. As with most dreams that build their foundation off of memories, it is not a fully accurate replica. It is a composite of the tavern through all the years Hob has been within its walls, a tapestry of how the tavern has changed over the centuries. But as he approaches the center of the dream- as he approaches Hob- the tavern becomes more clearly the version it was in 1398.

Nodding respectfully, he dismisses the dream who had been watching over Hob, taking their place in holding the structure of the dream. His own figure becomes draped in the garb he had worn on that fateful day so long ago, and he smiles as he comes to stand before his lover.

“Did I hear you say you have no intention of dying?”

Hob looks up, eyes glittering and full of mirth, just as they had been in the Waking on that day. When their eyes meet, he can see the moment Hob becomes aware. His head whips around, taking in the dreamspace consciously, and then he laughs.

“Oh, this is brilliant,” He grins, and then he stands and kisses Dream without hesitation.

Dream huffs a laugh against his mouth, “Were you feeling nostalgic this evening, my beloved?”

“You know, I’m not usually one for nostalgia. But I do think about this day all the time” Hob says, grinning slyly.

“Oh?” Dream also thinks of this day often, but in a… distant way. His memories are like stained glass- he must step back to see the whole picture, otherwise he becomes lost in the individual shards. The way the Waking had felt so harsh and suffocating, the way his sister pushed him towards humanity despite all the times she’s told him that he cares too much, the way he had heard a mortal declaring he would not die and thought to himself ‘would that I could take your place’. These fragments are sharp and cutting if he looks too close, but from afar, he is able to see the shape of the day he met Hob Gadling. And that is too pretty a picture to discard.

Hob hums, tugging Dream closer, kissing the hinge of his jaw as he whispers in his ear, “Oh yes. Even before I knew what you were, I took one look at you and wanted you,” Dream can feel him grin against his skin, “I imagined how it might feel to dirty up such a lovely lord. Wanted to take you right here in front of everyone.”

The reality of the situation hits Dream like a wave of ice water. He had been so distracted by seeing his lover in his realm, seeing him wrapped in the comfort of the Dreaming, that he hadn’t recognized the specifics of their surroundings. Not the White Horse, no, deeper than that. The specific flavor of this particular dream that, now that he was paying attention, coated Dream’s tongue and throat like tar.

This is a sex dream.

It’s silly- ridiculous, unreasonable, unfair- for him to want to pull away like he does. He forces his body still under Hob’s hands. Still, but pliable. He doesn’t freeze. He allows himself to be backed up against the table and laid out across it, allows his head to tilt for Hob to kiss along his neck. All around them the shadows of Hob’s memory stare at them, figures of his old friends sitting in their seats around the table where Hob has placed Dream, watching Hob put his hands under Dream’s clothes and Dream inexplicably wants to cry. It is a dream, it is him, it is just him and Hob and the scaffolding of a memory made from Dream’s own being. It shouldn’t matter that at the moment that scaffolding looks like eyes on them.

But it does. Dream can feel the weight of the White Horse patrons’ eyes on them as Hob runs his hands up Dream’s thighs because that is what this dream is supposed to feel like. It is a manifestation of a fantasy that Hob has that could not necessarily be indulged in in the Waking world. That is the purpose of this dream.

So Dream has no right to object to it.

He has said that Hob’s dreams are his own. It would not be right for Dream to put a stop to this one just because it reminds him of 100 years of being stared at while naked and vulnerable. A part of him recognizes the lust and attraction seeped through the dream, drawn to Hob like a gravitational pull, but all Dream can feel is the frozen terror of a prey animal- like the nightmares he has made for deer and hare, glowing eyes in the darkness waiting to strike.

It’s not until Hob starts to pull away that Dream realizes that he is bleeding those feelings into the dream. Like blood staining a carpet and disrupting the pattern.

“Dream?” Hob’s brow is furrowed, eyes wide and concerned as he feels Dream’s fear slip across his hands, feels the way the audience around them slowly shifts from lustful and appreciative to hungry.

How disgraceful, Dream thinks. How shameful, reprehensible, vile.

“I apologize,” he raises a shaking hand to grip his own throat, putting pressure on a metaphorical wound as he reels himself in. The dream rights itself around them, the patrons around them who were tensed to strike settling back in their seats, their gazes softening into lust once more. Exhaling slowly, Dream lets his hand fall from his neck, relaxing his posture and arching against the table to press his hips against Hob’s.

“I apologize,” he repeats, softer, “shall we continue?”

Hob’s hands land on his hips, but do not pull him closer. He does not grind against him or slip his fingers beneath his clothes. No. Hob pushes him away.

“Dream,” he sounds upset, confused, Dream’s failure must be worse than he thought, “What happened just now? I felt… It felt almost like I was in the beginning of a nightmare? Or, or something like that?”

“I apologize,” Maybe if he says it enough, Hob will forgive him, “that was my doing. Unintentionally,” he adds quickly, unsure if admitting the lack of control will make it better or worse, “I did not mean to affect the structure of this dream. It will not happen again, I assure you.”

There is a stretch of silence as Hob tries to piece together the things Dream isn’t saying. “Love…” Hob is breathless, eyes widening with horror, and he desperately hopes he is wrong, “Was that… how you’re feeling right now?”

“It does not matter. This is not my dream, Hob Gadling.” Dream won't meet his eyes, his body stiff and tense even as he runs his hands down Hob's chest in a way that is clearly trying to be alluring, “It is yours. And it is yours to do with as you wish."

Hob feels ice in his veins. Because his instincts tell him that the 'it' Dream is referring to is himself. An ownership that Hob doesn't want. He finds himself jerking away from Dream's hands, stumbling back to put as much space between them as he can. He's spent 600 years wanting to touch his stranger. But not like this.

His voice is soft and shaky when he speaks.

“This dream is over.”

Dream flinches back as if he'd been slapped, sitting up hesitantly, his voice a mix of confusion and offense.

“Excuse me-?”

Hob screeches back, “This dream is over!”

And with a sharp gasp, he finds himself snapping awake in his bed.

When he sits up, he finds Dream standing at the foot of his bed, brow furrowed in confusion.

“Why did you wake yourself? If something was not to your satisfaction I would have-”

“Stop,” Hob interrupts harshly, heart pounding in his chest. Dream’s teeth click shut, looking on the edge of frustration, but remaining silent as Hob gathers himself. Running a hand through his hair, Hob takes in the rigidness in his lover’s body, like he is bracing for something. His expression softens, and he pats the spot on the mattress next to him in invitation.

There is a moment of hesitation, but then Dream is taking careful, measured steps towards Hob. He moves like a stray cat approaching a strange hand, cautious and curious and ready to bite or claw or flee at the slightest wrong move. Hob stays still, and eventually, Dream lowers himself slowly to sit beside him, eying Hob out of the corner of his eye.

“Dream,” he is careful to keep his voice gentle and soft, “you know… you can always tell me if you don’t want to do something.”

Turning to face Hob fully, Dream blinks in confusion, “But… we were in the Dreaming?”

“So?”

“So I must…” he exhales sharply in frustration, like Hob is being deliberately obtuse, “You were dreaming. Therefore I must… It would not be right for me to…”

Hob frowned, “You ‘must’? But I mean, you changed the dream a little bit-”

“I told you, that was unintentional-”

“But you still did, so obviously you can. I thought you were like, all powerful in the Dreaming, I mean, it’s your realm!”

“And it’s for you,” Dream answers sharply, “It is your dream. My purpose is to provide for dreamers. It is my job, my duty. There is no excuse for… for denying you. If you call for me I will gladly be a vessel for your fantasies.”

“Not gladly,” Hob corrects, “You were scared, I could feel it.”

“It does not matter-”

“Yes, it does,” Hob snapped, throwing his hands up in frustration, “Dream I don’t want to do anything that you don’t want, not ever. You’re allowed to say no!”

He doesn’t mean to raise his voice, but by the end he is shouting, Dream still and silent beside him, jaw clenched and hands curled into tight fists. Sighing, Hob feels himself deflate. He’s not angry, not really. He’s scared. He is holding something fragile in his hands and he is so very scared of breaking it.

“You’re allowed to say no,” He repeats, softer this time.

There is a long pause, Dream’s eyes searching his face before finally looking down at his lap, “Here, maybe.” And he sounds so uncertain, his voice almost a question, Am I? Am I allowed to be safe here, at least? “But not in the Dreaming.” He says it so definitively that Hob feels his heart shatter, “I serve humanity. I serve you. It would be a grave injustice to take away your dream.”

Hob doesn’t know what to say to that. He doesn’t know how to ask if this is the first time Dream has gone along with something he didn’t want or if it’s just the first time he couldn’t hide it. He doesn’t know how to explain to a concept, someone so far above Hob, that he is allowed autonomy.

Reaching out, he covers Dream’s trembling fist with his hand. “You’re my dream,” he whispers, “Just you. You happy, you safe, you loved.” He dips his head, trying to catch Dream’s eyes, “I don’t dream of hurting you.”

He’s barely finished speaking when Dream rips his hand away, slipping off the bed and onto his feet quick and graceful, shoulders hunched up like a cat backed in a corner.

“You cannot hurt me, Hob Gadling,” he hisses through clenched teeth, “Do you think me so weak as to be unable to endure a bit of pain for the sake of my duty-”

“Which is it,” Hob interrupts sharply, “Can you not be hurt, or can you endure the hurt?”

Dream’s body stiffens even more, and Hob thinks if he were not an otherworldly being he might have cracked a tooth from how hard his jaw was clenched. His hands shake at his sides, and his eyes are narrowed and glassy, caught in a trap of his own making.

Softening, Hob rises to stand in front of him, though he does not reach for him just yet, “Dream. I don’t think you’re weak. I don’t think less of you for having boundaries, or being hurt. And you were hurt,” he continues before Dream can argue again, “Don’t insult us both by pretending otherwise.”

Swallowing thickly, Dream’s eyes drop to the ground, not quite quick enough to hide the gleam of tears though. When he doesn’t respond, Hob can’t help but sigh heavily. Sad, and frustrated, and overwhelmed.

“I don’t think you should visit my dreams for a bit.” Dream snaps his head up, and he looks so utterly heartbroken that Hob’s words rush out of him, “I’m not breaking up with you,” he insists, “I still want to see you as much as possible here in the Waking. Or, I don’t know, if there’s other parts of the Dreaming we could go where you don’t… don’t feel obligated. But I don’t want to put you in a position where you think you can’t be honest with me. I don’t want to risk not noticing when something goes wrong.”

He thinks his words maybe help a little. Dream looks less like Hob has ripped his heart out with a blunt instrument, but he still looks… defeated. The tension has bled from him, leaving him slumped like a wilted flower. Hob risks reaching out, bringing a hand to cup Dream’s face, and sighs in relief when Dream allows himself to lean into the touch.

“I am sorry.”

Hob pulls him closer, until he can draw Dream into his arms and tuck his face against his shoulder, “It’s alright,” he whispers, “I promise it’s alright. I’m not getting off the ride just ‘cause of a bump in the road.”

Dream lets out a small huff of laughter against his neck, and Hob smiles. It’s late, and he’s tired, and there is still a deep concern for everything he has learned about his lover tonight.

But Dream is still here, safe in his arms, and that’s enough for now.

#the sandman #dreamling #my writing #‘Dream not understanding consent’ my beloved #someday I want to come back and write a second chapter #but I need a break from this one lol

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waywardcrow · 1 year ago

Text

Koala hugs.

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Librarian!Reader.

Part of the Sweeter than fiction series.

(This is the first post about it so don’t think you miss something, I got inspiration and here we are)

Summary: After a long day, the only thing she needed is to be in the arms of Bucky.

TW: Stress and a little bit of anger but nothing too explicit, an homophobic asshole (just mentioned), books being mistreated (idk, it gave me anxiety), fluff, Bucky as a human pillow, mention of past insecurities, a petty girl, established relationship, as always: English is not my first language so please let me know if I make a mistake.

Picture from pinterest and graphic by the amazing @ firefly-graphics so all credits to the creators.

The bag hit the floor as soon as she walked in her house, too tired to cared about it this time or about the shoes she left in the middle of the hall the girl made her way to her destiny.

She had one goal in mind, there was one thing that helped her to don’t yell at the little shits who decided to throw books for fun at the back of the library, the thing that made her don’t smack the Karen who went to her desk to complain about the queer books they had in the shelves, the librarian’s head ached from faking a smile while telling that asshole she could file a complain in the city hall if she wanted to. That was her job, not to start a fight before the fairytales reading she had scheduled for that afternoon could begin.

And to make her day more shitty, she found Dolores in the store before going home, the redhead didn’t miss the chance to try to make her react remembering out loud her “time” with Bucky in the cashier’s line before Bobby told her to behave or his wife will kick her out of their business. Dolores will had haunt her forever with her past with Bucky but that was before, Bucky and her didn’t went through hell fighting their ghosts to let that bitch win.

That knowledge didn’t cured her bad mood, her remedy was sleeping in the couch hugging one of her pillows agains his muscular chest. Bucky wasn’t one to take naps in the late afternoon but the last days babysitting Sam and Rose’s kid left him exhausted.

Peach smiled at the sight of him, it was impossible not to, a 6’4 tattooed biker beefy Bucky Barnes cuddling a pink puffy pillow with such a peaceful expression in his handsome face was just so beautiful.

The girl took out her coat and left her in the floor with the grocery bag, not caring about anything else but her boyfriend, Peach pulled Bucky’s pillow from his arms to leave them ready for her.

The once calm expression on her boyfriend changed to a sleepy and cute one when he saw her.

“Hey Peach” his voice raspy and deeper than usual made her pout “what’s the matter?” Bucky started to get up but with one hand she stopped him.

“I want koala hugs”

His eyebrows relaxed before taking her by the hand and pulling her against him, barely awake but loving how far his girlfriend came through, she was still doubtful sometimes but it was getting easier for her to voice her needs.

“Love you so much sweets” he whispered in her skin when she wrapped her thighs around his waist and her arms found their way around his neck, that was their favorite place.

“Love you too Bucky” she sighed, feeling all her stress melt away in his scent, breathing him in as she closed her eyes, letting sleep take them both away.

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x f!reader #biker!bucky x reader

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cloudlessly-light · 2 months ago

Note

Hi!!!!

I had an idea for a fill, let me know what you think of it!

So Penelope finds an old picture of Hotch when he was young (like in Love and Human Remains with longer hair) and she pulls the picture out to JJ and Emily at a girls' night and Emily has a flashback to that time when she first met Hotch when he was having his first mission at her house 👀👀👀 her best-kept secret being that they did shenanigans (I guess Haley doesn't exist in this universe 'cuz I can't imagine Hotch cheating lol)

Anyway, I'm just giving up this idea of context for filth material if you ever need one LOL as a way for past filth or BAU filth, anything you feel like it 🩷

Title: Best hidden secrets Summary: Nobody knew about that summer all those years ago, in fact most of the time Emily could pretend that the summer fling she had when she was 21 was nothing but a dream. But then Garcia finds a picture of a young Aaron Hotchner, and it all comes back to her. Word count: 4,1k Rating: Explicit Warnings: Smut, dirty talk, consumption of alcohol,Young Hotchniss

Girl’s nights always ended up in one out of two ways, either they would end up drunk in heaps of laughter, or they would get called in and it would end their night abruptly. Tonight it was the former, Emily and JJ sitting in Penelope’s apartment as they opened a third bottle of wine.

“Sometimes I get so tired being stuck with Morgan.” Emily complains as she empties her glass and Penelope immediately refills it. “I know we’re in a male dominated field, but one more woman wouldn’t hurt.” She turns to JJ who’s sitting in front of her on a pink plush chair, her eyes unfocused. “Or you could train to become a profiler!” Her accusatory tone causes Penelope to snort.

“God no, never.” The blonde chuckles at the way she frowns at her. “Don’t get me wrong I admire what you guys do, I always will. But I like being the liaison, the link between the team and the rest of the world.” She ignores when Emily rolls her eyes dramatically at her words, not taking offence to the other woman and instead grinned winningly at her.

“Besides, the guys aren’t so bad.” Penelope chimes in as she pours herself a glass that’s close to overfilling. “We’re going to need more wine.” She mutters to herself, earning nods from the other two women.

“The testosterone is too much sometimes.” Emily grunts. It had been a long day, one of those days when she wasn’t taken seriously by the locals but the moment any of the men of their team said something, everybody stood at attention. It was annoying, always having to fight for the respect she deserved when her male coworkers never had to do the same.

“On a positive note though, they’re all pretty easy on the eyes.” JJ smirks, half slouched on the armchair.

“Even Rossi?” She teased and Penelope’s mouth dropped open in exaggerated chock.

“Stop he’s like our dad!” She shakes her head as if she’s trying to rid herself of mental images.

“But even you have to admit that when he was younger he was handsome!” JJ argues as she flings herself from her slouching position to stare the other two women down, daring them to disagree.

“Oh speaking of handsome when younger!” Penelope all but flies up from the couch and runs to grab her laptop across the room. “You won’t believe what I found!” By the time she comes back JJ and Emily are both seated on the couch, the latter reaching to empty the bottle of wine in their glasses.

“We definitely need more wine.” JJ slurs as she reaches for her glass and Emily nods along.

“Later, you have to see this!” Penelope types quickly on her laptop until she finds what she’s looking for and then puts the computer in front of her friends, showing them the screen. “You can barely even recognize him!”

For a few moments it’s silent, two pairs of eyes glued to the screen and then JJ moves forward, inspecting the picture on Aaron Hotchner in his late 20’s standing next to a man she doesn’t recognize in a suit.

“Is that Hotch?!” She squints her eyes while Emily feels a smirk tug at the corner of her mouth. “He looks so young! Look at his hair!”

“That can’t be him right?!”

“He’s so pretty!”

Their voices fade away as she feels herself thinking back to memories she had tried her absolute hardest to pretend weren’t real, but it was all coming back to her now.

“Emily, this is Agent Hotchner.” Elizabeth introduced her to the new agent signed to do security clearances for her mother’s staff.

“Hey.” She extends her hand and tries to be as indifferent as she can be. She was used to this, was used to agents and security being around, following her and her parents day in and day out. It had been like this her entire life, but no one had ever looked like him.

“Nice to meet you, miss.” He shakes it politely, some of his hair falling over his forehead as he does and she finds herself wanting to push it back. He gives her a small smile, but it’s gone just as quickly, just barely showing a hint of dimple before standing back.

“Emily is here until the end of summer before going back to Yale to finish her senior year.” Elizabeth continues, oblivious to the way Emily’s eyes are glued to his face.

“He doesn’t need to know my life story, mother.” The sarcasm drips from her tongue and she catches the way Aaron’s eyebrow arches the tiniest bit, showing his amusement. “But,” She turns back to him. “I’ll be around.” She flashes him a smile before turning to walk back of the stairs towards her room. When she turns around, she catches him still looking at her, dark eyes intrigued.

It doesn’t surprise her that he’s falling into bed with her less than two weeks later. Well technically not bed, considering that he’s currently pressing her against the fridge, but she doesn’t think those details matter. What does matter is how his warm hand is sneaking under her tank and how his tongue is licking into her mouth, chasing her taste.

She had been on a mission for the last couple of weeks, had used every opportunity to flirt with him, not subtle in her desire for this new man in her home. He had been polite, but never once crossing the line of what was appropriate, even though Emily knew he wanted to. She often saw him looking her way, knew that he had found reasons to be around her when he really didn’t need to be. It was fun, a summer flirt, something to distract her from the fact that she was in DC for the summer, when really all she had wanted was to be anywhere else. And when someone as handsome as Aaron Hotchner came knocking, it felt like fate. And really, was she really one to ignore fate?

So no one could really blame her when she starts showing up in more revealing clothes, or puts a little extra effort when doing her makeup in the morning. She had his attention, that was phase one done.

Phase two was just as easy, she soon found that he got a little nervous around her, sometimes even fumbling for words or a hint of a blush coloring his cheeks. It was fun, having this slightly older man being so affected by her, but he still wouldn’t respond to her advances. It was infuriating, it was exciting.

What she definitely hadn’t counted on however, was that the first time he breaks it would be at 1am in the kitchen. She’s just about to get herself a bottle of water before going to bed and to her surprise he’s there, making himself a sandwich.

“What are you doing here so late?” She grins at the way he jumps at the sound of her voice, it’s the first time she’s caught him off guard.

“I had some work that couldn’t wait until morning.” He turns to face her and he can’t help himself when he slowly lets his eyes drag down her body. She’s wearing a red tank, and possibly the smallest pair of shorts he’s ever seen, showing off her smooth thighs to his wandering eyes. Her long hair is pulled up into a messy bun, showing off her slender neck and collarbone, and he has to physically grab the counter to keep himself from reaching for her.

“And you got hungry?” Her eyebrow arches knowingly at the way he’s staring at her, when his eyes meet hers she smirks.

“I did.” His eyes stay on her as she gets closer to him, seemingly unbothered that she’s standing almost naked in front of him. He really wasn’t surprised. She had been a menace, something forbidden that dripped of sin, dangling in front of him and every day it was getting harder to stay away from her. Once she’s right in front of him, he lets himself take her in, face free of makeup, Emily being fully herself and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen a more beautiful woman.

“Can I have some?” Her voice lowers slightly, her heart beating wildly in her chest at the way he’s staring at her, something fluttering in her belly as he stands firm. It’s the first time he hasn’t put space between them.

“Of my sandwich?” It’s his turn to arch an eyebrow and she feigns a sigh. When her fingers carefully push some of his hair out of his face he lets her, patiently waiting for what’s coming next.

“What I really want is for you to kiss me, but if a bite of your sandwich is all I get, I guess that’ll have to be enough.” Her eyes stay on his, her chest just barely grazing his when he takes a deep breath and he licks his bottom lip.

“Emily, I work for your mother.” He tries, but he knows he’s fighting a losing battle, that the moment he had laid eyes on her that he would be lost under her spell.

“That’s not a no.” She’s in his personal space, can feel his breath on her face and the warmth of his body and she already feels heat pooling between her thighs. “Is it a no?”

His hand finds its way to the back of her neck, his thumb pressing just under her chin as he pulls her even closer to him as he angles her face up towards his, keeping her in place.

“It should be.” He whispers against her lips, suddenly aware that they’re in the kitchen and that anybody still up could hear them. “Why do I feel like you’ll be my downfall?”

“Would that be so bad?” She doesn’t get a response. Instead he pulls her in and kisses her, kissing her with such ferocity that it makes her gasp into it and he takes advantage of it. His tongue delves into her mouth and a low sound rumbles from his throat at the taste of her. She shivers at the sound, and knows she needs to hear it again.

Her hands push the stupid jacket he’s still wearing off his shoulders, then quickly works on his tie even as he pushes her backwards. Her back collides with the fridge and the cold steel against her heated skin forces a sound close to a whimper to fall from her lips. He doesn’t seem to notice, too busy feeling her soft skin under his palms.

His hand moves under her tank, his large hand pressing into the small of her back to keep her close, like she’d even think about pushing him away. The feel of him was addictive, his cologne invading her senses as the rough stubble on his cheek scratches her fingers as she cups his face. It’s not until he’s picking her up that she stops kissing him, a sound of surprise forcing them apart.

“You’re a menace.” He almost sounds amused, a small grin on his face as he carries her through the kitchen to sit her down on the kitchen island, next to the forgotten sandwich that neither notice falls on the floor.

“I’m not.” She smiles as her heels hook behind him and she pulls him close. When he presses against her she can feel the bulge of him and she grinds her hips with a low moan. His fingers dig into her thigh in return, short nails still managing to leave small crescent indents on her skin. Secretly she hopes the marks would stay, to remember him like this, wanting and free.

“You are.” His hand finds the hair tie she’s used to keep her hair up and with ease gets it out of her hair, liking the way her long hair sweeps across her shoulders. She stays quiet, almost curious as his hand then wraps around her neck again to pull her into a kiss. He doesn’t stop kissing her, lets his hand move over her body until she’s gasping and straining. The feeling of her legs tightening around his hips makes satisfaction run through him, she’s impatient, impatient for him and that thought shots straight to his straining cock. His hand finds the hem of her shirt and he pulls it up slowly, not pulling away from her until he’s tossing the flimsy tank somewhere behind him.

He's driving her insane, his lips and tongue and hands moving with secure movements, their position making it impossible for her to get what she wants and she doesn’t think she could wait much longer. Her fingers work on the buttons of his shirt, but then he sucks one of her nipples between his lips and bites and her head falls back with a groan. The slight sting shoots straight to her clit and as his tongue soothes the bite his hands start to pull on her shorts.

She helps him by lifting her hips and as he pulls both her panties and shorts off her eyes doesn’t leave his. His chest is heaving, his lips kiss swollen and dark hair messy from the way her fingers have run through it. The shirt she still hasn’t managed to get off him shows a hint of soft skin, and as he boxes her in with his arms on either side of her hips, she doesn’t think she’s ever seen a sexier man.

“You’re beautiful.” He whispers and it forces a blush on her cheeks but she doesn’t look away from the brown of his eyes.

“Thank you.” She says as her hand fists the white shirt to pull him even closer. “Now, this whole suit thing is hot and all, but I really need you to take your clothes off.”

He laughs, and it’s the first time she’s heard it. The sound is deep and carefree and she can’t help but to feel proud that she was the reason he sounded like that. She had a feeling that he didn’t laugh often. But the thought is gone as quickly as it came, because he’s unbuttoning the rest of his shirt, lets it fall to the floor and then works on his belt. She stops him, getting the belt undone herself, and the button and zipper of his slacks quickly following. When he finally pushes down his pants and boxers down, the sound that rumbles in her throat is something she’s never heard before, stuck somewhere between relief and need.

She reaches for him, her legs once again hooking around him and her arms come around his neck to catch his lips in another kiss. The smear of him is hot against her belly as he grinds against her and she reaches between them to carefully wrap her fist around him.

“Fuck:” The rawness of his gasp against her lips causes goosebumps on her skin and she strokes him, hoping to hear it again.

“If you keep doing that, this is going to end far quicker than either of us want.” He warns and wraps his own hand around her wrist, stopping her movements. “And I want this to last.”

She doesn’t fight him when he lifts her hand back to his neck, her nails scratching through his hair at the back of it and he hums softly.

“I’ve imagined what you sound like, what you taste like.” He whispers between soft kisses to her cheek, jaw and neck. “I’ve fantasized about what you feel like, longed to have you like this.” By the time he stops speaking he’s looking at her again, his forehead pressed against hers.

“Then what are you waiting for?” She’s whispering too, but then he’s pulling her to the edge of the counter and she lets out a soft chuckle. “Fuck me, Aaron.”

He makes sure she’s ready, pushes the tip of him through her folds and is immediately met by wet heat. The feel of her forces a hiss from him and he grabs her hip with one hand, keeping her still as he slowly pushes forward.

“Jesus.” She sucks in a breath at the stretch of him and her eyes close in pleasure. He’s taking it slow and she finds herself pulling him in closer, needing him to move, needing more.

He’s tethering the edge of self-control already and when she starts to grind her hips against him, any semblance of it flies out the window. His hold on her tightens and he starts to thrust with longer, harder pushes of his hips and she moans loudly in response.

“Can’t be too loud.” He reminds her. The risk of anybody hearing them was low, the kitchen further away in the estate and few people being in the house at this time of night, but it wasn’t zero. So when she moans his name he kisses her to swallow up the sound.

She kisses him back, more teeth and tongue than lips as she digs her nails into his shoulders. The slightly pained hiss lets her know that she’s probably breaking skin, but she doesn’t stop, because he doesn’t. Instead he’s pulling her into each of his thrusts, makes sure that he’s hitting as deep inside of her as possible and she knows that she’ll feel him for days.

“You feel so fucking good.” He gasps against her ear once kissing becomes too hard. “So tight on my cock.”

“Don’t stop.” She pants as sweat starts to cover their bodies as they find a rhythm. Her brown eyes are already heavy lidded as she starts to lose the fight to stay sitting. The wood is hard against her elbows as she leans back but she ignores it in favor of being able to watch him. His jaw clenches as he bites back another groan. His muscles are tense, a bead of sweat is trailing down his neck and his large hands are probably bruising the skin of her hips with his hold.

“Touch yourself.” It’s not a question, it’s not even a request, it’s an order and for some reason unknown to her, her body responds immediately to it. She tightens around him, and he hums in response. “Oh the little ambassadors daughter likes being told what to do huh?”

“No.” She still does what he said, one hand moving between their bodies to find her clit and circling it.

He doesn’t call her out on her blatant lie, instead he focuses on the feel of her, of how she looks laying spread out on the kitchen island, a blush tinting her cheeks and trailing down her chest, her hair wild and messy, dark eyes hooded and hazy from pleasure. The feeling of her slick walls tightening around him makes him groan, the feel of her unlike anything he’s felt before.

“I’m close.” She whimpers as her fingers continue to move over her clit and his hips continue to move against hers, clearly chasing his own pleasure. “Come with me, fuck please come with me.”

“Where?” He barely has enough brain capacity to ask and when her mouth turns into a filthy smirk he already knows.

“I’m on the pill.” The sound that rips from him is her undoing, the heat in the pit of her stomach exploding and her body starts to tense. Her words seem to have set something off in him, and his movements become harder, faster and deeper. She’s biting down on her own fist to keep from screaming as she comes, her center trembling around his cock as her back arches and eyes roll back.

The feeling of her tightening walls, mixed with the way she comes undone for him forces his own orgasm and he comes with a rough groan that he knows is too loud. But he can’t help himself, the pleasure of his release enough to make his legs turn to jelly his brain to short-circuit. He stays pressed deep inside of her as they try to catch their breath.

It’s Emily who breaks the silence first, a laugh leaving her.

“Well, that was fun. Want to do it again?”

He joins in on her laughter before helping her to sit up, only to claim her lips in a kiss.

“Yes I do.”

“Hello? Earth to Emily?”

She’s jerked back from her daydream by two blondes staring at her.

“Are you okay?” JJ asks, concern shining in her blue eyes.

“What? Oh yeah I’m fine, sorry I must have spaced out.” She offers a laugh that sounds forced even to her own ears.

“I’d say, I show you a picture of boss man and you completely disappeared.” Penelope’s looks at her curiously. “Something you want to tell us?”

“No, of course not. That would be ridiculous.” She rolls her eyes and reaches for the mostly empty glass on the table and finishes it. “Now, who wants to share their most awkward date, cause I bet that whatever you have, I’ll have you beat.” She arches an eyebrow in amusement when JJ gets up to grab their last bottle of wine and Penelope quickly starts to ramble, both of them seemingly forgetting all about her little moment.

“Oh you won’t believe what happened when I was in high school…”

By the time she gets home it’s late and her eyesight is blurry. She kicks off her shoes and stumbles into the living room, somewhat proud of herself that she doesn’t fall. It’s no small miracle that she manages to get undressed and into bed, even going as far as to clean her face of make up before doing so.

“Shit.” She mutters as she looks at her phone, the time reading 4.30am. Tomorrow was going to suck.

She lays back against her soft pillows and tries to sleep, but her intoxicated brain won’t stop thinking about that summer, about him. That time in the kitchen wasn’t the only time, not by a long shot. They had a secret fling for weeks, both of them aware that it wouldn’t lead anywhere, and naturally ending it on good terms when she was going back to Yale. When she had gotten the chance to work for the BAU, she knew he would be her boss, but as she strode into his office a little more than a year earlier he hadn’t mentioned their history. Neither had she.

They pretended that it didn’t happen and most days she could ignore the way her body remembered his touch, could ignore that she knew what he sounded like as he gasped in groaned her name in pleasure. Most days she could ignore that she hadn’t slept with her boss in another life.

Tonight she couldn’t.

She knows she shouldn’t, that it was dumb and risky and everything she didn’t want to be. But with alcohol clouding her judgement she could pretend that it wasn’t the worst idea she could have had. She starts typing, triple checking that there weren’t any spelling mistakes before sending him a text.

Prentiss: Garcia found a picture of you when you were younger. It reminded me of that summer.

She didn’t expect a response, it was too early for him to be up. But then her phone dinged beside her.

Hotch: I take it girls night went well.

She would have rolled her eyes if it wouldn’t make her nauseous. He was always serious, always on the verge of brooding. And fuck her, if it wasn’t something that attracted her. She stares at the text for a few minutes as she debates with herself. The line was barely crossed, this could be chalked up to being drunk and foolish, but if she said what she wanted to say, there was no going back. Her phone dings with another message before she’s made up her mind and when she sees his name on the screen and not Penelope’s asking if she made it home safe, she feels a flutter in her stomach.

Hotch: I think about that summer too.

Now that got her attention. She feels the flutter in her stomach turn into knots, anxiety and excitement somehow mixing as she starts to type.

Prentiss: I think you should come over.

It doesn’t take more than a few seconds before her phone dings in quick succession.

Hotch: That’s a terrible idea and you know it.

Hotch: I always said you were a menace.

Hotch: I’m on my way.

Well, this night turned out nothing like she had thought. In fact, it was better.

#hotchniss #hotchniss fanfiction #hotchniss smut #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss smut #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #hotch x emily #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds smut

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mamiya-a · 1 month ago

Text

Playing dangerous

Mother Miranda/reader

Warning for explicit content.

Chapter 14: Love

Summary:

"Love is nothing else but an insatiable thirst of enjoying a greedily desired object." - Michel de Montaigne.

Miranda doesn't like her situation, at all. Neither her current weak position on that matter. She would easily say and show her clear hatred towards the happening, if it weren't for her pride whispering into her ears, honey covered words telling her she can endure it. Although, with every passing second she gets angrier, a rare feeling, given her eagerness for participation. She blinks rapidly, questioning if rushing out of this quickly put together trap is worth the trouble. Of course not, she came here willingly. Yet the purpose of her visit has lost its sense.

Miranda can feel thickness of darkness landing upon her body, though she feels more like a corpse currently, it's enough to keep her awake and sane. The devoid of light has never been a problem to her, but eyes can easily betray the brain. The picture of an unknown room is clearly, an empty box she has found herself trapped in, however it hurts her to acknowledge she's alone. Loneliness is a trait she often suffers from. Swallowing it is a kid's game, but knowing that someone you love has left you on purpose is another question.

Waiting for Mia is a long, boring tragedy. Miranda would say exhausting if she were a normal human. Which she's not, which Mia loves. Owning her rare obedience is a strange pleasure for the younger women. That's why she feels no guilt in locking her so called lover in a trap she can escape, but won't - simply because she has been instructed to behave. That's why Miranda's mobility is limited too. With her stomach pressed to a significantly soft bed, head buried in pillows and arms wrapping with tight rope, she can't do anything else but to wait.

It's raining outside. Every drop of salty sky water hits the ground relentlessly, causing an echo inside the overall silent room. Miranda uses each droplet to count the minutes , spent in pure darkness and solitude. Her mind even starts to wonder if this is some kind of punishment Mia is forcing upon her, after hearing the news that the blonde woman wishes to cut their relationship. This time entirely. Thinking about this makes her pale skin itchy, the rope is squeezing her wrists too tightly, three layers of scrappy robes are covering her uncomfortably and her hair is spilling around her face. Everything is irritating her, everything is too stimulating. The sounds of the rain and the emptiness of the bedroom. Nothing and everything merging together to spin her head to the point of dizziness.

Then the door opens. It's strange how the morally evil woman brings light into Miranda's universe. It's pure manipulation, of course. A very precisely calculated tactic - to drawn the helpless woman to the point of pity and immediately after hit her with illuminating care. Mia's strings of love are twisted, but not enough since they crave to capture another soul into them. And Miranda has made the mistake to allow this. The yellow light ,coming from another room, quickly dies. Mia replaces it by turning on a lamp , strong enough to illuminate the bedroom. A curved smile appears on her face once she gets assured Miranda has followed her instructions and is just like she left her. At her mercy, that is.

"Obedient as always." - Mia's comment is unnecessary polite. The other women tries her best to stay calm, yet something is the thick air is suggests an unpleasant event. The brunette's steps get closer and closer until her entire body stops beside the bed. Miranda shifts her head to a side only to be able to witness the placing of a knife and few candles, which Mia places on the left nightstand. Blue eyes sharpen, staring at the objects, trying to understand their need. - "I hope you're not awaiting a reward, not after..."

"Is that why you made me wait?" - Mia's face obtains an angry expression upon being cut from her right to speak. Miranda's voice is louder than usual, hinting her actual opinion towards the happening and perhaps the woman beside her. She pulls on the ropes, earning herself a click of the brunette's tongue. Rage is certainly a burning emotion. - "For candles? I'm not in the mood to play, Mia, so will you stop with-"

"Ethan...keeps on noticing a different scent on me." - with a fake, forced smile Mia begins to explain. Blue eyes tracking her every move as her hand searches for something inside her pocket. Soon enough she pulls out a lighter. - "I don't know what kind of perfume you're using, but it's strong, Miri." - the younger woman's quick fingers manage to fire up the waiting to ignite tips of the candles. After a few sniffs Miranda acknowledges they're scented. She cannot exactly find out the origin, however it's something floral and unexpectedly strong. - "And we can't have him finding out about us, can we?"

Ethan Winters. The man who's last name Mia proudly wears as her own. Her chosen lover, her partner is life, her husband. The enemy in Miranda's eyes. With the passing years she realised she cannot replace him, no matter how much she tries, how much she submits to Mia or try to win her over. Everything she has wrapped her claws around are the mere words of love her colleague has whispered to her in moments of passion. Useless hope, with no room for justice. It took Miranda a while but now she sees it clearly. If Mia were to desire it she would never show up in her life again. Like a cold statue without a beating heart, which the blonde keeps on hugging, craving for crumbs of warmth. Isn't that the reason she came here? To Mia's family house, shared with her husband, in order to end it all and forever. Yet she found herself out of luck. Ethan was absent, which allowed Mia to drag her into her bed again, the bed she shares with the poor man.

A realisation slowly builds up inside Miranda's mind. Mia is inescapable. She's trapped - both physically and mentally. It makes her...weak.

"You think he would get suspicious if you just told him you've got yourself a new perfume?" - the blonde's voice is changed. The irritation has been replaced with calmness. To Mia, however, her tone is filled with annoying audacity to argue. So much for her forced obedience. The younger woman scoffs, her smile daring to disappear.

"You just can't stop yourself and your...solutions, can you?" - as if their roles has been replaced, Mia is now the angry one. She finds the knife from earlier without mich struggle. Miranda senses her idea, but fails to stop her. A second later the room fills up with awful sounds of tearing fabric. A hissing noise escapes the blonde woman's lips, her bare back now completely exposed. - "Can't even keep her mouth shut." - a final whisper before the tip of the knife presses it's sharpness to Miranda's lower back.

"Mia." - although Miranda speaks her name in attempt to confront her, the other woman can't help herself but bite her lower lip. She enjoys her name being repeated in such voice, especially now when she knows there's no excitement behind her tone. Only discomfort, or in her eyes - fear. She knows Miranda would never actually be afraid of her, but she settles to believe it. The knife continues down, forcing out another hiss, it's sharpness following the many layers of robes, but not with the intention to ruin them as well.

"I love it when you wear those fancy ceremonial clothes. Always forcing your authority on others." - the dark colours, the elements of the late lords, who died from Miranda's hand, the pure drama of her outfit - with the crow feathers and many fabrics, piling up on each other, offering a fake vision of a priestess's image is undeniable consuming. Mia loves it because it shows how much power Miranda has, and how much she's ready to throw away just for the brunette's attention alone. Now, however, she can't hide her anger of seeing her chosen outfit. After all her little, shackled village has been long fallen to ruins, along with her followers. Miranda has no reason to wear this old clothes. Yet she has done it - only to show her power and maturity. And maybe to restore something that has been dead for years - the respect Mia once had for her. - "Is that why you came dressed like that? To scare us?" - Mia makes a pause, giving herself enough time to lean over Miranda's head and to speak to her in a whisper. - "or...maybe to seek control?" - she smiles. - "the control you granted me."

"...You're crossing a line, Mia." - it's a weak attempt for a warning, even Miranda realises that after the sentence leaves her dry throat. The line she's speaking of is practically non-existent, and if it had sides, both of them would agree Mia is the one holding the stronger one. She easily mixes her own domination over Miranda and she knows which buttons to press just enough to anger her, knowing that even then she won't find out. Even currently, when their relationship is more than questionable and none of them is sure what to call it. Professionalism and love are already forgotten about.

"Am I really?" - her breath is hot against Miranda's ear. It makes her head dizzy all over again. - "You're the one allowing this to happen, Miri." - Mia moves back, somehow reminded her informal lover how to breathe normally. The blonde woman takes a good look at her shackled, probably bruised wrists from the ropes and sighs. She finds herself very close to ripping them. Just before that, however, Mia changes the position of the knife - this time pressing it at the space between her shoulder blades, where the black veins like curves are the thickest. This motion forces Miranda to choke. Mia knows any touch with more pressure against her back feels like playing with her bare spine, yet the younger woman doesn't think of stopping. - "Just look at you...I wonder what all those who have fallen dead at your feet will say about you now...cold, relentless...mad." - Mia describes a version of Miranda that she herself has forgotten about, once reunited with her daughter. The brunette doesn't fail to remind her just how ruthless she was. - "A murder hidden under the skin of a god. What would your daughter think of you?"

Miranda's rage is more than expected. Eva is the real end line for her. But Mia knows her well, too well. A reaction is almost unnecessary. All she does is wrap her fingers around thin layers of honey coloured hair and twist, while also pushing down so Miranda's face can stay buried in the pillows. This way her weak screams come out muffled and secured while Mia drags the knife over her sensitive back. She only stops once her crimson blood becomes a visible paint on the blank canvas of her skin.

"Mia...Mia..." - all that's left to fill up the room now is soft, almost silent whispers of a name, too nicely sounding for an evil woman like its carrier. The knife is gone after few repeats of that name. Now Miranda sees it laying calmly next to the candles, which are burning with might, filling their glass jars with melted wax. - "Can you...stop this already? I'm tired." - for a split second Mia allows herself to show mercy, her heart beating irregularly at the view of tears running down her informal lover's face. Then she remembers herself and her needs. Full control over the woman, who controls everyone.

"Not before you show me your wings, pretty bird." - it is a command. Mixed with fake love. Mia is one of very few people Miranda has allowed to know about her great weakness. It's satirical - how her strongest and most recognisable ability, her glorious dark wings, ten at the count, are also the thing able to force her to throw up from pain, which she usually doesn't even feel. Although Miranda hasn't really been thinking about her mistake of sharing this knowledge with Mia. Until now, since she's forcing it versus her. Yet, she can't bring herself to be disobedient.

A loud sound, awfully familiar to bones cracking, echoes through the room, soon filing it to the brim. Mia watches in interest as Miranda's back wrinkles to the point of breaking skin, pouring more blood to the already weird looking piece of dark art on it. Few seconds later and her curious eyes meet up with tons of tar black feathers, exploding out of the open wounds. Mia takes a step back as the wings, strongly resembling the ones of a crow, tend to grow quite large in size. It's fascinating, the unusual nature of the blonde woman laying helpless on the bed. It's exciting to play with it, to experiment, to pull and twist until you get a reaction out of her. Mia doesn't stop the new waves of torture upon Miranda until she cries out again, few broken feathers spreading around the floor.

"Don't tell me you can't endure a little pain, Miri?" - her voice is more than just mocking. She enjoys the show before her like an actual spectacle in a circle, with the bonus that she's the one deciding the presented tricks. - "I thought you said this could be arousing for you?" - a memory pops up inside her mind. In the heat of passioned rolling in the sheets Miranda declared her liking to showing her true nature in bed. Just thinking how many times she came that night while Mia stimulated her additionally is outrageous. So long ago, the brunette's principals have changed.

"Only when you're gentle." - Miranda hisses back in response, her own mind wandering in the same shared memory. All she feels now is pain, not even the good type of pain she doesn't mind receiving from time to time. This is a lot, much more than the usual toughness between them. Mia roots out another large feather, gently caressing her cheek before tossing it to the ground. - "...you're anything but that, Mia."

"Please, 'gentle' stopped working for you long ago." - Miranda silence herself by biting her lip. Mia's words are not entirely false, but that gentleness she's talking about the blonde interprets like a way of distance between the two of them. A relationship that started with innocent glares and small love incidents, such as touching hands or bumping into eachother, has now formed into a circle of hate and desire, completely built on lies and difficulties. - "Tell me if I lift your robes and allow myself to explore will I find you already soaked, love?" - Mia speaks with confidence. Instead of keeping to her words, however, her hand moves to the nightstand, from where she swiftly grabs a green coloured candle. The scent is intoxicating. - "Or should I try harder to get you in the mood?"

"Mia, stop this, stop it, Mia-" - there's a hint of panic in Miranda's voice, her eyes so focused on the woman beside her they might count as unmovable. She gasps as Mia uses one hand to spreads her large wings to a maximum. The other brings the candy impossibly close, allowing the blonde woman to acknowledge the heat of the flame. - "You're mad, Mia, you truly are-"

"Yet you're the one trying to deny me?" - the brunette hisses - "When we both know you're mine." - all the previous pain doesn't compare to the dripping, hot wax hitting her back. It's torture. Her wings loose their glorious shape, they tilt down, as if surrounding themselves. Miranda's nails dig so hard into her palms, which forces yet another part of her body to bleed. Her mouth reminds open, eyes shut, anger forcing a dark line between her eyebrows. At least the wave is quick to wash off. That's until Mia grabs another candle and while pouring its melted wax all over her wounded back she begins to whisper in her ears again. - "I love you, Miranda, I love you so much.."

These words. That poisonous feeling.

I love you.

How can love hurt this badly?

"Mommy?" - a different voice echoes through Miranda's head. This one is sweet, innocent, devoid of evilness and painful ideas. It belongs to a child, she's certain. She blinks, droplets of salty tears are now evaporating from her cheeks and finally she allows herself to relax. A warm feeling explodes inside her chest, her arms trembling as she tries to lift them. The room around her, although entirely changed, remains dark. The world has shifted and she finds herself in another timeline, long forgetting. One that shouldn't be alive. In which Eva shouldn't be alive, yet there she stands - calmly laying in her bed, covered in every blanket Miranda could find in her tiny house. - "mommy, are you okay?"

Her daughter calls out for her again. Then Miranda's whole attention falls on her. Every memory of Mia and her awful torture is gone by the second her child's tiny hand searches for her. The woman grabs it, however her face doesn't shines up with happiness as it should. Eva barely moves her upper limb, not to mention it happens with a painful groan. Then the reality hits her. Miranda hates to go through this again but she has to acknowledge it. Eva is dying. And judging by her state the sickness has taken the bigger part of her body and consciousness. She grips her daughter's hand, in hope to transfer the suffering to herself.

"Yes, I'm fine, little dove." - Miranda assures her, tenderly cupping her cheeks, thumbs brushing against her pale skin. Eva sighs, enjoying her mother's loving touch, while trying to ignore the burning feeling building up in her lungs. At some point it overflows and she begins to cough, strong and dry, she struggles to take a breath. Miranda's motherly instincts immediately kick in, helping her up and allowing her to sit straight. She rubs her back, reminding her to try and breathe through her nose. Finally Eva sucks in a flow of fresh air. However as this happens she bares her teeth and quickly places her palms together, under her chin. Thick clouds of blood begin to pour from between her dry lips and she struggles to collect it, allowing it to drip to her bedsheets. It's not surprising they are already stained from a similar recent events.

Miranda's nightmares are standing right in front of her again. Staring at her blue eyes with a relentless sharpness. Eva begins to cry. Her sobs mix with the rapid banging of her mother's hearts against her weak ribcage. The woman fears it might break it and her body as a whole. Unconsciously she lets go of her daughter's hand, glare still fixed to her crying expression. It's painful to watch her struggle and to be helpless. It's not her fault. She keeps on telling herself. She's not guilty. He is. But then again. The mother has to bear the burden of her child dying, doesn't she? The father is absent, which for their case is better. A mother must be strong, but when she find herself in ruins...what hope is left for the daughter? None.

"Mommy?" - a weak call.

"Yes, Eva?" - a forced reply.

"Do you love me?." - these words again. With Mia they felt like an obligation, with Eva they feel like an undone promise. Miranda would keep on loving her daughter, even if she turned into a walking corpse. She puts a hand on her shoulder, aiming to show her the support she needs. This action leaves her terrified as the girl screams in pain. Just a second is enough for the woman to realise her child's body is much weaker than it seems and even the softest touch can harm. More tears occupy Eva's eyes. - "I won't blame you if you stop...I won't blame you if you decide to love another daughter...after all it's too late for me, isn't it?"

"No, Eva, I'll always love you." - she declares, her arms shaking. She knows putting them anywhere around the girl is dangerous, but keeping them to herself seems selfish. Their eyes meet, the blue of the ocean seeking its twin in the sky again. It's a tragedy they're destined to never touch. That's why Miranda decides to keep her touch to herself. - "no matter what happens I'll be with you and I'll find a way for you to be with me." - a pause, filled with fear and more tears. A hopeless assurance. - "I promise you, little dove."

"Just us?" - lying to her is like cutting off her still growing wings, however given her sickness she's never ment to fly anyway. Miranda would be happy if Eva could become a bird. Like the crows they always feed on the windows. Oh to be one. Freedom is your best of friend. You can travel the world and not worry for a single thing. If you get lucky enough you'll even find yourself a group of winged friends. A family.

"Just us." - they both smile at eachother. Eva is calm enough to lay back down on her uncomfortable bed. Miranda on the other hand starts to pile her with different questions. If she's hungry, if she's thirsty, if she wants something, if she's sleepy, if she should just leave her alone... Eva shakes her head to each of them. Currently she only desires to break the massive clock responsible for the passing time all around the world and stay in this moment forever. The girl hates change. But surely she's changing. Change means death in a lot of interpretations. And her own...is just around the corner. She knows this is will hurt her mother - the only person able to show pure love. She can't risk that for the selfish act of pushing forward. She's ready to sacrifice time. Yet she's no god, neither is Miranda.

Eva begins to cough again. This time is worse. With every try for a full breath more and more liquid blood drips out of her mouth. It's suffocating. The panic is her mother's eyes is a sure sign this is her last struggle. Soon the girls body begins to shake. Miranda screams. The world goes even darker. When the woman finally allows herself to touch her , she regrets it immediately. Eva's body begins to rot, falling apart with every rushed caress. It's a nightmare, it's hell, it's death. The hour of her death. The clock can't be stopped. Miranda cannot bear it. That annoying yet familiar feeling of pure acid burning her throat overfills her and she wraps a hand at the base of her throat. She curse herself for running away, but something inside her tells her Eva understands well and doesn't judge.

Miranda's legs don't feel real as she sprints through her small house, then her home town, full of people that despise her, and finally they give up just as she enters a thick labyrinth of trees. She allows herself to rest against one, her chest falling up and down rapidly, as she's out breath. The group is wet and sticky, dirty and covered with dark dirt as she hits it hard. She pulls on her hair, threatening to rip it off completely. Her nails travel around her skin, guilty anger leaving behind red lines. She screams again and again to the point of vomiting and being dizzy. Then she begins to sob, hugging her knees tightly to her breasts. She's helpless yet again.

Then she sees something between the many dead looking trees. It's quickly recognisable. With thick fur, long straight legs, bulging eyes, and curved antlers, the deer is not difficult to spot. Every knowledge she has about this animal is proven to be wrong, because instead of running away in fear the glorious looking deer takes few steps forward. Soon enough it stands directly in front of Miranda. She thinks of it as blind, judging by the lack of colour in it's eyes. Her own oceans stare at it for a long time, until the animal decides to carefully lay down beside her. Miranda's breath hitches, not knowing what to expect from the wild life. Her lips slightly part and she breaks with her fear in order to shape a sentence.

"What do you want from me?" - what a familiar question.

*****

Reality's weight is heavier than expected. Miranda quietly groans once her eyelids twitch, triggered by her awakening. It's rare for her to dream, though when it happens there's nothing special about it - just nightmares, mixed with old, depressing memories. It's exhausting really, even after so many years the back of her head is still pulsating with dull pain, due to her consciousness getting overwhelmed. Few draining moments pass before she starts to acknowledge how the bedsheets are touching her, how the bigger part of your shared blanket is pulled and crushed from her fists, despite her ability to be unbothered by the cold.

Rays of sunlight force her eyes to snap open, rapidly sending panicked glares around the room. It's morning, early, calming melodies of singing birds outside are a sure sign of it. Miranda notices an open window, which she doesn't remember leaving like that before bed. It seems like most of her habits have been transformed to you and she's more than thankful. There's nothing more relaxing than taking a deep breath of clean, morning air. It helps with her nerves, especially now. A light breeze rolls in from outside, gently caressing her cheeks. Then she raises her numb hands, her thin fingers running across her skin, where they find wet drops of tears. How disgusting, how weak. The salty droplets are pure history once she brushes them gone with the back of her hands.

The blonde woman stays like frozen, eyes unfocused around the room. Despite her desire to be alone in such moments of weakness she easily senses your presence. Miranda shifts, her body following her head immediately after she turns to face you. She smiles, it's genuine. And there you are - sat silently beside her, fingers rubbing your chin while you look intensely at your phone, clearly reading something as your eyes are traveling up and down the screen. The woman notes it as unpleasant, judging by your slightly worried expression. You manage to sigh just before she moves impossibly close to you. There's no room for words or orders between the two of you. Miranda finds her position by shoving her head onto your chest, while you move to hands aside, giving her enough space to do so. Once settled, the woman almost purrs while you run careful fingers through her messy, but surprisingly not tangled hair.

"Good morning, Mira." - you voice out low enough not to startle her. Although you're still mainly focused on your phone, you can't stop yourself from looking down. She has her eyes close, nose buried somewhere near the collar of your shirt as she tries to breathe in your scent. Said shirt is not even yours, but you know very well she enjoys it when you decide to wear something from her own wardrobe, even if it's just for sleeping. - "Slept well?"

"What are you reading?" - Miranda completely ignores your question, clearly not showing interest in telling you about her nightmares. You let her be, scrolling to the top of the document you're putting your whole attention to. She jerks her head upwards, trying to steal a look as well. You bring your phone closer, purely for her comfort. She goes through the very first sentences and bites her lip. - "...you father."

"After so much waiting I finally receive a report about his current condition." - you take a pause, locking and tossing your phone aside. - "Only to be assured he's getting worse." - although it's rather hard for her to show empathy, she tries her best. Miranda hugs you tightly, gladly accepting your hands, which wrap uncomfortable around her back, triggering her but not enough to acknowledge it. - "they say his heart is weak and they don't know... if he's going to make it this time."

With the ridiculous amount of money Miranda pays you, his hospital bills have been almost entirety paid, yet those doctors are still playing games with you. They never suggest a solution, just pills or more bad news, more complications. But can you even blame them? They probably are as clueless as you are. Even if you speed your way to graduating university and gaining a medical title, would you be even able to do something different than them? If your father is still alive, that is.

"You worry too much." - part of you gets mad at her comment, you even pull away when she tries to connect her lips with yours. A scoff is all you get before she places a kiss to your cheekbone. - "it's going to eat you alive, darling, you should stop."

"Then what am I supposed to do?" - you're not capable of helping. She's right as always, the helpless feeling is eating you alive. - "just pray for him?" - you've done that already. Gods are either deaf or ruthless. Perhaps both, because an answer, a blessing from them has always been absent.

"Believe in him, it's all you can do, isn't it?" - you can't decide if she's being satire or for real, yet you melt once she shifts again, somehow managing to sit straight in your lap. Her hands cups your cheeks and this time you allow her the kiss she's so eagerly searching for. Her lips ghost above yours, almost in a teasing manner, as she speaks again. - "...maybe... he'll happen upon a miracle."

Miranda's suggestion weirdly reminds you of your own 'miracle' - this job surely feels like a blessing. And the only God, who seems real, is your beloved blonde woman herself.

The scene around you is awfully comforting. Nice waves of warmth occupy your lower body, due to a soft blanket, placed carefully above your legs. The clock on the wall loudly announces it's almost lunch. Nobody is bothered, including you. You're sat on the large sofa in the living room, entirely immersed in your studies. Your attention span locked between textbooks and Miranda's soft voice, while she corrects or adds something to your private lesson. The television is on, however you don't find it distracting. It's only working to entertain Eva, who's a bit annoyed. Unable to escape from her mother's lap , she stays still while watching whatever movie plays in front of her. The poor girl hasn't been able to escape Miranda's embrace from early in the morning till now, as if the woman needs to be glued to her. It's strange for both you and Eva, but you choose not to address it since you both know Miranda expresses her love differently. From time to time she brushes a tender hand through the girl's golden hair, as If to assure herself Eva's real.

In between this proximity, though the blonde woman has decided to multitask. And by that she means torturing you. It's not something bad, really, but forcing you cover a large amount of study material, while correcting you on every second sentence or adding more and more information for you to remember, is surely a lot more than you usually do to prepare for upcoming exams. At least she's a master in her craft, her given details are a free gift you gladly accept. It would be a nice study session if your mind wasn't so unfocused.

"You're not paying enough attention." - her sharp comment pulls you out of a trance, which you fail to realise you've gotten yourself into. Her hand lands on your shoulder. You're sure it's mentioned to comfort you, but her action only brings you more stress. - "We've covered this material already and the questions are not hard, darling, come on." - she taps on your open exam book. She's correct. Closed questions as the current, with given answers to choose the right one from are a child's play. Yet when you voice out your opinion, Miranda gives you a pitiful look. - "Wrong again."

"Fucking bullshit..." - you curse out, starting out loud but then lowering the volume as you're reminded of Eva's presence.

"Language." - like the serious mother she is Miranda gives you a warning, accompanied by a mean glare. You swear one day her dark blue eyes are going to cut out holes in your skin. Until then her nails might do the job instead. As if to punish you she digs them into your shoulder, sighing. You roll your eyes at her next comment. - "There's no need to be vulgar."

"Sorry..." - you whisper out. Miranda is not the one to tolerate casual cursing around her house. You've almost never heard her voice out some herself. Expect when she's in bed with you but that's another story you've both decided not to talk about. You quickly find the problem in the current situation. Eva shouldn't be exposed to your out of place words, the blonde woman aims to show you this by tilting her head towards the girl. - "You've heard nothing, Eva."

"Heard what now?" - and just like that Miranda's daughter snaps out of her careful observation of the movie and turns to you. A large smile appears on your lips, while Miranda only scoffs. Of course the girl can't be even bothered to pay any attention to the happening around her, to the things, which don't concern her.

"Love that kid." - you laugh out, deciding it's finally time for a break. Miranda on the other side stops you just before you can manage to close your textbooks and stand up. The corner of her lips are slightly stretched downwards, her eyebrows furrowed as she's clearly not pleased. When she reopens your textbooks you realise it's not because of her daughter hearing bad words, but purely because of your awful performance with the easiest of tests. You decide to be honest with her, praying she'll understand. - "I'm getting tired of studying, can we take a break, Mira?" - you don't forget to add an additional 'please' just to increase your chances.

"You've achieved nothing today." - Rude. You swallow, not having the energy to defend yourself. - "I don't understand what's stopping you from focusing?" - this makes you bite your lower lip, turning your head to a side. Escaping her burning eyes.

"Miranda, I can't just forget about- " - you're forced to stop, sensing an incoming voice crack. Emotions are a cruel thing. Even without the clear vision of your father suffering alone, imagining him it's enough to make your throat dry. You take a deep breath in, trying to form an argument. Any trace of anger is gone from her face once you collect enough courage to look at her. - "Tell me how can I focus when my father is out there, dying alone, and I can't do anything to help him?"

"Darling, I told you to not-"

"Put yourself in my shoes." - your slightly louder tone catches even Eva's attention, who gives you a bored glare. - "it's not endurable to even imagine the pain in your body while you watch your only family die, because you're simply not enough to help.!" - with this you manage to gag her completely. A line is even crossed, as Miranda wraps a hand around her throat, her other one pulling Eva closer. The little girl obtains a worried expression and you swallow, realising you've said too much of your worries. - "...at least try to understand."

For the first time you're given an amazing example of judgement. Both mother and daughter swiftly turn to you, with no room for consideration. Two dark bullets bang against your chest, forcing you swallow a painful lump in your throat. This thread is minimal since it's quickly followed by two more angry eyes, lighter in color but just as fierce. It's a curious abnormality. After few seconds the inseparable family members give eachother a look, mutually deciding to not address the topic or you angry outburst. Perhaps you've hit a nerve, completely unaware of its existence. Miranda leans to whisper in Eva's ear, which leads the girl to change sitting positions - crawling out of her mother's lap, allowing her to eventually move freely. Which she does. The blonde woman stands up, covered in silence, then she extends an arm, giving you little to no time to consider taking it.

Miranda walks rapidly as always. She easily guides you, or more like drags you behind her as you fail to catch up fast enough, through the mansion. Lucky for you this home of many rooms and corridors has turned to a familiarity, so you quickly understand you're being lead to the library. You find yourself surrounded by many bookshelves, piled up with more study materials, just as the echoing sound of heels hitting clear flooring disappears. Even with large, open windows, devoid of curtains - big part, combined with many distant edges, of the room remains chillingly dark. At least it's quiet. You manage to hear Miranda murmuring about a better atmosphere for studying. Your hands curl up and tighten in fists.

But then you get surprised. Instead of rushing you into more memorising, the blonde woman simply tosses your textbooks to an empty table and settles down on the puffy sofa opposite of the paper screen you use on casual movie nights. Her hand lifts up to take most of her forehead as she sighs with closed eyes. You stay frozen in place, unable to complete the puzzle. Miranda is yet again acting out those strange scenes, which leave you more than confused. This time however the usual headache is missing and you're somehow calm. An unexpected laughter startles you, thought you're more interested in what exactly Miranda is finding funny.

"Darling, I understand you more than well... that's why I brought you here." - her alluring voice settles to almost whispering in the second part of her sentence. Miranda lifts up her head, chin proudly pointing at you while she pats a seat next to her, silently inviting you to sit. Her perfect set of white teeth is appealing. - "come to me, little deer."

"Look...Mira..." - you start unsurely, using her own cards against her by calling her by the chosen nickname - "I'm sorry for... reacting in such a way, but my head is truly a mess right now and I can't just ignore everything, you know?" - the woman nods, severely happy as you take a step in her direction.

"I know, darling." - Miranda is quick to spread out her arms once you get close enough to bend down and wrap yourself in her embrace. The sweet scent of her perfume is one reason for you head to be shoved in the crook of her neck. - "You can tell me more, I'm all ears."

"It's so unfair." - you fiercely point out, reminding yourself that Miranda is not a stress doll and the way you're starting to squeeze her, out of self anger, shouldn't be allowed. You decide to keep yourself locked in the right hug, but slowly move to a side so you can actually take a position of sitting next to her. - "I've carried so much guilt for the passing of my mother, but it seems like that alone...is not enough to satisfy death." - you bare your teeth - "Why should I feel equally guilty and useless over matters I can't control?"

"It's not your fault." - you allow the blonde woman to put you in an angle, where your head is rested somewhere between her shoulder and chest. You curl up next to her, covering yourself in her warmth and comfort. - "It never was and It will never be." - her long fingers, strangely not covered in their usual metal accessories, trace the path of your jawline. - "Your father loves you...I'm sure your mother did as well."

"They won't save him." - you declare, noticing how your chin slightly shakes, while hot tears gather into your eyes. - "I... won't be able to save him."

"I believe in you." - it would be a crime to say her touch isn't the most comforting feeling in the world. She's careful and sweet, as if she's caressing a baby. Her fingertips brush loosen strands of hair behind your ear, then moving on to cup your cheeks. These actions are almost enough to make you believe as well. Yet your stubbornness, or in this case self doubt, kicks in.

"Miranda." - short but emotionally charged warning. Stopping the discussion here would be nice, since you don't want to be crying your eyes out in front of her.

"Darling." - her sharp response is never too late. You feel burning pressure on your chin. You lift your head up to meet her eyes, strictly following the demands of her fingers. - "I'll tell you this one time - the more you doubt yourself, the more I'm going to push you to success."

The clear declaration, presented as non physical contract, can be easily spotted in action. Taking her eagerness for you to cover most of this semester's material from today for example. To think of it now, her interest in your studies increased surprisingly fast since this morning, when you received the not so well accepted news about your father and when you began to feel absolutely miserable, which continued for most of the day and....oh. Oh, this woman.

"He's everything I've got." - a world without him would be hell. You can't think of more lovable and understand person, who's always there when you need them, who laughs and cries with you, who supports you in both success and failure, who loves you. Miranda comes awfully close, but... - "Loosing him will leave me alone." - your eyes connect with hers - "I hate to be alone, Miranda."

"My own father died when I was pretty young, soon the same faith followed my mother." - she hums her words out, tapping unable to stay at one place fingers along the edge of the sofa. - "I've been alone for most of my life - it was rather difficult, I had to learn how to take care of myself...to cook, work, survive at last, because at some point I had literally nothing to my name." - it's hard to imagine the filthy rich Miranda struggling with...well anything really. Her story shows exactly how put together she is, and how much she's not really sharing with others. - "I gave birth alone too, Eva almost wiped me out of existence that day." - although she says it with laughter, you can't miss the way she covers her long healed stomach with one hand, perhaps being too overwhelmed with hurtful memories.

"I'm sorry you had to..." - you suck in a breath, suddenly feeling unsure about how to comfort her. All you can think of is hugging her so tightly, it might happen to be risky for her lungs if you decide to squeeze a little more. - "Life has been unfair to you too, I'm so-"

"Sweet darling, I desire no pity." - she gently grabs your face in soft hands, smiling down at you. Suddenly her lap begins to look much more inviting and comfortable than the sofa itself. If it weren't for your composed tolerance, you would be all over her in a matter of seconds. - "I'm telling you this because I want you to know." - she leans in closer, noses brushing together while her lips ghost over yours. - "Whatever is to happen...you don't have to be alone."

But of course, the universe works in abnormal way. If it was destined for your father to descend with the sun, Miranda will bring less light but equal love with the moon. Is it greedy to desire both at the same time, thought? Is it possible?

"Why are we here, Mira?" - your every instinct is screaming at you to kiss her. Yet your mind keeps on wondering why did she drag you into the library if not for studying?

"I do need to apologise for not letting you express your worries this morning." - you blink, only know realising she has used solitary and comfort as a weapon, in order to make you speak your mind. And you don't even feel angry. - "I admit I wasn't in my best condition to listen, but neglecting your problems was wrong." - she quickly explains that it became clear to her when you couldn't keep up with your normal focus. - "I didn't want to force you into this matter in front of Eva, however, that's why I I chose the library."

Kissing her now feels right, kissing her now it's a need. You don't try to be gentle or patient. You claim her lips with lust and desperation, she gasps in your mouth, never to refuse you, though. She whispers out your name between millions of kisses, when you move to pay attention to her jaw and neck she even sighs above you, sending a burning thrill to every cell in your body. You want to keep her, have her, consume her, rip off her skin in search for her soul - which you desire to embrace. You know this is impossible, but you're also certain you would never stop trying. Miranda bites her lower lip as your fingers start exploring the skin underneath her shirt, her own hands deep in roots of your hair while she presses your head even further into her neck, enjoying how short of breath you are. Just when you're about to unclip her bra behind her back she suddenly jerks and pushes you off herself, with awful strength. You give her a confused look to which she doesn't respond. All she does is try to fix her clothes, completely ignoring you. You understand her actions soon enough, because the door swings open unexpectedly, at least for you.

"Mommy, your phone!" - Eva rushes to Miranda, passing by you with ease, as if you don't exist. The blonde woman gives a kind smile to her daughter before taking the device out of her small, but extremely careful hands. The sudden appearance of the girl is born because of someone calling Miranda. All three of you are confused by the unnamed number, but she picks up anyway.

The phone call is short, yet judging by Miranda's straight face and serious, bossy voice, you can take a hint it's something professional. In the few minutes of communication, the blonde woman barely speaks up, mainly focusing on the information spilling from the other side of the phone. At the end of it , she only asks - 'later today?" , then nods with a bored face. When she hangs up, Miranda is not surprised to find you and Eva, both waiting to hear about the happening. However, her gaze falls only on you.

"You have won me another group meeting, darling." - you're quickly reminded of your email, which lead to Miranda having many propositions from different companies to work with. Perhaps this will be her lucky one. - "They didn't even leave room for wondering. I have to get ready."

Knocking on Miranda's bedroom door feels out of place. The action sets you back to time when you used be a stranger with this chamber, with this family and mainly - the woman occupying your mind. Now it's different, you're different. Her response is just a hum, letting you know it's okay to come in. You don't wait for a second confirmation. You poke your head inside the room, searching for said blonde woman inside of it. - "It has been almost two hours, you sure you won't be late?"

Strangely you fail to spot her immediately. Signs of her presence are all over the place, some so noticeable they might actually poke your eyes. Starting with her sweet perfume wandering in invisible waves in the air and ending with a pile of rejected clothes from her wardrobe, failed attempts for an outfit. Her open jewelry boxes on the bed work against her as well. Finally you notice few pairs of entirely new heels, which even get you wondering when did she manage to buy them, yet again devoid of use. You're not fast enough to check the bathroom, since the bright lighting from inside quickly washes off and Miranda runs out with a genuine smile.

"I'm ready, darling." - she says, stopping in the centre of the room, as if standing on a podium. - "What do you think?"

You find yourself stunned. Her clothes of choice are incredibly fitting, you're burned with the sense of her beauty. Slender and shapely, yet elegant as always Miranda stands before you in a tailored black suit, the pants hugging her hips tightly, but not uncomfortably by all means,and long legs while the jacket accentuates her figure, the cut emphasizing her waist, nicely accentuating her curves. The crisp white shirt underneath is perfectly buttoned up, a subtle hint of cleavage showing. Her confident stance and commanding aura only add to her stunning presence. It's enough to take your breath away. The woman's long hair is styled in a sleek and sophisticated slick-back hairstyle. The blonde strands are pulled back from her face, allowing her stunning features to shine through. She's not the keenest on makeup, but she has done enough to contour the rich blue colour of her eyes. You allow yourself to start using your lungs normally again once she takes a step further to you, strong metal heel hitting the floor as she does.

"Can you stay home?" - you blurt out, suddenly and without thinking, allowing your rapidly beating heart to make a decision instead of your actual brain. You have to put your hands behind your back, just to stop them from connecting with her.

"Are you joking?" - Miranda asks, worried. She's quick as a flash while turning to her oversized mirror, observing herself. - "I can't look that bad,..right?"

"No! No, you look good, Mira, I promise you." - you voice out, pure excitement rolling off your tongue, as you try to stay composed and not ask for her hand in marriage on the spot. If that would be enough to describe how alluring she actually looked. After all, you dare not stray from your position. - "I'm just not used to seeing you...in a suit, that is."

"Well I don't usually wear one." - she replies with honesty, bringing up her hands to fix dangling, shiny earrings. Despite her addiction for jewelry, currently Miranda's body is awfully limited from said expensive metal accessories. - "But I was informed the group I am to meet will be restricted to one gender only." - she scoffs, rolling her yes. Then she points at the black suit covering her. - "In a room full of men, I aim to fit, not stand out."

You perfectly understand her desire to be less noticeable between her despised men, her hatred towards them is normal, yet it never fails to make you laugh. Now, however, you can't miss the opportunity to tease her.

"No pretty girls to impress, Miranda?" - she turns her head towards you, with a lifted eyebrow. You greet her with a smirk. Although she's rather covered in surprise, she cunningly returns the favour.

"The one pretty girl I want is already in front of me." - you bite your lower lip. Having her confirming her attraction for you is enough to satisfy your every need. Perhaps the only thing missing is her skin against yours, but you know you're going to have to wait for that. - "And I'm certain she's more than just impressed, isn't she?"

Yes, you will definitely struggle while waiting for her to get back home.

*****

It has been one boring, long drive. And when followed by an even more dull meeting you can really loose any social battery. It's what Miranda is currently experiencing, what she's enduring. Another useless team, another hour wasted in observing documents and listening to fake promises for success. Her sparkle of interest is long forgotten about, not like these men were able to reach it anyway. She's yet to find something that pulls you in like her previous company. Miranda still wonders how The connections convinced her to share her undying ideas and professionalism. Perhaps it was the fact that Mia instructed her to everything, perhaps she was too drunk in hope for the rebirth of her daughter. Many different factors, which are sadly missing in her current situation.

Her ears transform into victims of a symphony of annoyance, as the three men trying to over talk themselves begin to increase their voice volumes. Even the angry tapping of her fingers along the curved, metal table is not hearable anymore. She thinks it's funny, how the table is bended in a circle to symbolise equality, yet some members of the group haven't spoken a word since the beginning, not because they don't want to,but because others don't allow it. Miranda's despair overflows her mind and she rolls her eyes with irritation. Two men have been arguing for ten minutes straight and finding a solution between themselves is a hard task, it seems. Just when she's about to let out yet another forced sigh, her phone vibrates with a notification. Surely, more interesting than the happening.

Miranda gives her screen a sharp glare, only for her shoulders to suddenly roll backwards as she carefully reads your name in her mind a few times, just to make sure you're actually texting her. An unexpected saviour. She opens your shared chat without second thoughts. Your messages shines like gold in a dark mine.

I lied.

This one confuses her, though few new ones follow immediately after.

You looked more than simply good, Miranda.

The usage of her full name thrills her. She looks down at herself in order to be reminded of the fancy suit she's wearing. She smiles upon realising the wonders it has done to you alone. Her eyes wander up to check the time. Judging by the already late hour, her daughters must be asleep in bed, which allows her beloved babysitter some time for herself...and her thoughts. Miranda is pleased she's the one to cross your mind. After a little bit of rethinking, she decides to tease.

It's a pity I wasn't good enough for you to force me to stay home. It would have been for the better.

Miranda clearly remembers the path of desire in your eyes from earlier. She curses herself for not acknowledging it then. Your response is a little delayed, but eventually it pops up on her screen. She tries her best to stop the edges of her lips from curling up, not wanting unwanted attention falling on her.

You looked good enough for me to consume. And worship.

Before her thumbs can stretch up to tap on the small keyboard another message makes it's presence clear.

I can't stop thinking about you, Mira. When are you coming home?

You are getting obsessed, darling.

Your eagerness might just make her jump out of her seat and drive home fast enough to catch up before you can go to sleep. Not surprisingly your response comes with unbelievable speed, but Miranda's eyes can even move to read it , she detects her name being spoken. Someone actually voices it out a few more times, which causes her to turn off her phone and turn to that direction.

A man stands opposite of her, trying his best to look tall and mighty. His see through impatience fails him. One single glare from beneath Miranda's eyelashes is enough to break his fake wall of confidence. Choosing to cooperate, however, she lazily rolls a wrist in the air, guiding him into speaking. After a quick clearing of his throat, he does it, voice surprisingly steady.

"As I was saying, in order for both goals to be reached,..and for this meeting to has an actual good end.." - he adds with a murmur, to which Miranda doesn't react. At least not visible, but she makes a mind note of agreement. - "We also need details and information." - the man's hand lands on top of a document folder, rested on the round table, forcing out an unnecessary tud. - "So far we've got nothing."

Before Miranda can even think of answering, another voice joins the conversation. Softer, but much more unsure.

"Ah, what my colleague is trying to say is that..." - she makes a grimace when he blinks with frustration, as if praying for the right words to come. - "We were promised inhuman opportunities, however instead of revealing them you've only stayed silent,.. ma'am."

"Am I obligated to show an example?" - Miranda hums out, getting a bit annoyed. She's sensing doubt... it's unfamiliar to her, yet she can't expect the blind respect and devotion she once received.

"You claim to be an immortal!" - a third man interrupts with a rather loud scoff. She closes her eyes, gathering patience, clearly overwhelmed by the fact that her consumption turned out to be true. - "With your... promised abilities, you're closer to gods than humans." - he sucks in a breath, chin high as the sky. - "So why seek an alliance with us.?"

Miranda chooses to think all these meetings were purely born, because the kind words you put into that original email. But she has never mentioned to you about the existence of a second one, going in much further detail about Miranda's research and skills. She knows for a facts that's the only thing pushing her forward to her final goal. While they can't even be bothered to read your email to the end, she deeply appropriates it.

"Your statement is correct - if I were a god, I wouldn't be here." - she leans forward, placing her elbows on the table, sighing deeply. - "I'd like to cut the chase here. From my own understanding, you're not interested in anything else but what power I possess." - she can only imagine them drooling over the smallest piece of her DNA for experimenting.

"If your strength is what you claim it to be, we can increase it to a maximum and create a new era for humanity-"

"Of course you will." - a forced face shines through her mask of ignorance. How can she forget about the never changing human nature. Her shoulders are rolled back, adding more straightness to her posture. - "I've lived through both world wars, and many more." - Miranda speaks casually, as if those blood drenched events happened just yesterday. Her words force some of the men to share confused words. - "It's curious, you make sure to remember dates and deaths, however you don't learn from history." - a pause. - "And now you think of creating another version of the super soldiers you've craved for years."

"...We're destined for evolution." - the room falls silent for a while. Until Miranda shatters it with a heavy hand.

"You can ruin the world all over again, I'm certain it won't bother me." - she aims to make it clear - even if she's not exactly a god as they think, she's not on their level neither. At the end she'd be the one to survive. - "I have the following preposition - instead of focusing on the people you're going to ascend to your future paradise, you can help the ones you're going to leave behind." - she allows herself to look at almost every unfamiliar face, gaining confidence as she sees hints of consideration. - "Saving people isn't exactly what I do normally, however currently I prefer it." - Miranda doesn't feel obliged to share details of who exactly she's trying to help. Her personal life has nothing to do with these people. - "It's part of my own deal."

The men are filled with hesitation. She holds every single one under a sharp glare. Then the first one, who decided to start a conversation with her, swallows and turns to her.

"We'll listen to you." - with that she's pleased. .

Unexpectedly the meeting ends well. A deal is made. A contract has been signed. With some additions, for which she's happy noone questioned or denied. Her struggles finally come to an end. And by all means she wishes to go home and have a very nice visit with her bed. And you, of course. As you cross her tired out mind, Miranda quickly pulls out her neglected phone out. Few drops of now starting rain falling on its smooth screen. Miranda rushes to a spot, with the intention to hide from the sky. Can't risk to loose her well deserved cigarette after this exhausting interaction.

The hour is quite late. She mentally notes, while dragging another puff from the cigarette, covering her face in a veil of smoke. She hates to drive during night time, it's unsettling, even for her. She starts to wonder if you're still awake, yet calling you doesn't do it for her, since it would be her last wish to wake you up just to be assured you were sleeping. She unlocks her phone just as a men, familiar from the already finished meeting, walks rapidly past her. The rain is gaining rage, mindlessly hitting the ground with grand droplets. He doesn't look at her, how out of manners. Miranda can't say she's bothered, there's more time for her attention to fix upon the message from before, which she couldn't read on the spot. Once it properly crosses her dark eyes, she smiles, the butt of her cigarette hitting the pavement.

You're an obsession I've already welcomed.

*****

Miranda happens to find her bedroom completely empty. Her bed - devoid of warmth. The room itself - dark and lonely. It's not to her liking, it's triggering her. Because something is clearly missing. You are missing. And she can't even lie to herself, let alone anyone else, that it's way too uncomfortable for her. After a swift second observation, as if her eyes are even able to betray her, she turns on her heel - straight to your own bedroom. She supposes that's the only other place you would be. Her strange ability to track anyone in the near radius confirms it. She's only left to wonder why exactly have you decided to choose your funny sized, compared to hers, bed.

A nice ray of calmness runs through her face once she locks eyes with your sleeping self. Body curled up in soft sheets you look more than cozy. Miranda takes few steps further to your bed. She allows herself to observe you long enough for her chest to tighten. And perhaps for her inner voice to whisper she's being a bit creepy, again...Then she makes up her mind. Miranda tries her best to be dead silent while undressing, clothes too itchy already, too irritating. The jacket from nice fabric hits the floor first. Too tired to care for her outfit getting dirty, she finds no problem with throwing her black pants on top of it too. After removing her bra as well, she remains only covered by her white shirt. Good enough to mimic pyjamas.

Your bed is certainly less large than her own. She doesn't think it's meant for the both of you. Yet Miranda doesn't face much of an obstacle snuggling nicely behind you. Her long arms stretch out, under the covers, in order to wrap around your waist and pull you closer. She leans into you, her chest pressing to your back, while she shoves her face to the back of your neck. Finally she can feel relaxed. With Mia she never got to enjoy cuddling, for which she has a soft spot, and that lead her to be outrageously touch started. It's not something you can easily get out of her as information, but the way she can't even stops herself from tracing your skin with her nails is enough of a sign. But she overdoses it, since you twitch a few time in your sleep, before slowly opening an eye. Being a light sleeper is another thing you've inherited from her, it seems.

"Mm..what-..." - you murmur out, only to feel a soft kiss, carefully placed on your nape. If the fact that this mansion is in the middle of nowhere was unknown to you, fear from someone breaking in would definitely be present. But you know better. There's only one person who would sneak up on you like that, and you don't seem to mind it.

"I wasn't aiming to wake you up, darling." - Miranda whispers, her hands getting braver and wandering beneath your shirt. She often does this, something about holding you as close as possible. There's a hint of guilt in her voice, because truly this wasn't her intention. A shiver turns down your spine when her lips move up to the shell of your ear, breath hotter than ever. Then she decides to transfer the guilt to you. - "But you weren't in our bed."

"You know I can't sleep without you." - in your defense you did try, but her...your shared bed is just too big for you to be lying there alone. Plus if she's the one with the habit to hold, you enjoy being held , especially in her embrace, so naturally after so many nights of that exact motion - you needed to change the area. You lazily start to turn around, she backs away in order to give you enough space. There's no room for wasting time once you're able to face her. She reaches out first, locking her lips with yours, however you, fully awake now, put much more effort into the kiss. Her hands move to your back, nails digging in your shoulder blades, while your own push her shoulders down, until you shift in such position that has her pinned beneath you. - "I'm glad you're finally home." - you say in between heated kissing, then you add. - "How was your meeting?"

"It's safe to say I've found what I was searching for." - her eyebrow lifts in curiosity as you extend a hand to your nightstand, only to light up a lamp after a bit of search for the button. Now you can see her clearly. - "We just need a bit more time for preparation, before officially starting." - she watches carefully while you adjust yourself to a sitting position, stranding her lower stomach and hips, with your own. Her face lights up when she remembers something. - "Oh, and darling, I wanted to tell you-"

"Respectfully, I would love to listen to you all night, Miranda." - you voice out, eyes locked at her body now instead of her face, she surely looks beautiful under you. - "and don't get me wrong, I'm very happy for you." - you begin to chew on your lip, fingers practically trembling when you bring them to the collar of her shirt, eager to yank it off. - "but I've been waiting for more than I can endure and..." - you pull on the fabric, close to loosing your control. Your eyes lift up to meet hers. - "Can I?"

"All yours, darling." - you're thankful she understands your needs, hearing her consent is a blessing to your ears. You decide to take your sweet time. Your fingers work slowly, unbuttoning her shirt with ease. And just a few seconds later you brush the now open and two sided shirt aside, exposing her bare chest to you. She's breathtaking as always. The observation of her body takes more of your time and attention than usual. Beneath the weak lighting her skin looks extremely inviting. You fear your lower lip might bleed out from the pressure your teeth force on it, once you gain enough consciousness to start touching her properly. Your hands carefully press to her stomach, then you move them to a side, grabbing her waist. Lifting them is pleasant, you get to feel her ribcage and count every single bone there, before you stop at her breasts. Their size is perfect for you since they fit amazingly well into your palms. As you cup them, you can't stop yourself from teasing her a little, just few brushes of your thumbs against her nipples are enough to harden them. It thrills you to the core. Soon your hands find themselves around her throat, which forces her head to be thrown back, and you squeeze. A cold shiver runs down her body, one which even you can feel, combined with a soft gasp from between her lips. How vulnerable she looks right now, all for you. Miranda being so casually yours is alarming and thrilling at the same time. At least she trusts you enough to allow all of this. Only if she knew what exactly runs through your head when she submits herself so easily. Part of you if convinced she knows, because it's Miranda after all.

"Every time, and I mean every fucking time, when we get intimate I'm divided in two." - she hums, not minding it when your fingers lift to press against her lips - in order to silence her for a while and enjoy their softness. - "For some reason I overflow with greedy rage, I want to be mean and hurtful, because a voice in my head is constantly whispering about you deserving it. I don't understand it." - her eyebrows twist in so much confusion and you almost panic, having said too much, but you contain yourself. A bit forced - you continue. - "Then I-...change...I become eager to please you, to make you feel good, show you love and care, be as gentle as I possibly can and... it's what I've told you many times - I just want to treat you right. Like it should be." - words equally overwhelm and run away from you. Even you start to wonder what exactly you're trying to tell her. All you know it's important, and it's coming from somewhere deep inside of you. The anxious beats of your heart are an easy confirmation. - "Do you think...that's normal, Miranda? I'm obsessed, devoted, ready to worship, but at the same time I feel so-"

"Show me your yearning, precious darling." - Miranda finds the the power to yank you down at her, kissing you with might. Once you loose yourself into her again, she runs her nails down your back, forcing it to form a slight arch. If this continues you're certain you'll be both ruined, yet noone seems to care. Your head fills with rushing blood and in an attempt to loosen the pressure, you shift down to her neck, placing eager open-mouthed kisses, which quickly turn into bites. Miranda holds in a moan, clearly enjoying the roughness you can bring out. Then she curls up a finger under your chin, forcing you to make eye contact. - "I wish to know how it feels like."

Miranda plays with you a bit too much. But that's okay, you love her games. You're not certain what possesses you to show your claim on her out of a sudden, since she's the one to normally leave you covered in marks. Yet both of you groan in pleasure as you begin to descend down her body, lips softly pressing against smooth skin, before nibbling enough for the flesh to redden. On her part, Miranda considers your actions reasonable and she eagerly pushes your head even lower. After a quick awkward adjustment, in order for you to get more space while freezing between her legs, you look up to her. Your almost sure bet of Miranda already glaring down at you doesn't fail. Like usual, her method of silencing moans is a long, curled finger in between her teeth. Although she has been rather quiet for tonight, not like you've started anything yet. A rushed brush through your hair symbolizes her way of convincing you to continue. You can easily remove her underwear and dive into her, but you've never been so close to actually going down on her. Of course you plan on mimicking everything she does, yet you won't be able to feel satisfied with just that. So you wait, fingers hooked at both sides of her panties, while the realisation slowly hits her. For once you're happy she's so good at reading your mind, or maybe you've just gotten too close...

"People do this differently, darling." - Miranda starts to explain, her hand caressing your cheek. You lean into her touch without much of a thought. She then proceeds to lift her upper body up, pressing her back against the bed's headboard. - "But you don't care about other people, do you?" - the smirk on her face is awfully sinful. - "You only want to know what I like?" - even if her rough tone hints for her sentence to be a formal declaration, you catch up with the small particles for a question.

"Can't please you if you don't show me how." - hasn't it always been like that? You always relying on her guidance. Miranda lets out a hum, oddly resembling a purr. You decide it's finally time to get rid of her underwear, leaving her with only the unbuttoned shirt, which only stays on her back because of the long sleeves. Yet it remains mainly useless, as its idea of coverage is not completed.

"Slowly, I like to enjoy it." - for you is a command, filled with need, for her is a selfish act. Her many times with Mia had a very odd pattern - she was either overstimulated or completely denied, sometimes there was just nothing, just pain, which the other women has decided Miranda deserves. She never got to enjoy her given orgasms. - "Be as messy as you like, I don't mind it." - with that she parts her legs for you, forcing you to swallow. - "Just don't tease...much."

She's bare for your shaking eyes, smooth and soft. When you part her with the help of your fingers, you also note she's aroused by the situation, since you find her clearly glistering. Your head is a spinning mess, while your teeth do your best to distract you by biting the inside of your cheek. Then all reason is throw out of the window. You launch your mouth on her like it's the last thing you'll ever do. She hums, partly in protest, partly in pleasure. It's wrong and you know it, she doesn't directly do this. Miranda always prepares you more than enough - red bites on your thighs, slow sensational licks to your throbbing core until she's satisfied enough to eat her meal. Distracted by your own overthinking, you don't realise how you slowly begin to shift away, thankfully your girlfriend is not known for patience and rushes to bring you back to her.

"Don't make me beg." - Miranda whispers - "I need you."

Perhaps that's the boost, which was till now missing. You concentrate enough, ignoring the captivating energy rushing through your veins and forcing your heart to beat irregularly. This time you approach her with a slow lick, though large enough to almost cover her whole. The flat of your tongue is glued to her wetness. Miranda tastes even better from when you lick her off your fingers, it's a sweet mixture of sourness. Adding your saliva makes a great combination. Soon the promised mess from earlier comes to life. You drag your so far calm tongue along her slit, then further up, it moves perfectly smooth between her lower lips. When you reach her clit, a moan slips from her vocal cords, reminding you of her sensitivity. The bundle of nerves is practically throbbing with need as you take it into your mouth. You attack it with lazy, painfully slow licks while looking up to Miranda. Her nails are implying constant torture to the sheets beneath her, but overall she's strangely composed. Not being able to satisfy her is not to your liking.

"You're so addictive." - You praise her loudly, earning a small, but warm smile. Helping yourself with strong hands, you press her spread hips to the mattress while occupying her with hot open-mouthed kisses. - "So lethally beautiful." - she lets out a gasp, as your thumbs stretching out to reveal her opening to you, tongue slowly curling it. - "Not a single flaw on you, perfection."

Both of you are used to your flatter when it comes to making love with her. Your words of appreciation are a blessing for Miranda ears and... it's truly no secret they also work as aphrodisiacs. It turns her too way too much. And the blonde woman finds it extremely difficult to stay still not moan too loudly as your tongue penetrates her without a warning. It's a melting pleasure for both of you. She's tight and warm, in order for you actually give her something - you lock your jaw in place and push forward until your fully extended tongue muscles slip inside of her, nose left to teasingly rub against her clit. Then you allow yourself to explore. You spell both yours and Miranda's name against her inner walls, which twitch in excitement. It's long before she rest her head on a pillow while her hips jerk off forward, needs more friction.

"Were you hiding from me all this time, darling?" - she's expected to start talking her nonsense when near her edge, but surprisingly against tonight - her words are sharply calculated, despite her having to stop between heavy breaths and urgent hisses. - "Joking around with that boy when you're clearly made to worship a woman's body?" - there goes her never ending race against Philip. And your ex boyfriend is not even on the competition anymore. Your tongue leaves her with a wet pop, forcing out a whimper out of her. You lick your lips before exposing her puffy clit to more exploding fire. Miranda finds herself out of breath, yet still the muscles of her neck flex out when she speaks again. Specifying her worries for you. - "...My body."

Nothing feels real at the moment. As if time has frozen you don't even consider the outside world. The room, sheltering you, is completely invisible. Only Miranda exists for you. And her pleasure. A hand, quiet as a snake, roams through the sheets down between her legs. A helper for your jaw, which is already getting tired from bobbing up and down. You interrupt your working mouth, only to quick take two fingers inside it. Covering them with great amount of saliva, you later on release them from between your lips. Miranda is practically a leaking mess, yet it would never hurt to add more lubricant. She easily takes both fingers until they sink knuckle deep inside of her. Once they start moving the woman woman, wraps a palm over her own mouth and throws her head back, loosing any ability to hold her precious eye contact. Although she tries her best, hitched moans still manage to explode out of her. You alarm yourself by the sound, something finally clicking inside your mind. Your personal room is much closer to the kid's bedrooms than Miranda's one, so naturally she'd be forced to muffle herself. Perhaps covering her with kisses might help. While ascending in search for her lips, however, she suddenly snaps at you - voice slightly irritated.

"No, baby, you can't deny me that golden tongue of yours." - her unbelievably strong hand shoves your head back to her core, her hips now jerking upwards. Any anxiety about her daughters being faced with a very bad example evaporate from your thoughts. You open your mouth, allowing your tongue to just sticks out of it as she positions herself in a way, that will bring friction to her clit everytime she moves her hips up and down, rubbing against your face with need. Miranda keeps one arm wrapped at the back of your neck, holding you firmly, while the other is bended behind her - a weak elbow barely being able to hold her half up body while she seeks her pleasure. Your fingers never slow down, finding her sweet spot with ease, hitting it with the same rhythm she moves her pelvis. - "mmm...you're going to make me come, darling." - her declaration only switches a key inside of you, which immediately makes you double your efforts. Her moans turn into straight, breathless ahs, legs finally giving in to uncontrollable trembling. She is so close - you can practically taste her orgasm. - "Can I come for you, my sweet little deer?"

One moment Miranda is begging you for a release, and the next she's already curled up on one side, breathing so heavily that her pants easily fill the entire room, and the sheets are soaked beneath her still-shaking hips. You stare at her with a shocked expression, completely devoured of the situation. Your right hand remains with spread out fingers, the last move you did inside of her before she snapped in half, and by looking at it you note it's covered in a glove of her dripping wetness. Unbelievable, you've never pushed her that far. Every cell of your being wants to do it again. You wait for her breathing to calm down to regular, which definitely takes a few minutes. After that, however, Miranda just...stops moving. As if dead. You call out her nail, getting absolutely zero reaction in return. Moving closer to her is a good decision, but running a hand up her slightly exposed from the crumpled shirt back - not as good. She twitches with a hiss the moment your fingertips make contact with the black tissue on it.

"Not my back, Mi-" - she turns with the speed of light, eyes burning in golden colour, voice angrier than ever. You gulp, moving your hand back, and she sighs. - "...my darling."

"Sorry...I-"

"No, I should apologise." - Miranda skillfully wraps her fingers around your retreating wrist and pulls it back to her, sending a wave of sweet kisses down the path of your knuckles. - "I'm... barely able to form a thought right now, darling."

Well you should just go ahead a pat yourself on the shoulder. A statement from a while ago spawns in your mind out of the blue - Miranda was correct as usual, she's not hard to please when you know which buttons to push. Luckily for you, you know every single one of them.

"So...are you in for another round, granny, or are you too tired?" - you question her with a smirk, shifting so you can sit next to her on the bed. Your hands work fast to dispose your own clothing. Another pile finds a place on the floor.

"Call me granny again and I'll ruin you." - so she can think, after all. A little pissy than you would like, but still very inviting.

"Is that a promise or a threat..." - Miranda narrows her dark eyes at you. - "...granny."

The blonde woman is all over you before you can get your answer.

"Fuck...fuck...Mira-" - You feel a light slap slide across your ass. Another punishment about swearing, for which Miranda warns you about so often. Because of your position, pushed hard into the mattress, she can do whatever she wants. Oh, she's rather dominant when she decides to be. She has your legs intertwined with hers, one hooked up her shoulder for more access while your hips are rubbing together. You keep on staring at one single bulging vein on her stomach, it's low - starting from the apex of her left thigh and ending nearly her belly button. This is enough to keep your attention and not make you observe with how much need she grinds her throbbing core against yours. Because surely looking for too long will make you loose your mind. Although you choose not to use one sense it doesn't mean you can block your others from working. Your shared wetness merging together is echoing through the room, facing no other obstacles but additional heavy panting. - "Why don't we...fuck-" - and slap to your skin. - "...it would be easier to go to your room, no? You have your preparations there..."

"Don't you think it's more enjoyable to just... let you feel me like this, rather than being filled to the brim with a toy, hm?" - Miranda talks with confidence, as if she wasn't the one barely moving not so long ago. Though after having you come for her two time in a row- you're much more sensitive. She hugs the shaking leg around her shoulder, while moving even faster, rewarding you with another sticky kiss from her clit to your own. You almost scream from pleasure.

"Can't..." - Miranda lowers herself, bending your leg until your hip in almost glued to your stomach. You're flexible, but it surely sting your muscles a little. Not like you can focus on pain currently. For the first time since you've started being intimate, you find yourself being the one to dig nails into her shoulders. You don't dare to bother her back, however, for which she's thankful. Soon she leans her head down in order to kiss you. - "too much, Mira, I can't-"

"I know, darling, I know." - she coos at you with fake pity, turning your head to a side so she can lick your neck. Unexpectedly you grab her hips and push her against you. She hisses out, eyes widened. She's not going to be the only one struggling with the overwhelming pleasure. - "Yes..., I feel good too."

A world-shaking orgasm strikes you like a thunder. Miranda guides you through it, whispering praise while not allowing you rest, since she's seaking her own high peak. You completely loose track of reality. Everything happens too fast and the only thing clear enough for you to focus on is Miranda. Your goodness of beauty, in her purest moments of heat. Your favourite type of chaos, your evening sky and morning sun. You're certain now, in what exactly you wanted to tell her earlier with all your fancy words of admiration.

"I love you, Miranda, I love you so much."

The world slows down, the earth turns to ice , before it completely stops rotating. The illusion of the material and the immaterial is broken. The dark blue ocean pours over you, almost drowning you. Miranda's gaze is just that intoxicating once she tilts her head down. The air between you is as thick as a wall, even though no one is breathing. Then everything breaks. Miranda shatters into a million pieces. You don't even realize the weight of your words before they bring bitter drops to her eyes. You hate when she cries, but right now you hate yourself and your stupid feelings more.

Before you can even think of protesting or somehow appeasing her, she digs sharp nails into your temples. Your mind shuts down, giving her complete control. She sniffles, allowing herself to once again penetrate your brain, currently filled with regret. She removes anything that would hurt her. She removes the memory of your shared love. It eating her from the inside that there's no way for her to remove the feeling entirely. She can't allow herself to be loved again.

"Please don't do this to me, you can't." - Miranda won't endure it again. The pure taste of poison. Although you're not mentally with her, she can control your body how she wishes. She forced you to sleep immediately, while she escapes your combined trap of flesh. - "Anything but that feeling again.." - she whispers more to herself than you.

The blonde woman begins to cough, her hand quickly curling around her neck. A familiar feeling of pressure in her chest rises up to her mouth and she leans forward, squeezing her eyes shut, breathing deeply. She curses once as she falls to the floor, a second time as she runs to the bathroom, and a third time as her mouth fills with unnecessary drool. She stares at the mirror across from her, eyes bulging, for mere seconds, but it's enough to fill her with enough rage to knock her low again. The tiles beneath her body are cold. Miranda hates herself, hates when she feels so weak, hates the fact that none of the marks you gave her will stay on her skin, she hates the fact that you love her.

I love you, Miranda, I love you, Miranda...two voices pop into her head. Mia doesn't belong there, but she can't bear to think about you. Her skin warms and no matter how many times she swallows , the lump in her throat won't go away. She can't put off the inevitable. Miranda leans over the toilet, holding her hair in one hand as she coughs. Soon the unpleasant feeling of vomiting totally overwhelms her and she empties her stomach.

She's not surprised to discover that the liquid has no color. She vomits up pure stomach juices for the simple reason that she just doesn't eat. She hasn't had to in years. Not before you showed up and started bitching about how she wasn't getting enough to eat. Not until you started caring...A new wave of stomach acid comes out of her mouth. A certain amount of time passes, filled in coughing and more vomiting before she settles to the ground, exhausted.

The unpleasant habit of throwing up when under a lot of stress or pressure is something she has been struggling with for a long time, but can never overcome. Her stomach hurts, her throat and nose burn, and she's sure her teeth would be rotting right now if it weren't for the saliva that has accumulated in her mouth.

I love you, Miranda... Enough. This is a living hell. It's too soon, it's too rushed, you can't love her, she can't...leave her past behind. Miranda doesn't believe she can experience love without her familiar pain, and even though you're too different from Mia, she can't be sure, not when you told her yourself tonight that part of you longs to hurt her. Lovely, now her head is starting to throb too.

Exhausted and weak, she stands up. Still completely naked, except for her now teasing white shirt, she returns with quiet steps to the bedroom. She knows you are sleeping deeply because she herself is holding you under this influence. As she watches you, however , a sad sigh escapes her throat. It's all her fault. Miranda cannot accept your love, nor give you hers.

She bends down to pick up the clothes from the floor before leaving your room and disappearing into the night, leaving you alone.

#mother miranda #re8 village #missing miranda hours #i love her #resident evil 8 #mother miranda x reader #fanfic #reader x mother miranda #babysitter au

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