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inkedinshadows · 7 days ago

Note

For the requests: "I would certainly take all night" with Eris, please. I would be forever indebted to you. Can be smut or not, write it however you want! :)

Held in Firelight

Pairing: Eris x f!reader

A/N: Hi! No need to be indebted, don't worry! I just hope you'll like this bc I really liked this idea but I wrote it after six hours of class so it might not be my best work. I also don't know how to label it because it's a bit fluffy with a tiny sprinkle of angst and allusions to smutty bits? Idk idk I really like it tho

Warnings: arranged marriage, cheating (but the parties involved are aware so idk)

Word count: 1k

“I think he has a new lover.”

Your words cut through the comfortable silence that had settled over the sitting room. Eris raised a brow, but you continued to stir the wine in your glass, your eyes fixed on the swirling red liquid.

The silence stretched, broken only by the crackling embers in the fireplace. Eventually, he asked, “What makes you think that?”

You shrugged one shoulder. “He spent every night out this week. He doesn't do that if he's just sleeping around. He still comes home.”

Eris hummed, as if contemplating your answer.

These were your favorite moments—when Eris didn’t have court duties to attend to and could spend hours talking and drinking with you. It was your favorite way to ease the stress and tension of the life you had been forced into.

“He was out even two nights ago?”

You looked up at him. The firelight flickered on the side of his face, turning his hair into molten copper. You felt a sudden urge to reach across the couch and run your fingers through it.

“Yeah,” you replied. “Why do you ask?”

“It was your birthday,” he stated simply.

“So?”

He looked startled. “You really don’t care that he forgot?”

You sighed, setting your glass down. “Eris, he hasn't remembered my birthday in years.”

He didn’t reply, but his jaw clenched. You couldn’t tell if the flames in his eyes were just a reflection of the fire or if it was that simmering power of his.

With another sigh, you pressed on. “Let’s say he remembers,” you said. “Then what? You really believe he would spend the whole night with me, taking his sweet time to make me feel cherished, at least on my birthday?” You shook your head, the mere thought making you scoff. “No, I prefer it this way. He doesn't care about me, I don't care about him, and there's no point in pretending we do.”

Eris remained silent, his gaze fixed on the fireplace, his fingers clutching the stem of his glass so tightly you thought it might break. You knew he cared about you, that he hated your situation as much as you did, but even he couldn’t change it. Maybe once he became High Lord he’d banish arranged marriages and spare others from this fate, but it was too late for you.

Picking up your glass again, you tucked your legs beneath you and settled back against the pillows. You took a sip of wine, hoping that its rich taste might offer an excuse to change the topic, but you came up empty. You’d already commented on the flavor when he opened the bottle.

“I would certainly take all night.”

His voice was quiet, almost thoughtful, but when you turned to look at him, he was still facing away from you.

“What?” you blurted out. Surely, you had heard that wrong.

Finally, his eyes met yours, determined and unflinching. “I would take all night with you,” he repeated, “I would cherish you. And not just on your birthday.”

Your breath hitched. There had been a few lingering touches, a brush of fingers, words whispered after one too many glasses of wine. But never like this—so plain and blatant, so unguarded.

“Don't say that,” you murmured.

“Why not?” His eyes bore into you, pinning you in place. There was no escape—not that you wanted one. “We both want it.”

He was right. There was no arguing with that. Yet you still shook your head. “Eris, we can't.”

He moved closer. You didn’t resist when he took your glass and set it on the small table alongside his. An empty bottle stood next to an unopened one.

“Why not?” he asked again, his voice gentler now. “Just because you’re married? How many other females has he been with?”

Countless.

Maybe Eris was right about that too. Maybe you didn’t owe loyalty to a husband you had never wanted—a husband who had never been loyal to you. If he could have all the females he wanted, then maybe you could have the one male you wanted. The one person who always understood you, who never judged or mistreated you.

“When was the last time someone made you feel cherished?” Eris’s hand covered yours, his slender fingers intertwining with your own, squeezing once. “Made you feel good?”

You had never thought about your marriage in those terms. You had never wanted that union in the first place, so you had clung to the small things. Time away from your husband was good. You hadn’t shared a bed in a long time, and your conversations were awkward and stiff enough that the thought of intimacy hadn't crossed your mind in years. And you’d told yourself that was good enough.

But deep down, it had never really felt good.

Eris was still looking at you, his expression soft and understanding. As if he could see your every thought.

You looked away, unable to stomach it. “I don't know,” you finally whispered.

“Let me be that person.” He reached out, gently tilting your chin. “Let me make you feel good.”

Your eyes met again, and your resolve wavered. Then he brushed his thumb over your lips and spoke in a barely audible whisper.

“Let me love you.”

That word.

Love.

Your husband had never uttered it to you, nor had you to him. But hearing it from Eris… you knew he didn't mean just now—a stolen moment to carry in your heart. And that realization was the final push you needed.

You didn't know who moved first. One moment you were staring into each other's eyes. The next, your lips met.

He tasted like a wish come true after years of waiting.

You were done longing and yearning in secret, done pretending you didn't know what you truly wanted.

And as Eris loved you in front of the fireplace, you finally felt good. You felt cherished. And he took all night to make sure of it.

Taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch @georgiadixon @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @ivy-34

1k taglist: @onebadassunicorn @thegoddessofnothingness

#eris vanserra #eris vanserra x you #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra x y/n #eris vanserra fluff #eris vanserra fic #acotar #acotar x reader #acotar fanfic #acotar fluff #a court of thorns and roses #sjm #sarah j maas #one shot #fluff #fanfiction #drabble #requested

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muffinpink02 · 8 months ago

Text

Sweaty Sessions

We all saw the gym pic Alexia put in her insta post, so of course I had to do a story of her in the gym.

@copper-16 I hope you enjoy the hip thrusts! 🤤 @codiemarin thank you for jumping in and giving me a detailed picture to write 🥵 💦 and @lucyandalexiafan thank you for always helping me with everything I write! ❤️ Sorry if it feels a little rushed.

Warning - smut 18 plus, strap, restraints, fingering,

Barcelona’s sun was extra hot today, you could feel the sweat dripping down your back as you rounded the corner to your house. You let out a puff of air as you dropped your keys in the bowl next to the front door. You caught a quick glimpse of yourself in the mirror after your run, your face was sweaty, your cheeks were red and your baby hair was starting to curl. The built-in AC was a welcome on your damp skin.

“Ale, I’m home.” You called out, but got no response.

You walked into the back of the house, knowing your girlfriend would be in her favourite room.

You took your headphones out as you approached the door to your shared home gym. You could hear the familiar sounds of her heavy panting before you had even turnt the corner. You couldn't ignore the way it made your pussy flutter.

You spotted your girlfriend in the middle of her daily work out. You had seen the sight before, more times then you could count, but that didn't mean it ever got old, the view of Alexia working out never got old. In all honesty the mouth watering sight alone could get you wet if you watched her long enough, especially when the only items she wore were a sports bra and red gym shorts.

You slowly sneaked into the kitted out gym room, the heat in the room hit you straight away, it felt like a sauna. It was the only room where the AC wasn’t working, the repair guy was coming next week to fix it.

The blonde was in the middle of her hip thrusts, she hadn't noticed you come in, she had her headphones on, and her eyes closed as she concentrated on the heavy weight bearing on her hips, her deep breathing went in time with her motion. Your eyes greedily roamed her sweaty body, as her abs flexed with her movements.

You shook your head at the girl, only Alexia would work in a hot box for a room, the girl never missed her workouts for anything.

The music in her ears suddenly stopped. Her hazel eyes opened in confusion, a cute frown knitted between her eyebrows until she saw you. She gave you a quick smile, clearly still in the zone of her workout.

You eyed the plates on the metal bar, the weight combined was heavier than you, a stark reminder of the kind of power the girl possessed. Though you were reminded most nights when she had her way with you. Just the other night the blonde had you pinned to the wall, her strong arms held you up as she fucked you so effortlessly with her strap.

You smiled back at her, your mind was already filled with filthy thoughts, but you couldn't help it, not when she moved her hips the way she did. Her hips thrusted hard, as she pushed the heavy bar in the air, you felt your pussy squeeze as you watched her muscles flex again and again, her sweaty skin looked incredibly edible.

You flinched as she dropped the weight, the heavy clanking of the metal brought you back from your dirty day dream.

“Hola, baby. How was your run?” She breathed.

“It was good, thank you. How's your training going? Are you finished?” You asked with hope in your voice but you already knew the answer.

“No, I’m half way.” She chuckled.

You pouted as you stood over her. You rolled the bar down her legs, she eyed you as she took a drink from her bottle, the blonde could already read your mind. You lowered yourself on top of her hips, in a squat-like position.

“I bet you can’t do a hit with me on top.”

She wiped her wet lips as she smiled at your attempt to goad her.

“At least try and give me a challenge when trying to distract me, amor. Come, let me finish. I’ll be done soon.”

She patted your leg to move, You pouted again, giving her your best puppy eyes, she playfully rolled her own, smiling at your sulky face.

“Three thrust, then I train, okay?”

“Okay.”

Her warm hands grabbed your bare sides as she easily raised you off the floor with her movements, you felt your cunt flutter as her hard abs pressed into your core, just slightly giving you a little bit of friction, But she didn't stick to her own words as she thrusted again, and again, her hands squeezed your skin, holding you in place.

You could tell she was counting, she had clearly made a bet in her own head to get to a certain number, the competitiveness never stopped with this girl, even if it was with herself. You couldn’t hold back the giggles as she smiled at you. You held on to her shoulders as she pushed into you, easily lifting you up and down, her fingers flexed around your skin, making your stomach flutter.

A small gasp escaped your lips at a particularly hard thrust from the girl below. You bit your lip as your clit pressed just perfectly against her firm body, your hips naturally moved against her, wanting more friction.

She felt you move, she heard the gasp, a knowing smirk crept on her perfect face. You could feel yourself getting wet, the movement was sexual, there was no two ways about it. You had been in this very position only this morning, when Alexia decided she wanted you to ride her fingers.

But once again your filthy thoughts were interrupted.

“20. Done. Now let me train.”

“Make it 30.”

She chuckled. “No amor, let me finish, then you can have me.”

You tried to do your best pout again even adding a small roll of your hips, hoping the move would persuade her.

Her eyelashes fluttered as she felt you, the fingers on your sides tightly squeezing again. You took that opportunity to lean into her hot body, your lips traced her sweaty neck, you could taste the salt from her sweat on your lips. You dragged your tongue just below her ear, smiling when she made a small gasp of her own. You captured her ear gently between your teeth, giving her another sinful roll of your hips.

“Please baby. I want you.” You purred.

Her hips jolted up, you couldn't help but feel slightly proud of yourself as her normally strong resolve started to break. But just as you thought you had won you were being lifted into the air. Your face was met with Alexias back as she easily flung you over her shoulder, like some kind of cave woman.

“Ale!”

Moments later you were set back on your feet, standing next to the pull up station. The next couple of seconds were a blur. Her movements were quick, one minute you were dry humping your girlfriend, the next your arms were being pulled behind your back and were being tied up by the rubber bands that were attached to the bars above.

You felt the rubber around your wrist, you tried to pull at it but it was no use. You shouldn't have been too surprised that the girl was able to tie you up so effortlessly, she loved having you tied up in your sexual activities, she could make restraints out of almost anything, but you had never thought your resistance bands would be used on you.

She smirked as she pulled the bands, making sure you couldn't escape. A harsh tug brought you closer to her face. Her lips ghosted your own.

“As you can’t be good and keep your hands to yourself, you can wait.” She smirked as she pressed her lips onto yours.

Your mouth gaped open in disbelief, she gave your arse cheek a hard slap before she walked back to the equipment.

“No, Ale please! I’ll be good.” You cried out.

But it was no use, her face was already back in focus mode. You groaned as you watched Alexia completely ignore your presence and settle back into her hip thrust position, your complaints falling on deaf ears.

So you stood there. Staring at your girlfriend as she thrusted the heavy bar in the air. You tugged at the band once again, trying to free yourself but it was hopeless. You would just have to wait and watch, but at least the view was a good one.

Alexia was in the zone, she concentrated on her work out, finally finishing her remaining reps. As she stood you noticed her arms looked extra hard, you weren't sure if she was tensing or the girl had just gained more mass. But you were going to be a brat about it.

“Are you really going to leave me like this? Make me watch your work out? As if I'm impressed?”

She laughed out loud, wiping her sweaty forehead, but she didn’t respond. She picked up some more plates from the rack. She held the weight near her core, and pushed it on the bar in the most sexual manner, her eyes watching you as she did.

You rolled your eyes and looked away, but only for a second, you weren't about to let your pride get in the way of watching your girlfriend be a cocky dick, it was frankly the hottest thing on earth, but you weren't going to tell her that and let her ego grow even more.

Once she was finished with her peacocking, she moved to lay on the bench, lifting the bar with an eye watering amount of weights attached, but of course she only made it look easy.

You felt no better than a man as you watched the blonde working out, I mean, she was your girlfriend, you were allowed to watch, you were being made to watch, but you wanted to touch her, especially when she started to make those stupidly sexy grunting noises.

The grunts she let out was the same grunts you heard in your ear many a night, the same delicious groans that dripped from her mouth when she held you down and fucked you until she came on the base of her strap, grunting while she was deep inside you.

You caught your lip between your teeth, the heat between your legs was rising, your mind was clouded with images of Alexia, thinking about all the ways she would fuck you, use you, make you scream untill your voice was hoarse. The sound of a loud groan made your eyes flutter and your knees weak.

Alexia finished her reps with the chest press and moved over to the weights on the stand, not once did she look at you. She took out a 20kg kettlebell and began her kettlebell swings. It was no secret that the girl was fit, she did two workouts a day, everyday, plus training, plus running and everything else in between, but she still impressed you every time you watched her, the girl was a beast.

The blonde had almost forgotten you were there. She was mid lift when she caught you watching her in the floor length mirror. A coy smirk creeped on her lips at the angry yet horny look that sat on your face. She loved the fact that you were watching her, even if you had no choice in the matter. Though she knew you were enjoying the view, she just wanted to have a little fun with it.

She panted hard as she got to the last set, her cheeks hollowed out and her sweaty chest rose in time of her breathing, her goddess-like body was something of dreams.

You could really feel the heat between your legs now, a dull ache throbbing your core, you had never been so turned on and frustrated at the same time. Your thighs began to clench as you watched your very fit but very annoying girlfriend work out in front of you. you couldn't ignore the ache in your cunt anymore

“You’re loving this aren't you?” You raised your eyebrow at the blonde.

She chuckled as she returned the weight on the rack. She took another sip from her bottle before facing you.

“Sí. I am. You should have been patient, baby.”

You rolled your eyes. The girl could be such a fucking tease.

She walked towards you with a cocky smirk on her face.

“Ah don't be like that, amor. I know you enjoyed the view.”

“Would be better if I was allowed…”

Your sentence died in your throat. The blonde turned her back to you, you thought she was done with the conversation but you watched as she slowly started to stretch. Right in front of you. She bent straight over, touching her toes with ease. Her arse strained against the tiny shorts, giving you a perfect view of one of your favourite body parts. She was clearly trying to kill you.

“Alexiaaaa. Please. This isn't fair.” You cried out.

She laughed loudly as she straightened herself up. Your eyes roamed her wet, muscular body, she was covered in a sheen of sweat, even her top lip was wet.

You didn't know why but it was something that turned you on to no end. Seeing Alexia like this, all worked up, hot and sweaty made you clit throb. Maybe because it was a similar sight to when she fucked you.

“You can wait a little more.” She pulled the rubber band once more, making you jolt.

Before you could reply she was walking out of the gym.

“Ale! Where are you going? You can't just leave me!”

She ignored your calls once again. You huffed in annoyance, pulling at the arm band one more, but the tight rubber only pulled on your skin. The room was unbearably hot, your patience was wearing thin, especially as it was at least 5 minutes before she came back.

“Ale, what the fuck you c-can’t …” Your words stuttered on the tip of your tongue.

Alexia stood at the gym door wearing nothing but her favourite strap. The big strap.

“What was that sweetheart?”

You gaped at her, your mouth was suddenly dry. The sheer cockyness that dripped from the gril was spinning your head. The look she gave you was predatory, she stalked slowly over to you, you suddenly felt like a lamb who was about to be devoured by the lion

“Hmm? You seemed so impatient. I think you need something…. Big. Don’t you think?”

“N-no. I jus- ahhh.”

Your head was suddenly yanked back, Alexia had a vise-like grip of your hair, making you cry out.

“Get on your knees.”

You knelt to your knees, while Alexia kept her grip on you.

“Open your mouth.”

And like the good girl you were, you opened your mouth. She slid her dick in gently, but it didn’t stop you from gagging as it got halfway. You didn’t normally use this strap for oral, it was too big, but clearly Alexia wanted to prove a point with your lack of patience.

“Go slow.”

You did go slow, but the tears sprung to your eyes just as quickly. She slowly pressed her hips to your face, the pressure on your throat was a lot, but it only built the pressure between your legs.

“Keep going, you can take it.”

Your eyes closed as the tears ran down your cheeks. Her hand in your hair guiding you until your nose pressed against her firm stomach.

“That's it, your mouth is better when it's used for this, no?” She smiled down at you.

You opened your eyes, looking at the goddess above you. She wiped your tears with her free hand, it was a soft getsure considering her bravado was out in full swing. She cupped your chin as she pulled back, then slowly back in. The pace was slow but the spit in your mouth gathered fast, as the thick strap filled your throat.

You stayed on your knees for a couple more minutes as Alexia fucked your throat with the biggest strap you owned. You kept your throat as relaxed as you could, as she watched you take her, her own cunt throbbing.

“Get up.” Alexia snapped. She gently pulled the strap out of your mouth.

You didn't have a chance to move before she easily picked you up to your feet. Her sheer strength showing itself again.

She roughly turned you around, pulling your back against her chest. You let out a gasp as her teeth sunk into your shoulder.

“You’ve become very impatient, baby. Have you lost all your manners?”

Her mouth started to suck where she bit you, her strap pressing into you as you let out a groan. She had a tight hold of your wrist behind your back, you couldn’t move with the grip she had on you.

Another yelp escaped your mouth as her hand pulled at your hair.

“Hmm?”

“No. I-I just want you.”

You felt her full lips smile against your skin as she gave you a gentle kiss.

“But you were acting like a brat, I do not reward brats.”

“I’m sorryyyy.”

Another bite, another mark.

“Let’s see what a spoilt little brat looks like while she gets fucked.”

Before you could ask what she meant you were being pushed as close as she could get you to the floor length mirror. You were now only an arm length away from your reflection. You suddenly realised what she meant as you watched a sadistic smile creep on her face behind you.

Her hands started pulling at your own shorts, roughly yanking them down to your ankles, bringing your underwear with it. Leaving your top half only in your sports bra.

“Where’s all that talk now, baby?”

You jumped when you felt her fingers slide against your wet lips.

She scoffed when she felt how wet you were. “You clearly enjoyed watching me. So messy, amor.” She purred in your ear. “You enjoy watching me don’t you?”

You nodded, your eyes closed as you saw yourself in the mirror, not able to escape the way you melted into her hot body.

“Open your eyes.”

You did what she said, you weren't about to be a brat with that tone. You saw yourself half naked in the mirror. Alexia was holding your wrist behind your back, as if you would try to escape. Her hazel eyes were on yours, watching you like you were the most beautiful creature in the world.

Two long fingers slid between your lips and circled your throbbing clit. You let out a quiet gasp, your eyes closed as she touched you with light but perfect touches. But your hair was being pulled once more.

“Close your eyes again and I’ll stop.” She whispered harshly in your ear.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered as her fingers gathered your wetness.

“You will be.” Her teeth sunk into your neck as those long fingers easily entered your cunt.

You let out a loud gasp, Alexia had thick fingers, the strength of them alone was sometimes harder to take than a strap.

“So tight.” She hissed, her breath tickling your hot neck.

But before you could enjoy her fingers for much longer she removed them, her hand was on your neck, pushing you forward and her fingers sunk into your core from the back. Your face was inches from the mirror, your reflection clear as day.

“Fuck.”

The new angle was tighter, but felt so much better. Her fingers in your cunt pushed in and out slowly, knowing exactly how to pull the cute noises she loved so much. Her talented fingers stroked your walls with perfect precision, you could feel yourself becoming wetter, you could even hear yourself getting wetter against her movements.

But as soon as she got into a rhythm her fingers were gone, again. You were about to complain and ask why she had stopped, but you were silenced when you felt the head of her strap pushing against your lips.

“Ale, please.”

“Do you think you have any say right now?” She chuckled deeply behind you.

That same tone came out to play, it was the tone that you should know better than to open your mouth with. Your skin was hot, but the shivers that creeped on your skin would argue that fact, her stern voice had visibly affected you, and Alexia didn't miss it. Her free hand pushed on your shoulder, bending you right over, until your back was flat. Her fingers traced down your back, catching the dampness of your skin.

“Keep it straight.”

That same tone came out to play, it was the tone that you should know better than to open your mouth with. If it wasn’t for the position you were in you might have been bold and shot back a sarcastic jab of your own. And maybe it was the frustration of having been tied up for over 20 minutes or the thick heat from the room that made your brain short circuit and fry, because you in fact did reply with a sarcastic jab.

“I've had to wait this long, now I have to bend over? I hope it's worth it.” You whispered, loud enough for her to hear.

You saw Alexia's face harden in the mirror, the grip she had on your wrist tightened as the head of her strap began to push into your core. You gritted your teeth as the plastic began to stretch you out, a loud groan escaped your throat, feeling the strap sliding inside of you. Even though she had her fingers in you just moments before the tight stretch was still there.

You felt every inch of the strap, no matter how slow she went, the pressure of it made you hold your breath. She was slow as she pressed in, but even with gentle movements the girth took your breath away with the sheer size of it. You felt full.

Finally, you felt the sticky skin of her thighs pressing against yours, as she bottomed out in you, but before you could allow your body to get used to the fullness of her strap, she began to ease out of you. Normally the Spaniad would allow you to get used to the feeling of her inside, she would let you take her inch by inch and get used to the thickness. But you had quite frankly pissed her off with your little comment. You whimpered as her hips began dragging the strap against your tight walls, pulling herself completely out. The tip of her dick now kissed at your lips.

It was when her hand gripped tightly on your shoulder you knew your cocky attitude was about to be fucked right out of you.

You were expecting it but you also wasn't. With one quick thrust of her hips she was back inside you. The next sound that escaped your mouth was indescribable, it was loud, it was dirty, it was completely pornagraphic, and it was music to Alexia's ears. Her pace was fast as soon as she started. Your mouth gaped open as she rocked her hips into you, causing your whole body to move from each strong thrust. Your legs were holding you up but it was the grip that she had on your shoulder that stopped you from falling over.

Each quick thrust pushed a loud whimper from you, her pace was vicious. Your head fell forward, not able to keep it up from her brutal pace.

“Uh ah. Head up, I want you to see how brats get fucked.”

Alexia’s hand gripped onto the ends of your hair, jerking your head up, causing you to let out a long pathetic whine. You felt your core tighten as you were met with the most animalistic scene in front of you. It was a mass of sweaty bodies, Alexia's toned figure rutted hard against you, the filthy sounds of skin slapping against the other bounced off the walls as her thighs slapped against yours.

Your sweaty wrist rubbed against the rubber bound behind your back while she had you bent over, very much enjoying the view of her strap sliding in and out of your cunt. The smile on Alexia's face was dirty, it made your core tighten around her strap, you were at Alexia’s complete mercy and fuck, did it feel good.

The hot air in the room suddenly felt thicker as the oxygen from your lungs were forced out of you. The strength in her thrusts were almost painful, but Alexia knew you could take it, she knew your body and mind, she knew you would stop her if you had to, but there was no thought in your mind of uttering anything of the sort.

The moisture from your breath started to steam up the reflective glass in front of you, as you let out small whimpers. You knew it was self indulgent but you didn’t hate catching glances of yourself being fucked, the sight before you was sinful, especially when you had someone like Alexia to watch.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” You cried out.

You could feel your orgasm building, your legs and stomach muscles started to ache from the obscene position you were in, you weren't sure how long you would last like this, but you had a feeling Alexia wouldn’t care. You knew you would have pissed her off with your comment, and that’s exactly what you wanted, a pissed off Alexia.

Alexia’s mouth hung open as she felt her clit rubbing perfectly against the base of her strap, she started to pick up her pace chasing her own orgasm. The change of pace sent a wave of pleasure through your body, your cunt throbbed from the relentless thrusts of the girl behind you.

“Yes, yes, don’t stop.” You breathed out.

Alexia bit her lip as she felt her pleasure building, the sounds of your moaning made her head dizzy with power. She picked up to a piston whip speed. Your mouth fell open as your body was forced to take Alexia’s new pace, you weren't even able to make any sounds from the sheer force of her hips. You felt your climax prickerling your body, the hot sweat that sat on your skin suddenly felt cold as the starts of your orgasm creeped through.

The grip on your shoulder tightened, Alexia let out a deep throaty moan, you knew she was close, you watched as the muscles in her arms flexed, straining against her sweat covered skin. Your eyes followed her naked body, her muscles flexing as she drove into you, the wet slaps of sweaty skin colliding.

Your legs started to give in as your orgasm began to wash over you, your muscles were already jelly from your run, you felt your knees buckle as your pleasure took over.

“Ale!” You cried out.

She felt your body giving up. She pulled you straight up, your back hitting her chest. You let out a high moan as her lips crashed into your sweat covered neck, kissing and sucking on your skin.

“I've got you.”

Her hips kept up the bruising pace, she was still chasing her own orgasm, it almost became too much, the pleasure was about to become painful until she groaned in your ear. That very familiar groan that made your head dizzy. Her hands wrapped around your neck, bringing your lips together, it was messy and hungry, your wet lips smacking against the other as her hips started to rut into you.

“Fuck.” She gasped.

Her normally stern face became a blissed out state as her orgasm hit her. Your eyes rolled into your head as small but heavy grunts escaped her mouth, making your clit throb. Her lips pressed into your neck as she slowly grinded into you, her hot body pressed up against yours taking what she needed.

The hot room was just small sounds of your panting. She gently pulled out of you, her lips kissed your shoulder sweetly, causing you to shiver.

“You okay?”

You smiled at her soft voice, a complete 360 of your session before.

“I’m so good. But I need a shower. A cold one.” You chuckled.

“Sí. Shower together?” She nuzzled into your neck. She was always so needy after an orgasm, it was the cutest thing to see.

“Together.” You pressed your lips to hers.

She began to to remove the harness from her hips.

"Don't forget me." You turned so she could until you.

"Hmm, I think I prefer you this way. Can we keep you like this until I'm done with you." She bit she shell of your ear, making you groan.

"Are you not done with me?" You moaned with pleasure as her nails scratched up your body.

"Not yet, I think we should test your endurance a little more."

#woso #woso fanfics #woso smut #barca femeni #alexia putellas x imagine #alexia putellas smut #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas

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kingofthe-egirls · 1 year ago

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SITTING PRETTY: LUFFY x Y/N

(cw: alcohol, kitsune, east blue crew, yes i was imagining the opla cast but so were you, kissing, sitting in someone’s lap)

(a/n: this was so fun. smut maybe coming soon? we’ll see)

Songs: “Hotel” by Claire Rosinkranz

words: 1.2k

Luffy is staring at you.

He’s sitting across the campfire from you, sipping a glass of milk through a straw. You have your own moscow mule in hand, the copper mug sweating with cold condensation.

The air smells like smoke.

“So!” Luffy speaks, twirling his straw around in his drink. He slurps it loudly before continuing, “Let’s play a game!”

He smiles around at the rest of the crew, who are all in their own various states of intoxication. It’s been a long night, after several days at sea with no islands in sight. Everyone is a little bored, a little stressed, and more than a little in need of blowing off some steam. Nami shrugs.

“Sure, captain. What’s up?”

Luffy leans forward, wicked smirk painting his charming features. You stare down into your melted ice and muddled mint leaves.

“Let’s play truth or dare!”

Zoro sighs, but leans forward too. Sanji and Usopp also perk up. The Merry creaks in the waves as she sails. The ocean laps at her sides, soothing and peaceful in the summer night air. The campfire sparks up with a flare.

Luffy slurps his milk.

“What are the stakes?” Nami asks, adjusting in her seat, her boots slung over one another as she leans back. Usopp is fiddling with his slingshot.

Zoro shrugs, “Drink if you won’t take a dare, drink twice if you won’t take a truth.”

“So, we’re trying to outmatch each other? Get stuff we won’t wanna do?”

“Sorta,” Zoro says, “S’alright with everyone?”

“Sounds fun,” you admit, downing your glass before handing it off to Sanji. He’s a sucker for your sparkly eyes and fluffy tails. Your ears flick back and forth, excited. Nervous.

Sanji hurries back with a refill.

He straightens his suit jacket before sitting back down. The indigo night washes over him with a flattering, velvet softness. You wonder what shade of blue his eyes are, up close.

Luffy clears his throat.

“Sooo, who wants to go first?” His shining eyes scan the crew, and you flick up a tail (or two). He smiles, and takes a sip of his kid’s drink.

You sigh. “Truth,” you say, staring at Nami. You figure she’s gonna strike the worst, so might as well get it over with first. She stares at you, flicking her eyes up and down your scrappy frame. She arches an auburn brow.

“So, Kitty,” she sips her cider, and Sanji shifts in his seat. “Have you ever had sex before?”

She’s smiling, devilish, as you snort through your drink. She laughs as you cough, orange hair swaying in the soft breeze. Everyone else stutters and laughs, and Zoro mutters something about “starting off strong.” You swallow, sucking your teeth as you swirl melted ice around your drink.

“Yes.”

Everyone sighs out in relief, tension removed for a second of release.

Your eyes flick up to hers.

“Your turn.”

She stares back at you: a challenge.

“Dare.”

You shrug, mouth turned down, “I dare you to say when the last time you had sex was.” You stare at her glare, as she clocks you basically just gave her a truth anyway. She sniffs.

“Last week.”

“Liar!” You say, and she giggles. You shove the bottle of tequila closer to her, and she swallows what is certainly more than just one shot.

“Your turn,” she says to Zoro, who glances at Luffy for his prompt.

Luffy stares at the floor, now-empty glass held loosely in slender fingers. “What…is your favorite color?”

“I didn’t say truth, captain,” Zoro snorts, “Truth or dare, Luffy.”

“Dare?”

Sanji sighs, and Usopp says “we might as well go with it,” so Zoro sighs and starts to think of something to dare his already-reckless captain with. He settles on something silly, and tame.

“I dare you to slingshot back and forth across the ship five times.”

Happy to be moving, your hyperactive friend shoots up and starts gum-gum rocketing across the ship with no small amount of shouting. You swirl the mint leaves in your drink. “Your turn,” you murmur to Usopp, who gives Sanji a glance.

“Truth or dare?” The chef asks, his own glass of wine clutched in his delicate fist. It’s as dark as the sea.

“Truth.”

“What do Kaya’s lips taste like?”

The group ooo’s in scandalous delight, all eyes on the sniper as he stares down into his drink. “Pass,” he says, and takes a huge slurp. It dribbles down his chin. “Who’s turn is next?”

“Sanji,” you say, turning to him with a smile, “Truth or dare, handsome?”

He blushes at your pet name, and someone coughs. The blond boy licks his lips. His eyes meet yours, reflecting the fire’s red heat.

“Dare.”

“Kiss my cheek,” you preen, tails flicking around you. You bare the side of your face to him, sitting pretty by the campfire. Your scrappy jeans have stitched-on patches, and your crop top hangs loose around your frame. A single pendant hangs around your neck, and your hair is twisted into messy braids. You knock your steel-toed boots together.

Sanji hums, peaceful, as he delicately scoots toward you. He’s already sitting next to you, tall legs and broad shoulders bumping into yours as he settles closer in. His hand is slightly cool as it graces the side of your neck. “Be still, pretty,” he whispers, just for you, as he presses a slow smooch against your cheek. He bites it, playfully, and you swat him away with a fearsome blush.

Usopp giggles, and Nami snorts into her cider again. Zoro and Luffy are both silent. You swallow, and cast about the crew for someone else’s turn. “Is it me again?” You ask, and Zoro nods.

“Truth or dare?” He says, sake almost drained from his bottle. The air stills, sudden breeze gone quiet as you sit together. You curl two tails around yourself, petting the soft, arctic fur in your lap. It scratches against the striped patch on the side of your left hip.

“Truth.”

“Nope,” Zoro says, swigging his sake, “Truth is boring. You’re doing a dare. Sit in the lap of the person you’d most like to have sex with.”

Everyone gasps, except for you.

Your eyes burn with smoke, staring down the swordsman across the crackling flames. Sparks shoot up between you, orange and hazy in the moonlight. Something thumps against the ship; a fish or a shark that swims away silently.

You stand.

Sanji shifts, still close to you from his kiss. He scratches the fabric of his slacks above his left knee. His shoes are shiny and black beneath the stars. You step over them, carefully.

And you make your way across the circle, slowly as a shark circling prey.

“Sorry,” you whisper, standing in front of the captain who saved you, “Is this seat taken?”

He stares at you.

His breath comes ragged and hazy, as he sets his glass down to make room. His hands are sweaty, so he wipes them off on his shorts as you stand beside his hip. He leans back, slightly, to let you sit side-saddle across his legs. He shifts on the deck so he’s cross-legged, and you take your seat with a searing blush. Your ass fits neatly into the space between his crisscrossed legs, his heat spilling into your body as he wraps his arms around your waist.

He nuzzles into your cheek, his soft hair tickling your jaw. “Sleeping in my hammock tonight,” he whispers, his lips in your hair, “Captain’s orders.”

****

#dumpster dive #my writing #one piece fanfic #luffy fanfic #luffy x reader #kitty speaks #luffy x y/n #luffy x kitsune #luffy x kitty #luffy x oc #luffy x you #sanji x you #sanji x reader #sanji x y/n #vasya #fox tales #kitsune oc

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thebastardscull · 2 months ago

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Part 2 of being Sevika’s favorite bartender!

Part 1

Part 3

She’s late.

3 hours late, in fact. Sevika’s glass has become warm and watered down and you are bored out of your mind. It’s a slow day, perfect for standing around and chatting up your favorite girl patron. You’ve had time to take all of the orders for the meager rush, to clean the bar top to bottom, organize the bottles with the labels facing out, you’ve even had three smoke breaks (which mostly just consisted of you standing next to the bouncer at the front door and looking out into the street for Sevika.)

Every time the door slams open, your head perks up. Only to look back down when you’re not met with a pair of cool grey eyes. You sweep, and mop, and clean everything until it sparkles. Silco’s goons that usually crowd in alongside Sevika just shrug when you ask where she is and get back to their card game.

Your mind is only taken off of Sevika when a man that’s been sitting in the far corner table starts getting rowdy after losing a game of dice. You feel bad for the poor bastard until he flips the table, spewing curses and pointing fingers. You keep a watchful eye on him, hoping it doesn’t go too far, until he throws the glass in his hand towards the bar. It flies over your head, glass and liquor spraying above you.

You call it, walking around the bar, getting ready to kick him out. You can handle yourself, you’ve been doing this job a long time before you and Sevika became familiar. But the man is having none of it and begins to direct his anger towards you. He’s throwing insults at you, his spit spraying in your direction until he’s red in the face. He stalks forward, poking at your shoulder and screaming every name in the book. You’re about to make your way to the bouncer at the front when the fucker tries to throw a punch at you.

It doesn’t land. Instead, a flash of copper and purple shoots past you, grabbing the man’s fist before it can hit your face. Jumping back, you look to your left, and there she is. Sevika’s standing there in all her six-foot-something, muscular, gorgeous glory. If looks could kill, the man would be dead in an instant. She shoots you a quick wink before the mechanical hand squeezes down, and a sickening ‘crunch’ resounds through the now silent bar. Your clit does not throb when she does it. That would be insane. The drunkard squeals in pain before Sevika drags him out by the arm and through the doors as you put the table back in its place.

She’s outside for a solid five minutes. You can hear her rich, bassy voice, shouting at the man as she brings more blows down onto him until the bouncer takes over. She makes her way inside, and you wouldn’t even be able to tell she was beating the daylights out of someone if it wasn’t for the small spatter of blood on the brass knuckles of her prosthetic arm. She happily walks back to you, a smile on her face, her flesh arm tucked behind her back.

“I leave you alone for a few hours, and you start fighting people?” She asks with a smirk. You only give her a huff of laughter and walk back to the bar with her, pouring her drink. She stands there rather awkwardly as you push the drink towards her, flesh hand still tucked behind her back.

“So? Where’ve you been?” Sevika’s expression turns sheepish as you question her, and she brings her human arm forward. It’s clutching a large bouquet of flowers—Your favorites. You had only mentioned it once in passing, admiring them from afar at a market stand when she walked you home one night.

She got flowers. Flowers are so hard to come by in Zaun. She got you flowers? Sevika did? She got you flowers and now she looks like a nervous teenager about to ask you to prom and she’s blushing like crazy? Sevika? Flowers?

“I uh… I got you flowers. Had to fight off a crowd to get ‘em.” The bashful smile she gives you is all teeth and the gap between the two fronts makes you weak in the knees. You can barely hear her words, they come out in a low, abashed tone. You blink and look at the flowers, and back to her. And then back to the flowers. And then back to her.

Your brain is short circuiting and your heartbeat is in your ears. You stand there and look at her dumbfounded, while Sevika shifts from foot to foot, the flowers still in her hand.

“These are for me? You got them for me?” Your words come out in a squeak, a blush creeping up your ears and neck. Sevika nods and chuckles a little bit, handing you the bouquet. You take them with a grateful smile and inspect them closer. They’re wrapped in brown butcher paper, tied with a little bit of twine. The flowers are fresh and smell delightful—but the happy look Sevika gives you is even more so.

You admire them and Sevika can’t help but admire the happy grin on your face. She can’t help the way it makes her heartbeat pick up as you look at the gift. She thinks you look beautiful like this, glowing under the dim lights of the bar, your gorgeous smile lighting up your face. She’s trying her hardest to not lean over the bar and kiss you, but she wants to do this properly. To ‘woo’ you, or whatever Silco said. Not like he ever got any, but whatever.

“I wanted to ask you to dinner too, if that’s alright.” Her voice is a low murmur, she fiddles with the glass in front of her, suddenly too shy to meet your gaze. You choke on your spit a little and try to recover your dignity with a small cough, but she’s quick to catch it. A little snort of a laugh sounds from her, and it’s your turn to blush.

“I think dinner sounds really nice, Sevika. I’d like that.” Your voice is a little hoarse when you answer, you have to clear your throat before you speak again. “But I’m not going anywhere with you when you have blood on your hands.” You reach for her prosthetic hand, the cold metal warming up in your palm.

She watches as you polish it off gently with the rag that’s usually slung over your shoulder. Butterflies erupt in her stomach at your gentle touch, and the way you bite your lip a little in concentration. The corner of her lips curl in another small smile as she studies you silently.

“So… it’s a date?”

“Yeah, Sev. It’s a date.”

—

Authors note: HELLO HI? I did not expect that last one to blow up like it did, thank you so much! I hope everyone enjoys the second part!

Also! My ask box is open and I’m accepting asks and prompts! Until next time 💕

#sevika x reader #arcane imagine #arcane sevika #sevika x you #sevika blurb #sevika #sevika arcane #arcane x reader

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writersblockedx · 1 month ago

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Wedded Under War: Chapter Two

Pairing - Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader, slight Bestfriend!Steve Rodgers x Reader Summary - When learning you're being pawned of to marry Bucky Barnes, you demand to join the latest meeting. Warnings - Mentions of violence, alcohol use Words - 2.4K

A/n - If anyone would like to be added to a taglist for this series, I'm happy to make one, just let me know :)

< Previous Chapter // Next Chapter > Masterlist

It hadn't taken you long for you to storm out of the office; what else had they expected from you? Your life had suddenly taken a 180. Before now, you were desperate to be a part of the real team, to fight alongside your two closest friends and brother. Instead of that, you got a marriage offer.

You wandered into Tony's living space for one thing only: his bar. One of which consisted of the most expensive aged whiskeys he could get his hands on. And while it may have only been lunch time, you found yourself severing an on the rocks rather than a sandwich. It went down much easier when you were faced with what your future could now hold.

You always liked coming to Tony's. It was spacious and modern. Despite it only made for him and Pepper, it must have had at least three other guest rooms, a party room with pool tables and a dart board. Expensive bottles of alcohol dotted in each room. The perfect place for his many extravagant parties.

"Should have known I'd find you here." A voice broke out. You spun around from the back of the bar, facing Steve as he wandered around the leather sofa to meet you. "I'm sorry you had to find out this way."

You shrugged, "Better than Barnes getting down on one knee." You were certain that would have ended in blood. Instead, you were forced to gaze upon the red mark which still littered Steve's cheek. "Sorry about slapping you."

He too shrugged before taking a seat at one of the barstools, "I deserved it. I should have told you what Tony was thinking." That you couldn't disagree with.

You reached for a clean glass, mixing together another whiskey for Steve. "You're my best friend. I trust you to tell me things my brother is too stupid to." You poured the drink in front of him, sliding it across the copper surface.

"Tony's not stupid," His blue pupils gazed up to your own. "He's protective."

To such, you scoffed. "Protective? Really? That's why he's pawning me off to Barnes like I'm some object."

"No, it's not like that-"

"Really?" You always admired the way Steve was able to keep the peace from within SHIELD. But, now it just seemed frustrating the way he wouldn't see your anger. "I've been begging for him to let me be involved. Instead of handing me a gun, he's handed me a ring and married me off without even asking. It feels like I'm stuck in some 1920s, sexist bullshit!" Quite frankly, you needed to get that out.

Steve practically sighed into his drink before taking a gulp. "If it's any consolation, I don't like the idea either." He offered. "But this is the way we have peace."

"Yeah, and I just have to give up my future." A price that no one else had to pay.

"Not necessarily." He hesitated with his next words, "It might open more opportunities for the job."

While that sounded enticing, you didn't believe it. "You think Barnes is gonna have me helping him out?" You may about to be his wife, but he wouldn't trust a Stark. No matter what legal name connected you.

"We can suggest it." Steve attempted to baragan. "We have a meeting later today at his manor downtown."

"Tony didn't mention that." You commented, taking another sip from your glass.

"Tony didn't want you there." Of course, he didn't. "I think you should be there."

You shook your head, "Tony doesn't want me at a meeting about how my own future." To them, this wasn't your future. It was the future of New York. It was about how they were finally going to bring peace to a city which had been at war with itself for years now. "I'll be there." You decided, chugging the rest of your drink and began to head for your own guest room.

"Y/n!" Steve yelled after you, not moving from the bar. "Don't make a scene."

You felt like if there were any time for scene, it was today.

Without another word to your brother or Steve, or even Natasha, you got ready for the meeting you hadn't been invited to. But was certainly one you were determined to pretend. You should have been used to it. No matter the severity of the situation, Tony never left the office door open for you to join during the most important meetings. It seemed your only way to get there was to force your foot in the door.

You exited the guest room, preparing for the argument you were sure to ignite simply by your presence. Instead, you seemed to walk right in on it. The distant sound of Steve and your brother battling against one another. "Tony, this is her future. She's right." You overheard Steve backing your corner.

You kept your figure hidden as your back pressed against the hallway wall which led out into the living area. "You saw her earlier. She's gonna waltz in there with no intention for peace. This entire solution is gonna be tarnished because she can't keep her head." Quite frankly, your definition of peace wasn't marrying Bucky Barnes.

"She deserves to be there." Steve attempted to reason.

"Not yet," You heard Tony reply, causing your eyes to roll. "Not until she's accepted this."

"You know that's never gonna happen."

You chose that as your cue to enter. The sound of your shoes hitting the wooden floors, prompting the men to gaze over at you, the words suddenly falling silent. "He's right." You finally spoke up to break their silence. "I'm not going to accept that the only reasonable solution to all of this was to pawn me off. But I want to be there."

Tony took a cautious step forward, "You can't-"

You cut him off, "No I can. You just just don't trust me to not make a scene." If you were honest, you wouldn't trust yourself either. "Look, I promise not to slap anyone." You gazed over at Steve with your words. "Even if they deserve it."

The two men glanced over at one another. A silent conversation relaying between them; one of which you still weren't a part of. "Wel,l I believe her." Came another voice from the doorway: Natasha. "We don't have time for a debate, Barnes is expecting us."

You smiled towards Natasha; at least she wanted you there. However, it still left the two men who had yet to speak. Tony finally let out a sigh and you knew you had won. He took a step forward, a finger pointed right at you. "Don't make a scene." He warned before leading the way out of his penthouse.

You were left smirking to yourself before Steve offered out his arm for you. "Happy now?" You linked your arm with his own, following Tony out with nothing but a smirk planted on your lips.

The four of you headed into the car, ready for the 30-minute drive to a place you had never been: The Barnes Manor. You'd heard about it from Natasha. Something big and fancy to fill Bucky's ego while still being close to the city - despite the fact he had several properties in the city. You watched as the metropolis skylines swiftly started to change into gated communities and suburban homes. It didn't take you long to spot Barnes' house.

At the end of the street, the biggest house there. A gate which soon opened, revealing the two henchmen stood outside the front door. A garage big enough for at least five cars with a vintage, black chevy parked out front. It was everything you expected it to be: luxury, modern, pristine.

You followed Steve out of the back seat of the car as your head gazed up at the three stories the house contained. You tried your best to act natural, to pretend this was normal to you and your rustic apartment back in the city. The truth was, you'd die for a house this big. To have the ability to have such a luxury.

Tony faced the henchmen first. He nodded and awaited the door to open. Instead, they began patting him down, searching for weapons. They pulled a gun from his inner blazer pocket, "Seriously?" Tony complained.

The henchman straighten his back, "No weapons today."

Natasha and Steve stared and looked before the woman responded. "Will Barnes and his men be following the same rules?"

Their reply was silent. You leaned over to Steve, "We're not really going in unarmed, are we?" You had to check.

Steve simply grasped his own gun and handed it over with a smile. When Natasha did the same, Steve took that as an opportunity to respond, "Just make them think we are." He answered.

So you pulled out your gun from the hem of your jeans and you too handed it over while leaving your dagger safely tucked under your sock. But the man didn't take it. Instead, he turned to look at Tony. "Who is she?"

You could have laughed; even Barnes' men hadn't expected you to be there. "I might be your boss's future wife." You answered ever so sternly before Tony had the chance.

At that, the man took the gun, gazing you up and down. He gave a nod to the other man who opened the door to the house. You barely had a chance to take in the marble floors and the floor-to-ceiling windows before Rumlow was facing you all. "This way," He started before his eyes found your own. "She's here."

You truly were getting tired of how surprised people were at your entrance. "She is." You replied.

"Not a problem is it?" Tony questioned.

Rumlow waited a moment as his gaze lingered. "Not today."

With that, the group of you followed behind Rumlow, passing the grand stairs towards the back of the house. You caught a glimpse of the outside where there was a pool situated, sunbeds and even a bar. This was a level of rich even you hadn't seen. The closest you came to it was Tony's penthouse.

When you entered the meeting room, you spotted Bucky waiting at the head chair, Sam Wilson beside him. Inside this room was different. A slick wooden table and matching chairs. Classic paintings dotted around that you wouldn't be too shocked to know were the authentic. "What took you so long?" Was the first thing you heard Barnes say as he stood from his chair.

He got his answer when his stare finally locked on to you. He had changed a little since you last saw him. His hair was longer, coming down to his neck. His face was now painted with a clean-shaved beard and a scar on his forehead that never fully healed. "Y/n," He stated as he moved closer, offering his hand for you to shake.

You stared between such an offer and Tony's expression. He was silently reminding you to be nice. So you took it, feeling his firm grip grasp your skin once again. "Barnes," You greeted.

When his touch left your own he returned to his seat, "Sit. Let's get to business."

Of course, Tony took the opposite seat to Bucky. Steve and Natasha at either side and you next to Steve. All while Rumlow slipped into the right side of Bucky. "While the details of the wedding can be sorted out at a later date, we should begin to plan engagement dates, press releases etc-"

"Who said I agreed?" Your words cut through his like a knife. There was silence. Even from Bucky. He wasn't used to people cutting him off so ruthlessly. "I get that you all think it's the best idea, but no one's stopped to tell me what I'm gonna get out of this...partnership." You hated the word marriage. Especially when it was attached to the Barnes name.

Bucky leaned back in his chair, holding his fountain pen between his two fingers. "Look around you, little Stark. Properties, money, travel. What more do you want from this?" The nickname made you tense. It was a common one that had spread around the mobs. And God you hated it.

"Funnily enough, money isn't everything to me."

You felt Steve's knee hit yours at that. A warning for you to choose your next words wisely otherwise either Bucky or Tony might just flip; you weren't sure which was worse. "For once, this isn't about you. This isn't about us. It's about safety." Bucky snapped. "If money isn't enough for you, I should hope your life is. Because if we don't do this, you won't keep that either." He threatened and it should have scared you, but you had the Stark name. That made you untouchable at times.

His words should have stopped you from arguing, "Can't the two of you just sit here, put your egos aside and decide to have peace? Why do we have to have a wedding?"

You heard Sam laughed to himself at such. The room was quiet for a moment. All you could was watch Tony's eyes as they avoided your own, stuck facing the table. "You haven't told her, have you?" Barnes realised. "You're too protective of her, Stark." He commented.

"Told me what?" You pushed.

You felt Steve's hand fall onto your own, "Y/n-"

You snatched away from his touch, leaning your elbows against the wood of the table as you stared across at Bucky. "What?" Your tone was stern, demanding to know what your brother had hidden from you.

"We're not getting married for peace, we're getting married so we look united." He explained.

However, it did little to fill in the gaps. "What-?" You looked between Natasha and Tony who had yet to speak a word. "One of you tell me what's going on!"

Tony sighed before finally daring to meet your pupils. His next words put a shiver through your spine like nothing else ever had. "Tracksuit Mafia are back in town."

And that could only mean, "Kingpin?"

Steve nodded, "Nothing's been confirmed but we'd be stupid to assume he isn't right behind them."

The boss who slayed through cities like a sword. Taking down anything, anyone until he gained the power, leaving nothing but destruction and death. The same man who had taken the life of your parents like it was nothing. And he was on his way. Suddenly, you found that Bucky was right; this wasn't about you anymore. It was about the safety of everyone you had ever cared for.

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frostedclock-writes · 4 months ago

Text

Alastor x Reader

----

Making it up (Part 1)

SFW

At first he does small things to try and appease you. You find little gifts in front of your room door. Small trinkets at first. Brooches, a container of cookies that were obviously made by Niffty, lady fingers fresh from Rosie's, songs being played on the radio in the lobby that you had a fondness for.

But you remained upset, not letting the small gestures make up for him leaving you in the dark for so long. No you wouldnt let his smile, his silly puns and his gifts worm his way back into your good graces.

You left the room when it was just you and him, you would blatantly ignore him when he would try to pull you into his conversations at times, you would use any excuse not to be near him without being truly rude -just riding the line.

Then several weeks pass before he is able to corner you like a trapped rabbit. He looms over you and looks down at you with glowing red eyes that are only enhanced by the monocle he sports.

" You will come by the my room tonight." It wasn't a question and Alastor's tone held no room for arguments. And he was gone, leaving you with the knowledge that it would be nearly impossible to skip out or avoid him anymore.

You dress nice for the evening, simple but nice. You wait outside Alastor's room door for a good thirty minutes, mainly arguing with yourself about even giving the man another chance. When you knock the door opened on its own like it had only been waiting for your touch.

A table set in the Bayou tells you what exactly the Radio Demon had up his sleeve. The dishes on the table were mouthwatering, and the whisky bottle sat between two glasses. Alastor had his overcoat off and just his usual dress casuals, but it was different when he had his coat off.

" Mon Cher, " Alastor pulled out your seat for you. " I made your favorites. "

" I know what your doing and it won't work." You tell him and you just get a 'hmm' from the elusive demon as he pushes you closer to the table.

The food was of course delicious, and had you nearly drooling when he brought out the lemon bars for dessert.

He spoke mostly, telling you about small things he had done about the hotel that day. Casual. It was nearly irritating to you.

" Are you ever going to tell me where you were?" The words come from your lips without much thought and it stopped Alastor mid-drink.

It was silent for a moment then you sigh and you were about to rise from your seat when his hand touches yours. You pause. Alastor usually didn't appreciate physical contact, it was rare and far between.

" I would tell you, but I dare not risk your safety for just a bit of knowledge. Just know that I am back now and I have no intention on leaving anytime soon. "

You were still upset, and it would take a long time to forget about the seven years thinking he was dead or might as well have been. But you always were a sucker for that soft smile he would have only in small moments. Perhaps it was a true one. You knew it gave your stomach the flips and your fingers feel like they were vibrating.

" Alastor... "

His fingers would brush your hair out of your face.

" Mon Cher"

His lips always like a mix of copper and coffee. It was bitter taste but you never minded when it came from him.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #alastor x you

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themareverine · 3 months ago

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Closer to Hell | shortking!DP&WLogan x fem!OC

SYNOPSIS: He may be five inches closer to hell than she is, but he takes up more space than God, sets fire to anything he’d dare to touch.

warnings: flirtation, short king!Logan (don't come for me), ogling, eye candy, absolutely nothing else but filthy thoughts, maybe some eye fucking.

a/n: it's my 100 celebration fic, yay me! i recently rolled over to 110 i think during the holiday, and i wanted to do something super fun for my 100 celly. i decided to play with comics-accurate, short king Logan, because i feel like we really don't appreciate him all that much. a small part of my brain hasn't stopped thinking about him. thanks to all my followers, you guys make me possible on this website, and without your interaction and all your fun stuff, life really would be so much more boring.

“Monkey Shoulder, neat—if you got it.”

Fingers pause, hovered over a tablet that looks as if it’s been to hell and back, only to survive the purgatory that is staring into the bartender’s face. Maybe forties, gray has overtaken the once-striking ruddiness of his beard, crows feet all but eating the templepieces of too-thick glasses perched on the end of his nose.

Once gawking at her has clocked enough time, he bats aside the tablet, the screen swiveling away, maybe in relief.

Curious if he’ll actually serve the scotch—it’s about the fourth bottle from the left of the very back row of liquors lined against the mirrored wall, not a cheap bottle by any means. Hardly top-shelf, either. An unusual request, sure, but, she’s always made a habit of trying out the screwy names when she’s traveling—and in this dress, in this bar, well. Exceptions certainly can’t be made. Cool vinyl of the barstool’s plush nips at the back of her legs as she plunks down, docking her heels on the bottom rung of the stool.

“Whatever you say, swee’heart,” gaps in his teeth make pronunciation difficult, but he nods at her respectfully. Lithe, practiced grace turns him aboutface on his heel, short fingers plucking the bottle from that very back shelf. Mirrored reflection reveals a popped brow of we’ll see how this goes. Giving the bottle a little swirl, the copper liquid spins a tornado, wild and dangerous in its glass prison. Unstops the bottle with a jerk of his wrist, the little pop tipping up the corner of her lips.

Seconds, maybe, and the short glass plunks down in front of her, untouched scotch all but begging to be acknowledged. Her finger lazily traces the rim, even from here she can taste the bark of the liquor, how it hums. Warm and biting, her chest flutters with anticipation—of all the drinks she’s sampled over the years, scotch is a favorite. Next to whiskey, but, whiskey she’s had plenty of the last few days. Scotch will be a nice tamer, something to shake up the night—shake up the thoughts burrowing trenches through the arteries and cavities in her chest.

Sliding him her credit card, it’s plastic bites against the bartop. Watching him log the number, he hands it back. She buries it against the band of her bra, against her sternum. Eyes rolling, the bartender trudges away as if he’s witnessed some great atrocity, down the other end of the bar—takes an order with hushed whispers, leaving her to eyeball her scotch in solidarity. Silence.

Friday and however much this dress would all but stand up and demand attention, she’s alone. But that’s no great sorrow—to be alone and actually let it eat away at the marrow in her bones would mean it is unwelcome, unfamiliar. Solo is all too familiar, rent free on her person–the devil and angel parked on either shoulder, guiding her through moments. It’s been this way her entire life, sparkling personality and sunshine attitude aside. Loudest wallflower to ever exist, perfectly forgettable—she’s great company when she’s seen, otherwise all too invisible. It’s learned behavior, expected of society’s less fortunate.

A quick flick of her foot has the barstool swiveling, her elbow parked on the bar behind her. Eyeballing the room quickly reveals that, wallflower that she is—she’s an overdressed one, at that. And she could, probably, forgive herself. Hadn’t exactly expected Mulligan’s to be an axe-throwing venue, complete with Toby Keith on repeat and flannel-clad lumberjack wannabees and their buckle bunnies—axe bunnies?

A sip of the scotch has her nose scrunching a little, the splash in the back of her throat almost hot, even at room temp. Two lines to her right, a cute blonde does one hell of a job playing dumb as her date comes up behind her, helping her take stance. All but popping her ass back into his pelvis, there is not a stitch of air between them that could be breathed—he’s a little unbalanced. Probably that last Coors, she’s giggly and her face is red as a beet. Probably one too many Mich Ultra’s. Together they crack up into laughter, before she actually makes an attempt to throw an axe, dressed in cutoffs and a flannel shirt a size too large, knotted off at the midriff.

Maybe should’ve Googled that one pre-game, but, as her grandmother had always chided, Better to be overdressed than under, baby. Besides, a little black sundress was acceptable just about anywhere—the heels could be overdoing it, though. Down goes another bite of scotch, and she’s perfectly content to watch blondie and her backwards-ballcap date tiptoe around the goings-on of pre-sex, until movement to her left catches her attention.

Pool tables racked with activity, there couldn’t be one more girlie in tight jeans or shorts leaning over green felt if the men had decided to make room. Each man at the table sports arm candy, some even two, full peacock with open chests and lifted chins. Stetsons, ballcaps, even a few beanies make a fine cocktail of male specimens, all bullshitting around ripped up pool tables and scuffed wooden floors. Beer bottles, pint glasses, liquor mottles here and there, hanging out on tables and pool table edges like trophies. Evidence of presence, of time spent. Side-eying the exchange of money isn’t difficult—they make a show of it, as if this is theatre. Shifts on her barstool as their jibes and shoulder-claps get a little more elevated, a little more colorful.

Too absorbed in watching the flock of men around the pool table, she misses the slight creak of a barstool accepting weight to her right. Jumps a little when the air bristles beside her, signaling a new body—someone else at the bar, too close for comfort. Too close to be ignorant. Especially when there’s nobody at the bar, taking up air. Just her and her simple Monkey Shoulder, just her and the defeat that sinks her shoulders a little as realization hits.

She doesn’t have to check if it’s a man—his presence is overwhelming, almost dizzying. Masculine and purposeful, but not in a way that sends shivers down her spine. A quiet kind of energy, like the air before a storm. Unmoving but oh so deliberate, ripe with power. As if any moment something may collapse in on itself, rip open the air—but chooses, instead, to prowl. Like a tower, overlooking, but not imposing. Temperature, too, has spiked—whoever has just parked beside her ripples with heat like an inferno, it’s nearly tangible against her skin. Thick cologne swirls, a delicious idea beneath her nose that smells like musk, pine. Sweat and smoke–exhaust. Bike, maybe.

Unsure whether the flush lifting from her breastbone to her cheeks is the scotch or the newcomer, she uses her foot to swivel back around, leaning forward to rest her arms over the bar. Thin glass between her fingers rings a little as her nail tick, tick, ticks against it, and staring into the coppery swirl of booze allows her a little bit of a casual side-eye to the man who has parked himself at her now eleven o’clock.

Hair the color of midnight is full and thick, almost tinges a bit of sapphire under the fluorescents that dare to flicker a little above them. Even beneath full mutton chops, she can see the sharp line of a jaw—strong nose, purposeful brow. A striking profile, as he stares at his hands—thick hands, strong. Massive, more paw than actual hands, if she were poetic about it. Calloused, even from here. A troop of ebony hair forests his arms, thick and wiry—does little to hide the absolutely godlike muscle that all but stands up and demands recognition.

Arms no less than small trees, her eyes zero in on his veins, veins that may as well have their own ZIP—if careful, she could watch his blood actually current. Count the flutter of his pulse—intrusive thoughts win. She would give limb, soul to just hook up him to an IV and drink of whatever raw sexuality God had poured into his form.

It’s easy to take in the rest of him—thick chest, well muscled would be an insulting adjective. She wouldn’t believe, for a moment, there was a percentage of fat on his person, not the way his jeans clung to his thighs. Unaware they made belts so small for adults, she’d never seen a narrower waistline. And abdominals—God Himself had only crafted those, broke the mold. Even from beneath whatever sad excuse of a threadbare black v-neck he’d thrown on this morning, they were washboard. She’d bet her life.

Oh my god, of all the men—

And just as quickly as she’d ventured off into whatever pornography such a man conjures up into brainspace, he shifts a little. Situates himself on his barstool—sits back, hand on his thigh, other draped along the bar easily in that only-a-guy way. And her gut all but plummets into hell between her feet—the floor could be stained with her own blood and she wouldn’t have flinched. What’s-his-name commands every molecule between them, could split atoms with his raw sexuality, probably. Every movement is like living color, and she swears to God she can feel her ovaries kicking into overdrive.

Eyes snapping back to her own feet, she rocks her heels back on the barstool’s rung, bottom lip rolling inward to consider just how flushed she felt. Heart hammering the marrow in her bones, she can all but taste the sweat that’s racing down the river of spine, dampening the delicate lace of her panties. Blinking, she manages a steady breath between her lips, trying not to think about the bite of scotch lingering on her breath. Aware that her hands are shaking, she knocks back the rest of the scotch. Cracks the glass back to the bar’s wood all too aggressively.

Somehow the bartender materializes in front of her, like Houdini. Or maybe Satan—she hasn’t decided.

“What’re you having again?”

If it's even possible to forget, she isn't sure, but her eyes connect with his. Thankful for the distraction. Movement to her eleven o’clock signal fires in her brain—her partner at the bar has, without saying anything, entered this conversation. Or, at the very least, made himself aware.

“Monkey Shoulder,” she brushes some curl behind her ear, “neat. Double it, please.”

It’s too fast, too nervous to be genuine. But it is, and of its own volition, her spine straightens a little. As if such a thing is a sin—shoulders fall back, her gaze drops to her hands. Bartender all but plucking the glass from between her hands, he travels back down the bar—retrieves the bottle, which he has somehow managed to forget. She watches him go like a desperate child, all too aware that the man beside her’s eyes have raked down her form, considering. Up and down—her heart flies, almost out of her chest.

A barstool creaks, and it isn’t hers. Oh god.

There’s always that little something that strikes the air—he’s going to say something. Her eyes flutter closed, imaging his lips parting and closing off syllables and consonants, forming words. It’s a delicious little thought that quickly ventures into ratings not suitable for children, and she has to bite the inside pocket of her cheek to anchor her back into the reality of the bar—because she’s, very suddenly, not here. Not as present and accounted for as an unescorted woman drinking should be, God help her.

Scotch appears before her almost fantastically. Reaching for it, the glass suddenly is heavier than the earth between her fingers as she knocks it back, entirely. In one sharp, flaming go. It spins her senses in a tilt, and the world all but flips—managing the glass back to the wood somehow, she anchors herself. Two hands on the edge of the bar, white knuckling for purchase. Eyes pinched so tight she can feel her mascara brushing against the sensitive skin beneath her eyes, she releases a low growl that’s more of a moan than anything.

“Now there’s someth’n you don’t see everyday,” a dark, wolfish chuckle. “Don’t think I’ve seen a lady down two scotch’s back to back without breathin’ before.”

Mother of God, it’s low. And dangerous. She wouldn’t have heard a nuclear explosion if it had detonated directly to her left, the immaculate conception had only ever been so beautiful. And if he’s tagged anything on to his statement she’s missed it, blood galloping through her ears at such a rate it should alert the Kentucky Derby to put her at the starting gate.

A steel beam would’ve been preferable to the heat dropping into her spinal column, his chuckle rattling low in a way that, obviously, is deliberate. And she’s more bolt upright than she has ever recalled in her lifetime, soldiers would patent whatever form this was for their ranks—he shifts on his barstool to face her, and she’s suddenly Icy Hot all over. Simultaneously hot and cold, shivering and flaming—Antarctic air and Vesuvius smoke. Words lap her brain like a pace car, but none form in the back of her Sahara-cracked throat.

Blanking, first she stares at the empty glass between her fingers. Then to the stranger, who’s arm rests along the bar like it was designed for him. Spider to the fly, the little smirk tugging up the corner of his lips gets lost in the dark hairs of his beard and chops, the swirl of shadow that chases light in his eyes like nightmares. All kinds of predator, she doesn’t miss his eyes flicking over her—it’s quick, practiced. You’d miss it if one wasn't looking, but nothing about this man could be ignored. He demanded to be seen, though she suspected by the cool smile and the dark clothes, he would’ve preferred to be anything but noticed. But such beauty demanded attention, otherwise heaven lied.

Realizing the conversation is open, he’s waiting, she tracks his words. Again.

And again, and again.

Swallowing the slight shake to her confidence, her eyes track back to the glass. Hone in on tracing her finger along the rim. And she ignores the souring, burning liquor in the chasm of her gut where the scotch has hit nothing but open air, maybe stones in the base of her that maybe only God could see.

“Oh.” Oh? OH? Coma patients showed more promising signs of life. “Guess you’ve seen it all?”

Oh my god, ohmygod, OHMYGODDD—

She couldn’t have been any more pathetic if she’d melted into the floor at his feet. Channeling the tremble of thinking into her hands, she nudges the glass away. Pulls it back. Plays with it like an amused cat with a toy, trying to decide if it’s friend or foe—if it's worth the distraction. A flick of her eyes back to the stranger and she suddenly realizes this glass is the only tether she has to the present world beyond this conversation—her only confidence. The only thing giving her an edge.

And should it be ripped from her, she’d be nothing but a fish out of water—a fat trout gasping for air.

“Not quite,” whatever he’s drinking, he tosses it back without hesitation. Line of his jaw twitches as the liquor registers, but not in an unwelcome way. “Haven’t seen you before.” Vanishing down the long line of his throat without so much of a flinch, he savors it—his tongue chases whatever lingers in his facial hair. The sight of his tongue, flat and wide, sends her gut twisting into thick knots she can’t even fully describe—his hand moves to smooth over his mouth, as if he’s combing his goatee back into place.

Without thinking, “Well, here I am,” slips past her lips, matching her arms that open at either of her sides, as if putting herself on display. It’s bolder and far more brash than she could ever credit herself with—Monkey Shoulder. It's booze.

He chuckles, pleasantly she thinks. “Here you are—lucky sonuva bitch, aren’ I?”

And without warning, he gets up.

Uncertain what surprises her first, she blinks at him a few times, fluttery lashes drinking in his presence on two feet—he’s short. Like, short short. Not-your-typical-guy-levels of short. Built like a god, maybe closer to a brick house, but he’s at least five inches closer to hell than she is—and she’s five foot eight. Makes up for it in presence, though—if he’d been any taller, people would jump under tables.

Alarmed by the sheer weight of him taking up space, the corner of her mouth lifts a little in a smile. If it’s a confidence killer she wouldn't know, he shifts his shoulders like any man does. Chin leveled with the floor, his eyes catch with the same fierce confidence of any man she’s ever witnessed. Unable to tear her eyes away, the muscle in his forearms twitch alive as he smoothly goes for his jacket, drapes it over an arm.

Christ alive, he is—wow.

God’s perfect design, she thinks—he knuckles his glass a little closer. Glass rakes across the bar in a little song, he swings a thick leg over the barstool directly next to hers. Nothing but air between them, now, he sinks low, and she enjoys watching him do so—how his jeans pull just so along thick thighs. How how chest flexes as he angles to drape his jacket along the bar, how thick fingers card through hair she could covet the rest of her living daylights. Closer, she can feel his heat, his masculinity ebbing like an alive river, trailblazing new paths. Looking for her, reading the moment.

More like a predator than she realized first blush. Biting the corner of her lip, his gaze flicks over her a third time. She matches his effort. Much goes unsaid for a lot of moments, until he introduces himself—Logan. No other name would suit such a man, she thinks—within heartbeats her own name slips between them, between the lines of his popped brow and the question he asks next.

“You drinkin’ alone, darlin’?”

Nudging her empty away, Logan offers her a quicksilver look, hooded eyes and a cocked back expression that’s easy, collective. Nonplussed, like this is easy—like it isn’t rattling every bone in her body, taking inventory of every organ and cell raging like wildfire in her veins. Expectation brims, and she lifts a flirtatious shoulder, looking from his hand that lingers on the bar back to his eyes—and they are dark eyes, eyes that belong to only one kind of man. The type of man her daddy had warned her about, that daddy’s all over God’s creation sat up with shotguns over.

Lovely, focused eyes. Logan knew exactly what he was doing. Few others were such masters.

“Should I be?”

Wrinkles that form along his eyes when he smiles are criminal. They belong, she thinks—he wouldn’t be right without them. “Would be worried if you were,” flashing two fingers at the bartender, his eyes move back to her, taking in the full scope of her features, “‘n my experience, pretty girls need someone t’stave off the wolves.” Chin lifted in the direction of the pool table trips her gaze to follow.

He thinks I’m pretty—and that’s newsworthy, stop the presses.

Nodding slowly, she fights back a smile. “Ah. I see,” angling to tuck a foot behind the other, her elbow props on the bar, chin in the heel of her palm, “and who’s to say you aren’t a wolf, Logan?”

A tease, of course, but the way his gaze snaps back to her so quickly, one would’ve assumed she’d reached out and slapped him. Darkness through his eyes briefly rustles alarm down her spine, and her hand gently moves to retrace the rim of a refreshed glass as silence crescendos between them. Her anchor, again. A tether to reality, to anywhere beyond the depth of the window's to his soul.

Knocking back another sharp drink, he rolls a shoulder. “Not really a wolf,” his nose wrinkles a little as he shakes off the idea, eyes moving back to hold hers, “pack animals. Too much competition,” shrugging a shoulder, he chuckles, “besides—too short t’be a wolf, too close to hell. More like a—well, more like’a wolverine, I s’pose.”

And that makes her giggle, like a child.

“Wait—a wolverine? Aren’t they weasels?” Her head cocks to the side, genuine curiosity wrinkling her nose—he smiles, quicksilver that’s cool, cuts down to parts of her she wouldn’t share elsewhere. Heat rises to her cheeks, deepening the makeup she’d been so deliberate to place earlier in the evening. “How is that better?”

Dissolving into giggles isn’t her style, not usually—but it’s too comedic a mental image to set aside.

“Brought out that smile, didn’t it?”

Oh.

She hums, nodding. Tries to hide the fluster of color sneaking up her breastbone to her cheeks. Fails.

“Charming, aren’t you?”

“It’s the scotch.”

She laughs again, shaking her head. Turns back to the bar, too flushed and girlish to take him seriously—or the weight of his eyes. They bore into her side profile like drills, lapping up the heat on her face. Any second now he’ll come to his senses, she thinks. Conversation would fall flat, too embarrassed to speak and too innocent to flirt—he’d tire of the doe eyes.

They always did.

Thunk thunk thunking axes hit home on targets far behind them, almost a world away.

She tracks, too sharply, like a desperate animal Logan getting up from his barstool—here it comes. Fishes his wallet from his back pocket. Withdraws more than enough money, actually more money than would be necessary for the entire night. Tosses it on the bar like it’s easy, like it means nothing.

Watching him, chin still in hand, he works into his jacket like guys always manage—in a sexier way than necessary. Pops the collar. He may be five inches closer to hell, but he takes up more space than God, sets fire to anything he’d dare to touch.

Tossing back the rest of her scotch, she inhales a deep breath through her nose. Enough to swell her chest, pull her guts in tighter than she thought possible. Disappointment bleeds like a gunshot wound into her chest, mingling with her ribs, and she wills up cold courage. Hands on the bar spin her around on the barstool, lips parted for goodbyes—-

—only to be met with his hand, extended to her.

“Wanna get outta here?”

His brow lifts, investigative. Hers are nearly in her hairline, surprise shellshocked her face like broken plaster. Blinking at his hand, her stomach all but explodes when his finger crooks for her to come, to follow.

It’s a wanton gesture, the way his brow bobs teasingly. Corner of his mouth lifting in a way that’s devilish, almost sinful. Asking where to go is hardly necessary—she’d probably follow him into hell, if so persuaded.

Asks anyway.

“Not sure yet, pretty—but, tell me. How d’ya feel about ridin' double?”

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shewrites444 · 2 years ago

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earned it [thomas shelby x mafia/dominant reader smut]

word count - 3k

[ summary - the reader, the current head of the sicilian mob, meets with thomas shelby to discuss an issue that intervenes with both of their organizations. despite their mutual disliking for one another, thomas takes an interest to the business woman before him, and doesn’t seem to realize how powerful she may be. ]

[ warnings - mentions of violence, strong cursing, dirty talk, dominant female, oral (f & m), praise kink, unprotected sex ]

“and if we get ‘rid’ of him and his members, how are we going to go about that?” thomas shelby asked me from across the obnoxiously long dining table, lighting a cigarette and sinking into his chair.

i shrug nonchalantly, resting my arms against the table as i chew the steak his supposed aunt polly cooked for us. we’d be discussing this matter for so long my food was starting to get cold.

“we can handle that, all i ask is for you and your family to do the talking. get them out of birmingham and into italy. i know it’s a far stretch, but we can make it work. when someone is offered a lot of money, they’ll travel. the last thing their organization wants is no protection. i think they’d trust the mob’s word over a group of drunken, horse-betting brothers.”

thomas scoffed, moderately offended but also carrying a tone of impressment, taking a sip of his whiskey and gesturing the glass towards me. “you italians have a mouth on you, eh? you crawl around europe like the coppers, thinking you own the cities, only you’re not afraid to take out your guns, hm, mrs. [y/n].”

“i’m not married.” i mutter, once again taking the steak knife in my hand as i begin to cut the tender meat.

he quirked his brow, setting his glass down. “my mistake. i assumed that a woman who ran one of the most dangerous gangs in italy was wedded. i should’ve looked at your ring finger before i commented, miss [y/n].”

“we’re not here to discuss my marriage status, mr. shelby. this group of communists pose a real threat to both of our families. i can get back in my carriage right now and send my men in here to shoot you in the fucking head for all i care, if you don’t cooperate, or we can get back to information that actually matters, and your life goes on.” i look him in the eyes, a blank expression on my face.

he stood up, walking over to the bar cart and pouring himself more whiskey, taking another glass and filling it with a new bottle of red wine after popping the cork. he set it beside my plate, pulling out the chair next to me and sitting down.

“you can get pissed off all you want, dear, but i’m the one with a gun in my pocket. i could kill you, and your men, in a matter of seconds, so don’t think your words even draw a nick of blood on me.” he threatened, sipping his drink, enough to nearly empty the glass. “we can agree to disagree all night, or you can change your temper and we can figure out a neutral solution for the both of us.”

i chew my steak, watching him speak with a smirk on my redly tainted lips. i take the glass of wine and drink it slowly. “you are quite charming, mr. shelby. it almost offends me that you think i walked into your home unarmed, too.” i take my napkin and dab it on my lips before standing up, dusting off my black dress. “do as i say, and get them to italy. we can discuss the specifics after you speak to their leader. walk me to my carriage, won’t you?”

thomas stands up, pushing both of our chairs in before walking me to the back doorway, his whiskey glass still in hand, only a few ice cubes left inside and not even a shot’s worth of alcohol. i glance down at the purse in my hand, looking through to find my lipstick, confused if i had dropped it when i stood up from the table. i sigh, looking up to the peaky blinder who stood before me as he opened the door for me.

“give me one minute, i think i dropped my lipstick by my chair.” i set my purse down on the table aside their coat rack and walk back to the dining room, hearing his footsteps trail behind as he followed.

i lean down, seeing the lipstick on the floor and pick it up, turning around to bump into thomas, our faces not even two inches apart as he lightly pushed me against the table.

i roll my eyes, both hands planting against his chest and pushing him off. “i don’t think me saying i was unmarried was a suggestion, mr. shelby. not every woman becomes a whore when you have them over for dinner.”

“do you ever freely sleep around, miss [y/n]?” thomas asks, looking down to meet my eyes, then averting to my lips. “surely, a woman like you, can get whoever she wants. you run apart of the bloody world, for what it’s worth. do you ever fuck anyone on your level? someone as powerful as you are?”

“that’s none of your concern.” i say, glancing down at the light erection that was intruding his black slacks. “although, i definitely don’t fuck men that rudely come onto me when i make it clear i came over for strictly business.”

he grinned, one of his hands gently sliding onto my back, the other setting the glass on the table, one ice cube sliding onto his fingertips. he pressed it against my collarbone, sliding it down my skin softly.

“oh, but you definitely do. i think this says otherwise, don’t you think?” thomas tilts his head teasingly, gesturing to my hardening nipples as they protruded my dress.

i blush, shaking my head in disbelief. “you have a cold substance near my chest, that’s a natural reaction.”

“it’s not even near them, dear. i’m still pressing on your shoulder. it’s not a bad thing to admit you like this, miss [y/n].” he slides the ice cube further down my chest, his pinkie pushing my dress back, the v-neck fabric tucking itself underneath my right breast through his manipulation. he slid the substance over my nipple, causing me to sigh heavily. he couldn’t help but grin at my reaction.

thomas leaned down, dropping the ice cube back into the glass and licking my erect nipple, sucking lightly on the bud before pushing me against the table and sitting me down. i moan softly, looking up at the ceiling, my body now in a heat at his teasing touch.

“i think you choose not to fuck. from what it seems like, it may be a distraction for you. you’re a busy woman. perhaps there is no time for any sort of play.” thomas says, reaching over to expose my other breast. “you really don’t let anyone in, even physically. you and i, miss [y/n], are probably more alike than you realize.”

“don’t even try convincing me of that. i know you fuck, mr. shelby.”

“oh, really? you know that, how? because of how wet i already have you?” he asks, reaching his hand down and into my knee-length dress, pressing his fingers against my warm panties.

i hold my mouth shut, breathing heavily through my nose as he pushes the fabric to the side, lightly tracing his fingers against my wet folds.

“a woman like you wouldn’t like to be fucked like a whore, though. you expect much more than that. you’d like to be praised, as if you were a crown jewel in terms of your status. you’re someone who is clearly unfazed by most men, i can see that. you don’t give a fuck about them unless they worship you.”

“do you think you could possibly do that, mr. shelby? worship a woman?”

“not just any woman, no.” he begins, reaching his arm across my waist, snaking it around me to pull me up and into his chest, where he held me up and guided me to the bedroom next to the dining room. “it takes someone who knows who they are and what they can do to make me feel like they even deserve that type of treatment.”

he helped pull my dress off, leaving me in only my panties as he set me on the bed. i chose to oblige, partially due to the pleasure he was sinking me into, but also because i found it interesting he thought he would even have full control over the situation. thomas was right about me choosing to not fuck, but that didn't mean i fell at the feet of a man who knew what he was doing. thomas shelby was a powerful man, sure, but he could never climb the ladder high enough to reach my level.

“but you, you know what you can do. you do what has to be done, miss [y/n]. you threatened to put a gun to my head, what kind of woman does that? a fucking powerful one.” thomas nearly moans at his own words, leaning down to kiss me before he began to undress.

i return the kiss, my legs still shut, as thomas began to unbutton his shirt, glancing down at my waiting body. he undressed himself fully, standing naked before me as he climbed into the bed and leaned down on his knees, sliding off my underwear and tossing them to the floor.

he hovered above me, planting a passionate kiss against my lips, leaving red residue from my lipstick on his own lips while he slid his tongue into my mouth. i feel his fingers slide inside of me, my legs spreading in reaction as he began to finger me. his lips trailed from my neck to my breasts, sucking my nipples back and forth as he pumped his fingers in and out of my pussy.

i close my eyes, my mouth hung open as i moan in pleasure from his touch. i could feel his eyes on me, watching nothing but my expression. the mental part of me hated giving into thomas shelby’s advances, but the physical side of me could care less. he knew what he was doing, it seemed like, but frankly, so did i.

“oh, you’re so fucking wet, love. you’re practically dripping onto my fingers, onto my bed..” thomas cooes, pulling himself out of me and into his mouth, licking my juices. “and you taste just as good as i imagined. how did i get so lucky to touch you?”

i lightly sit up, leaning over to pull him back into a kiss as i climb off the bed, thomas now sitting at the edge. i get on my knees and take his cock into my hand, spitting on his tip and beginning to lick his cock, up and down, pressing light kisses against his skin as he watched, his expression showing nothing but lust, as he grinned from cheek to cheek at my actions.

“fuck,” he mutters, resting his hands on the bed. “you look beautiful when you play with my cock, love.” he moans as i slide him into my mouth and down my throat, still looking up to meet his eyes. he reaches over to hold my chin in one hand, gently guiding my head up and down. “that’s it, please keep taking my cock. you’re so pretty when you do so, love. i can’t wait to fuck you, you’ve got me nearly finishing at the thought of it.”

i pump him inside of my throat, feeling his orgasm nearly reach the surface as he groans at the build up of it all. i pull away, taking his length in one hand as he cums onto my face, his seed coating all over my mouth and cheeks.

“oh, fuck, you look so fucking good, [y/n]. your mouth felt so fucking good.” thomas praises, watching as i lean back, tracing my finger across my cheeks, licking his cum off and into my mouth. he stares in awe, reaching his hands over to help me stand up and get back onto the bed. he presses a hard kiss against my lips, laying back down as i lay on top of him.

“i don’t think you understand this, thomas.” i smirk, cupping his face with both of my hands. “you don’t just get to fuck me, you know that, right? you have to earn it. i’m the motherfucking leader of a mob, after all. i don’t fuck just anyone, not even thomas shelby, no matter how good you may be at fucking.”

he tilted his head, grabbing me by the hips and pulling me back down. “is that so? your cunt is practically begging for me to fuck it. we don’t have to play this game, love. please, let me touch you further.”

i roll over and out of his grip, laying down next to him and spreading my legs, gesturing for him to get in front of me. “then fuck me with your tongue, and we’ll see what i think of anything further than that.”

he chuckles, seemingly surprised by how bossy i could be, but leaned down anyway, adjusting himself to wrap his arms around my thighs, his face stuffed between them as his tongue attached to my clit, flicking the bud of sensitive flesh. i moan softly, watching thomas lick between my folds and back up to my clit, back and forth, which only drew a pit in my stomach, as my orgasm slowly began to build. i was more surprised by his efforts more than his experience. of course thomas shelby knew how to fully pleasure a woman when she demanded it.

“fuck, thomas..” i moan softly, reaching down to hold his black hair with one hand. “just like that, baby, and you’ll be fucking me so soon. god, that feels good.”

he quickens his pace a bit, my back gently arching up in reaction to his action, my free hand gripping the white bedsheets as he helped me very quickly reach my orgasm, my fluids releasing onto the sheets and his lips. i dripped down his chin but he didn’t seem to care, taking me by the hips and moving one leg on top of his shoulder, sliding his hard length inside of me with one slow stroke, both of us moaning at the sudden stimulation.

“oh, fucking hell, [y/n], my god, dear, you’re so fucking wet, you feel so good, fuck,” thomas groans, leaning down to kiss me, his free hand taking my breast into his his palm and squeezing harshly, earning a moan from me into his mouth as our tongues fight for dominance.

i pull away from the kiss, looking down to watch him pump his thick, wet cock into my pussy. my tits bounce at his thrusts, my core feeling every single touch. thomas held my ankle to keep my leg up, his other hand pulling away from my breast and down to my hips, holding the side of my waist to further his steady grip.

“you take my cock so well, [y/n].” thomas compliments, glancing down to meet my eyes as i look away from our bodies. “i could watch you forever, fuck. the way you look right now is absolutely stunning, no one can ever fucking compare to your cunt.”

i lean up slightly, resting on my elbows, grinning at thomas as he fucks me. “you really think so, thomas? then why don’t you fuck me harder? make me cum again, baby, i want to so badly. make me cum with you.”

“if you want me to fuck you harder, [y/n], you’re going to have to turn around for me.” thomas suggests, lightly pulling himself out of me and also wiping the sweat from his forehead, assisting me as i turn around, all fours against the bed as i arch my ass up, feeling tommy’s hands play with it by squeezing the flesh and slapping it lightly.

“you’re perfect from behind too, fuck. is there anything about you i can dislike? you italians may have bloody mouth, but you take me so well in yours, love.” he says, pushing himself back inside of me.

he holds me by the hips, starting to fuck me, but much harder than before. our skin slaps together as he pushes himself in much deeper, so much so that i was gasping at his touch, grabbing the sheets and holding them as hard as i could, despite the sweat that was collecting on my palms.

“f-fucking hell, tommy..” i moan into the sheets, my head resting against the pillow. “you fuck me so good, baby, keep going like that, fuck! fucking fill me up, tommy, fuck!”

he leans down to grab my neck, pounding inside of my walls before our moans begin to sync, our orgasms releasing a matter of seconds after as we finish together, his warm seed filling my insides and my own cum dripping from between us, tricking down my now shaking legs.

thomas pulls out of me, turning me over to lay beside him. he wraps one arm around me, but glances down to meet my eyes, and kisses me tiredly.

“next time, you’re going to be the one begging me to fuck you.” he says in a more demanding tone, a small smirk on his lips. “i don’t like to ask nicely.”

i sigh, rolling over onto my stomach so i could face him completely. “then you’re fucking the wrong woman, thomas.”

he shook his head, cupping my cheek and kissing me once more. “oh, believe me, i think i’m with the exact woman i need to be fucking.” he sits up, rolling out of the bed and to the dresser, grabbing a pair of underwear.

“let’s discuss this communist issue one more time, work out the details.” he says, slipping his boxers on. “and if we come to an agreement tonight, i’ll ask nicely again in the morning, unless you need to get back to your people?"

i stand up, picking up my underwear and sliding them on, as thomas hands me a larger white shirt to put on. “i think i’d rather you ask again tonight, mr. shelby. my people can wait overnight if it's for a good cause.” i tease, opening the bedroom door before walking back out to the dining room table, grabbing the half-empty glass of wine and taking it down in one sip.

thomas stands behind me, taking the empty glass and setting it back on the table, pressing himself up against me, placing his palm on my back to push me down on the furniture. "let's push our meeting back a few more minutes then. here's me asking, miss [y/n]."

he begins to kiss my neck and i reach between my legs, pushing my panties to the side as i hear his boxers hit the floor. this was going to be an unexpectedly long night.

#smut writing #fanfic #x yn #x reader #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #thomas shelby x reader smut #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby smut #thomas shelby peaky blinders #peaky blinders smut #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders imagine

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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 2 years ago

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"Be right back," you announced to Rosita and Carol, getting up and rushing to the front door. You couldn't help the wide smile that formed when you realized it was Daryl standing there waiting. "Hi," you greeted him warmly. "What's up?" The heat and humidity of summer had finally broken and given way to a gloriously beautiful autumn day. His wavy brown hair was lightly tousled from the wind.

He seemed nervous, shifting his weight back and forth, turning something copper colored and fuzzy over and over in his hands. "Uhh—just wanted to drop this off for ya..." He thrust the orange something into your hands and your fingers sunk into velvety soft fox fur. A pelt. "I trapped it last year and made it into scarf-kinda thing 'n—the weather's turned now and all. Thought ya might need it." He stood there looking as if he was somehow imposing on you by standing on your front stoop. "Yer always cold, ya know," he drawled, trailing off at the end.

"Thanks," was all you managed and it was woefully inadequate. You were a little surprised by the whole occurrence.

"No problem," he said, ducking his head and turning to rush down your front steps.

"Hey—Daryl!" you called after him. "Rosita and Carol are here. We were just having some drinks... Carol stole some wine from the pantry. If you wanted to come in?"

He looked like he was considering saying yes for a brief moment, chewing on his bottom lip, but he eventually ducked his head. "Nah... ya'll have a good time. I dun wanna get in the way of a girls' night."

He'd already turned to leave again when you said his name once more. "Daryl!" you called after him again. "You're never in the way," you asserted, cocking an eyebrow up at him.

He nodded, one corner of his mouth twitching up. "Thanks. But I'll just see ya around, alrigh'? Dun drink too much," he cautioned you.

You watched him rushing away up the sidewalk and disappeared back inside, turning the fox fur over and over in your hands the same way he had been.

"What's that?" Carol asked as you stepped back into the kitchen.

It took you a moment to even register that she'd said something to you. "Huh? Oh. It's a fox fur scarf. Daryl just dropped it off," you said. "I'm not sure why—but he said the weather's turned and—" Carol and Rosita exchanged a look and you saw it. "What? What was that look?" you asked urgently.

Rosita let out a dry laugh as if the meaning was the most obvious thing in the world. "Hey, stupid. He likes you," she said pointedly.

You stared at her. "He just knows I'm—I get cold easily..." But even you sounded unconvinced.

Carol rolled her eyes and reached for the bottle of wine again. "God, all this denial is making me sick," she joked, shooting you a look. "Daryl Dixon gifting you something he made with his own hands is the equivalent of a male peacock spreading its tail feathers. This is your signal. Earth to Y/N! Do something!"

You felt your cheeks flush. "What am I supposed to do?" you asked rhetorically.

Rosita shoved the unopened bottle of wine toward you on the table, her eyebrows lifting. "Take this over to his room in the basement with two glasses and climb in his bed," she laughed. "That should be obvious enough even for him."

"Stop..." you muttered, still flushing furiously.

Carol finished pouring more wine into her own glass. "Just do something! The man is doing his best and Lord knows he needs some help," she smiled.

Prompt: "Hey, stupid. He likes you." A/N: Fuck, this is cute. Not me wanting to write this as a whole ass fic....

#that peacock line tho #lmao #and y/n grabs the bottle of wine and goes #and daryl is just laying in his bed when they burst in #and he's like ???#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl x y/n #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles

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copperproduct · 1 year ago

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Why Should I Consider Switching to a Copper Water Bottle?

In a world increasingly prioritizing health and environmental consciousness, the choices we make in our everyday lives play a crucial role. One such choice gaining prominence is the switch to a copper water bottle. In this comprehensive guide, we will delve into the myriad reasons why you should consider making this transition. From the historical legacy of copper to its health benefits, sustainability aspects, and practical considerations, we will explore every facet of the copper water bottle phenomenon.

Historical Legacy of Copper in Water Storage:

Copper has been a trusted material for storing water for centuries, with its roots deeply embedded in various cultures across the globe. This section will take a historical journey, shedding light on how ancient practices of using copper vessels have paved the way for the modern resurgence of copper bottles.

Health Benefits of Copper Water Bottles:

Copper water bottles have gained popularity not only for their aesthetic appeal but also for the numerous health benefits they offer. The interaction between copper and water has been studied for centuries, and emerging research sheds light on the positive impact it can have on our well-being. Here are some key health benefits associated with using copper water bottles:

Antibacterial Properties:

Copper possesses natural antibacterial and antimicrobial properties. Studies have shown that copper can eliminate a wide range of harmful bacteria and viruses. This includes bacteria like E. coli and Salmonella, making it an excellent choice for maintaining water hygiene.

Improved Digestive Health:

Copper is known to stimulate the gastrointestinal tract, aiding in the detoxification process. It helps the body break down and eliminate waste more effectively, contributing to improved digestion. This can be particularly beneficial for individuals struggling with digestive issues.

Anti-Inflammatory Effects:

Chronic inflammation is linked to various health issues, including arthritis and cardiovascular diseases. Copper, when consumed in trace amounts, may exhibit anti-inflammatory effects. It can potentially help reduce inflammation in the body and alleviate symptoms associated with inflammatory conditions.

Boosts the Immune System:

Copper is an essential trace mineral that plays a crucial role in the functioning of the immune system. It helps in the production of immune cells and supports the body’s defense mechanisms. Regular intake of copper-infused water can contribute to a robust immune system.

Joint Health and Arthritis Relief:

Copper is involved in the formation of collagen, a key component of bones and connective tissues. This makes it beneficial for joint health and may provide relief for individuals suffering from arthritis. Copper’s anti-inflammatory properties also play a role in managing joint pain and stiffness.

Stimulates Brain Function:

Copper is known to play a role in the synthesis of neurotransmitters, which are essential for proper brain function. Adequate copper levels may contribute to improved cognitive function, memory retention, and overall brain health.

Aids in Melanin Production:

Copper is a vital component in the production of melanin, the pigment responsible for the color of our skin, hair, and eyes. While excessive copper intake can lead to discoloration, an adequate amount is crucial for maintaining healthy skin and hair.

Supports Thyroid Function:

Copper is involved in the regulation of thyroid hormones, which are crucial for maintaining a healthy metabolism. Proper thyroid function is essential for overall well-being, and copper contributes to this by supporting the thyroid gland.

Environmental Impact and Sustainability:

As sustainability becomes a key consideration, the environmental impact of our choices takes center stage. This part of the article will highlight:

Recyclability: Copper’s recyclable nature, emphasizes its eco-friendly credentials.

Copper Water Bottle Wholesale: Encouraging bulk purchases to amplify the sustainable impact.

Addressing Concerns and Misconceptions:

For a complete understanding, potential concerns must be addressed. This section will tackle common misconceptions such as copper leaching and offer maintenance tips to ensure optimal performance.

Choosing the Right Copper Water Bottle

Copper water bottles have gained popularity for their potential health benefits and aesthetic appeal. However, not all copper water bottles are created equal. To ensure you make an informed choice, consider the following factors when selecting the right copper water bottle for your needs:

Material and Purity:

Opt for bottles made from pure copper. Look for those labeled as 100% pure copper to ensure you’re getting the maximum health benefits. Be cautious of bottles with coatings or linings, as they may interfere with the interaction between copper and water.

Design and Craftsmanship:

Assess the craftsmanship and design of the bottle. A well-crafted copper water bottle should have a seamless construction without any joints or welds. Check for a smooth finish and a sturdy base to ensure durability.

Size and Capacity:

Consider your daily water intake when selecting the size of the bottle. Copper water bottles come in various capacities, so choose one that suits your lifestyle. Smaller bottles are convenient for on-the-go use, while larger ones are ideal for home or office use.

Lid and Seal:

Examine the bottle’s lid and seal. A tight-fitting lid with a secure seal prevents leaks and ensures that the water remains uncontaminated. Look for bottles with screw-on lids or caps that are easy to open and close.

Weight and Portability:

Copper is heavier than some other materials, so consider the weight of the bottle, especially if you plan to carry it with you throughout the day. Look for a balance between sturdiness and portability based on your preferences.

Maintenance and Cleaning:

Copper can tarnish over time, creating a natural patina. If you prefer the shiny look, choose a bottle with a lacquer coating to slow down the tarnishing process. Consider how easy the bottle is to clean, as regular maintenance is essential to prevent bacterial growth.

Authenticity and Certification:

Purchase copper water bottles from reputable sources. Authenticity is crucial, and some manufacturers may provide certification to confirm the purity of the copper used. Research the brand and read customer reviews to ensure you’re buying from a reliable source.

Purpose and Intended Use:

Determine the primary purpose of your pure copper water bottle. If you’re looking for a stylish accessory, focus on the design and aesthetics. For those prioritizing health benefits, emphasize purity and functionality.

Conclusion:

As we conclude, the guide will summarize the holistic benefits of switching to a copper water bottle. Encouraging readers to explore and buy copper water bottle, the article will reiterate the availability of wholesale options, making it easier for individuals to embark on a wellness and sustainability journey.

Make a conscious choice today by embracing the allure of copper and contributing to a healthier, more sustainable tomorrow with a pure copper bottle.

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monsterbachelors · 1 year ago

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The Three Don'ts of Sabertooth Brewing

[contains semi-public sex + fem!reader]

SUMMARY: You visit Yanu at work on a slow night. One thing leads to another and just when things get exciting, something both unpleasant and unexpected forces you to take a rain check on back-alley romps.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 2k

A smile brightens your face when you see the Sabertooth Brewing sign from across the street. The venue doesn’t look like an appropriate place for a young lady without nefarious motives but at the same time, the entirety of the Copper Valley district doesn’t appear so. Nonetheless, you couldn’t think of a safer place to be. Whatever turf wars the former copper miners lead, they all agreed to omit Yanu and his business. It reached the point where some locals called the bar “the embassy” as it’s the only neutral ground in the neighbourhood.

The rough-looking miners curtly nod at you as you walk past them. A cloud of smoke and soot surrounds the two men. They always stand near the entrance of the locale but never go inside. Smoking one cigarette after another, their job must be to ensure that Yanu stays largely unbothered by the conflicts of Copper Valley. So far, they’ve been excellent at doing their duties.

You giggle quietly as you read the sign hanging on the front door:

Don’t: - fight - spill drinks - ask Q’rill to make a mojito

A bell chimes when you push the door open. Low, yellow lights make the interior look cosy. Conversations held by the patrons sitting in booths and around small tables are drowned out by a trio playing a familiar swing tune. The smell of cigarette smoke fills your lungs and sticks to your clothes. Two waiters weave between tables and clients, faux joy plastered to their faces. One of them notices you - she gives you a quick wave and nods towards the long bar counter.

Although he is surrounded by bottles filled with colourful drinks, it’s impossible to overlook Yanu. Maybe it’s a general rule or perhaps it’s just your fatal affliction. He’s wearing a shirt, a vest and a pair of tailored pants - exactly what one would expect a bartender to wear. Seemingly lost in thought, he’s just wiping some glasses but still, there is something unspeakably captivating about him. An aura that paints him as extraordinary and not just the way he is.

Yanu must notice you approaching out of the corner of his eye. When his gaze meets yours, his expression immediately changes. The deep, pink scar across his blind right eye gives the rakshasa a certain edge but even that isn’t enough to hide the pure adoration painted all over his face. His blue iris stares at you lovingly until a shadow of mischief dances across Yanu’s features.

“My, my, I don’t recall having an appointment with a princess,” he speaks with pretend surprise.

“Princesses don’t make appointments,” you answer casually. Sitting on the high bar stool, you’re still significantly shorter than the rakshasa behind the counter. “They just show up when they want to.”

He chuckles in a low voice. “Gods bless them for that.”

Yanu leans on his forearms on the counter and hangs his head to let you kiss his cheek. Round, furry ears adorned with silver jewellery flutter as they brush against your hair. It tickles when his whiskers touch your face.

Feeling his breath against your skin, you don’t have to speak loudly. “I hope I’m not interrupting you.”

“You,” he points an accusatory finger at you, “interrupt my every coherent thought but I’ve learnt to enjoy that.”

Suddenly, your face gets hot. “I’m being serious, Yanu,” you say through flustered giggles. Even after all this time, it’s beyond easy for him to make you giddy.

“Likewise.” He winks at you before standing up straight. “So how can I spoil a princess’s palate?”

“Hm… I feel like elderberry.”

“Drunk all the time, feeling fine on elderberry wine*,” he sings while looking around for ingredients. The idea for a cocktail comes to him in an instant as befits a true connoisseur.

Yanu appears to be in a trance as he pours and mixes lemonade, vodka, St-Germain and some thyme. Every action is quick and decisive but never careless. Similarly, you are in a sort of trance, too - watching his white shirt and elegant black vest strain around the muscles of his arms. One day the seams of the garments might just let go but say, would it really be so bad?

The rakshasa pours elderflower syrup into the shaker. With a swift flick of his wrist, the shaker with your cocktail-to-be flips in the air. The metal cup makes a full circle only to be caught again by his hand, its content poured into a square drinking glass.

He looks at you in anticipation. Satisfaction is written all over his face. “Pretty nice, right?”

But you’re in a bantering mood tonight. Not letting him see how in awe you truly are, you only raise your eyebrows. “You have huge arms. It would be more impressive if you dropped that.”

Yanu sighs dramatically. He shakes his head and crosses his arms across his chest. If it wasn’t for the glimmer of amusement in his good eye, you’d think he’s genuinely upset. “And here I thought that a lowlife like me could impress a princess.”

“Well…” you ponder for a moment, “there are a few things you could do with your hands that would be impressive.”

Something changes about his demeanour. The amusement stayed but now it is joined by some darkness that leaves an aftertaste of chocolates with brandy - warming and rejuvenatingly bittersweet.

“Really?” he asks in a low voice. His blue eye is watching you intensely, almost looking through you. “Pray tell, what do you have in mind?”

Perhaps there’s some perversion to it but you enjoy leaving his question unanswered for a while. Slowly, you sip on the drink, silently enjoying the perfectly balanced flavours. Not too sweet, not too sour. A true testimony of how well Yanu knows you. That passionate gaze of his never once leaves you, catching even the smallest of movements. A predator or a lover? - how similar these two can be.

“A princess shouldn’t be saying such things out loud,” you finally say.

Yanu leans on his arms against the bar counter. With each exhale, his warm breath gently brushes against your face. There’s some intensity hidden under his casual demeanour as though if you were to play your cards right, he might just cause scandalous immodesty in full view of the clients.

“Will she share them away from prying ears?” More than a question, it’s a suggestion. One that you have neither the will nor the want to reject.

Feigning innocence, you shrug your shoulders. “Perhaps.”

The rakshasa only chuckles. He stands up straight and calls out to someone:

“Hey, Q’rill! Watch the bar for me for a bit, eh?”

The drow, equally well-dressed as Yanu, doesn’t even look your way. Still cutting a lemon into pieces, he answers in a heavy accent, “Got you, boss.”

Not waiting for a sign or a word of encouragement, you get off the stool and walk towards the closer end of the counter. Ever the gentleman, Yanu lifts the wooden part, letting you go behind the bar. But that’s not where the two of you are headed - you follow him through the back of the brewery, only to leave through the staff door.

The alley is dark and narrow. Something rattles in the skip filled with trash, probably a rat or two. In the distance, far away from where you’re standing, cars drive by every now and again. Muffled swing music played by the trio inside the bar sounds like an ambience of a faraway world.

Yanu pushes you against the wall. He’s towering over you - if he so wished, he could effortlessly throw you over his shoulder and carry off. The bricks are cold against your back but soon you find them refreshing when compared to the warmth beaming from the rakshasa. His rough tongue slowly licks the side of your neck. It’s strange, tickling and absolutely delightful.

One of his hands lifts your leg, resting your knee against his hips. Lustful greediness has him grabbing and groping whatever part of your thigh and ass.

Just when a pleased sigh leaves your lips, Yanu stops licking your neck and nuzzles it instead.

“So how can I impress my princess?” he purrs into your ear.

He’s not waiting for an answer - not really. Not when you feel his clothed erection grinding against your groin. You can almost feel your arousal dripping down your legs.

Yanu’s other hand slides into your underwear. His fingers, thick and furry, sensually rub your clit in circles. Breath hitches in your throat. “Would this impress her?” he asks.

“Maybe,” you manage to say between whimpers.

The rakshasa only hums in response. It’s hard to say whether your answer satisfies him.

A loud moan escapes your lips as Yanu easily slips his fingers inside your pussy. The stretch is already more than enough for you. Slow strokes have him reaching deliciously deep inside you.

“You look so pretty like this, princess.”

Looking for support, your hands grab his shoulders. It feels as though your abdomen is suddenly set on fire, your coherent thoughts swimming away and turning into static, if not disappearing completely. There is only Yanu, his quiet groans against your neck and his thick fingers hitting that perfect spot.

“Faster, please,” you squeal.

With utmost pleasure, he obliges immediately. It feels so good you could scream but not a sound leaves your agape mouth. If you weren’t so lost in your pleasure, maybe you’d notice your legs quivering. Your grip on his shoulders only tightens, earning a chuckle from him.

“My princess is going to come?” Yanu coos.

No answer comes from you, only another pathetic moan. Desperate to orgasm, you begin rubbing your clit. It’s “allowed” in these extraordinary circumstances. No doubt Yanu’s “I live to please you” attitude will come back behind closed doors and between the white sheets of your bed.

Your vagina is clenching around his relentlessly thrusting fingers, your whole body begins shaking. A cry gets stuck in your throat. The wave of pleasure, the climax he so eagerly gives you, washes over you more like a tsunami than a wave. It drowns out your thoughts, your breathing, your strength. Fortunately, Yanu has a tight grip around your leg, keeping you standing straight. He’s still sliding in and out of you, letting you ride out your orgasm.

Finally, he slips his fingers out of you. You’re about to say something, thank him or praise him, when a loud crash resounds from inside the bar. Someone’s yelling but the voice is too muffled for either of you to understand what’s the matter.

Yanu and you exchange a look of both confusion and worry. Then, as though lovers know something akin to telepathy, the two of you chuckle.

“Mojito,” you say simultaneously.

When your laughter, contrary to the row next door, dies down, you let out a sigh. “Guess we’ll have to postpone our little escapade.”

Yanu brings his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean. He’s a cheeky man, staring right into your eyes while doing something so indecent. “I’m fine with that,” comes the answer.

But you can play that game, too.

Low groan rumbles inside his chest when your hand teasingly rubs his prominent bulge. He clenches his fists, doing his utmost best to keep himself collected. You could so easily make him fail at that…

“Are you, though?” you ask with faux innocence.

Although you’ve just had a great orgasm, you can feel your pussy throbbing again. As your mind wanders for a second or two, pondering possibilities, your mouth starts watering.

Yanu firmly grabs the wrist of your hand caressing his crotch. Keeping you in place, he grinds against your palm. Through clenched teeth, he growls into your ear.

“I’m a big boy,” the rakshasa purrs. “I can wait a few hours.”

“I know you’re big, boy,” you retort in an equally sultry voice. “I’ll see you home.”

In a loving gesture, he nuzzles against your neck one last time. “Don’t stray.”

After that, he watches you walk away. Only when you disappear behind the corner does he go back inside the bar. As much as he likes Q’rill, he’d much rather go back home with you.

_____

*Lyrics from "Elderberry wine" by Elton John. A bit of an anachronism, yes, but a damn good song.

If you see any books, plays, movies, paintings or songs mentioned, it's most probably something very close to my heart :)

I'm also a complete greenhorn in writing smut, so bear with me as I learn on the go.

#monster romance #monster boyfriend #monster smut #teratophillia #monster fucker #monster bachelors of dawncrest #monster x human #monster x female #monster x reader #monster x you #rakshasa x reader #rakshasa smut #rakshasa x you #rakshasa x human #monsterkink #monster kink #monster fucking #terato

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mbavholidayexchange · 1 month ago

Photo

to: @vampwitchcoven from: @rbquartz

title: i think i love you?! | word count: 4,579 | summary: days before their first big performance at a local festival, benny cooks up a disguised truth potion to see if he can get any juicy gossip and/or a confession of love out of erica (for her sake), but his plan backfires as erica refuses and offers rory the potion instead, and he confesses some love of his own! | AO3 Link

“Heeey Saraaah! Ericaaa! Wait up!”

Sarah chuckles at Erica as she rolls her eyes and shakes her head slightly, the pair pausing their strides to wait for Benny and Ethan to catch up. Benny’s holding a water bottle that’s full of… something , and he’s wearing a mischievous grin – never a good sign – and Ethan seems done with his shit, as usual.

“What’s up, dorks?” Sarah starts, tilting her head and putting her hands on her hips as the two girls turn to face the boys.

“Wanna be a couple o’ guinea pigs for something I'm trying to whip up?” Benny asks, waving the bottle he’s holding in his hand at the pair and wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, his expression growing a tad more mischievous. The liquid – a dark bronze-y color that shifts to a more purple hue with certain movements; and just slightly too thick to be a normal drink, but not quite thick enough to resemble a proper smoothie – sloshes in the bottle and shimmers slightly in the fluorescent lights. Erica scrunches her nose, and Sarah can only gawk at it and shake her head.

“Is this another one of your flavor experiments with some extra earth priestess-y ‘ingredients’ you found in your grandma’s broom closet? Because if so, I’m all good, thanks.” Sarah says, holding her hands up in front of her and taking a step back closer to Erica.

“Yeah, plus it looks like you blended up copper wire, chunky glitter, and every purple and brown vegetable that you could find… which, knowing you, is something you’d definitely try and mix up to try and make it taste good.”

Benny splutters, trying to look to Ethan for defensive support. Ethan shrugs noncommittally, tilting his head to the side.

“ Eeehh , I mean they’re kinda right dude. Just the other day you tried to convince me that adding bananas to a quesadilla would taste good, but it was a texture nightmare!”

Benny shakes his head, waving his hand dismissively in Ethan’s direction.

“It may have been a texture nightmare to you , but the savory-sweet greasiness of it all was chef’s kiss! ” Benny emphasizes his point with a dramatic showing of bringing his fingertips to his lips, kissing them, then spreading his fingers outward with a flourish.

Erica and Sarah groan in disgust as Ethan scrunches up his nose and shudders at the memory, and Benny makes another dismissive noise in response, turning away slightly to pout to himself.

“You guys’re just jealous that you don’t have the same distinguished palate that I do! Amateurs, I swear.”

The group snorts and snickers at that, and Benny just rolls his eyes and turns back to the two girls again, holding the bottle up between his hands in a pleading motion.

“Come on , guys, please? Just one little sip? Just as a test! It’s been something I’ve been trying to perfect and I think I’ve finally gotten it!”

Erica scoffs, raising an eyebrow suspiciously and narrowing her eyes at him slightly.

“And why can’t you test it, smart guy? I thought you had a distinguished palate ? You scared it’ll taste gross and want us to suffer the consequences in your place?”

“Besides,” Sarah cuts in, “aren’t you guys gonna be performing with Rory at Whitechapel’s annual music festival thing in a couple of days? This can’t be a good idea, especially if you accidentally somehow give a vampire food poisoning.”

“It’s nothing like that at all! Absolutely no ill intent, I swear!” Benny makes another show of placing his free hand on his heart, “besides, I think the results will be more beneficial to you than they will to me, especially with our gig. Sooo…?”

Erica squints at him, not convinced in the slightest. She glances at Sarah, who mirrors her skeptical expression but simply shrugs. After a few moments of silence, she sighs and stretches her hand out towards him and his concoction.

“If I take it, will you stop bothering us about it?”

Benny nods enthusiastically, planting the bottle firmly in her palm.

“Yup!” He says, popping the p , “ and I’ll leave you alone about any other wonderfully strange flavor combos I've cooked up forrr… two weeks!”

“Make it a month and you’ve got a deal.”

Benny clicks his tongue disappointedly, but nods. Erica nods back, and places the bottle in her bag, and smirks at Sarah, who snickers. Benny’s smile drops immediately and he starts to object, but Erica puts a finger up and wags it in his face.

“Ah-ah-ah, I said I would take it, not try it in front of you. Nice try, smart guy . See ya at our rehearsal!”

“B-But–!”

Before he can say any more, Erica steps around the two boys, beckoning for Sarah to follow. Sarah smiles, waves at the pair, and follows behind her vampire companion. Benny groans quietly, pinching the bridge of his nose as Ethan shakes his head and elbows him hard, as if to say ‘ I told you so’ .

“Whaddya even plan on doing with that anyway if you’re not gonna try it? Trash it?” Sarah inquires as she matches Erica’s stride once more, raising an eyebrow at her. Erica shrugs one shoulder nonchalantly, reaching back into her bag and pulling out the bottle, inspecting it.

“Not sure yet. Might actually give it to the only other person besides Benny who actually enjoys his… experiments . She’s got just as weird of a palate as he does,” Erica states, placing the bottle back in her bag, stashing it for later, “all I know is that we don’t have to deal with Benny’s food disasters for a whole month.” She beams smugly and tilts her chin up confidently. Sarah giggles, nodding in agreement.

“Let’s just go find Rory and see if they wanna take this off our hands.”

“Take what off your hands?”

Sarah and Erica both yelp, spinning around to look at Rory, who simply beams and waves at them.

“Rory !” They exclaim in unison; Erica runs a hand (as gently as she can to not mess up her makeup) down her face, and Sarah just stares at him quizzically.

“Where the heck did you come from??”

“The opposite side of the hallway,” she says, spinning around and pointing towards the direction she came, “I saw you guys coming up this way, so I figured I’d follow up with you guys to see when we can find time to practice for our show!”

“Well, I told Benny that we’d rehearse later, so sometime after school maybe? It’d have to be at Benny’s or Ethan’s too, since he’s got his drum set over there and I doubt he’d want to drag it anywhere else on his own, and we’re definitely not doing it for him,” Erica says matter-of-factly. Rory nods.

“Alright! Ooh! And we can finally vote on what song to do! I have a list, and we can listen to each of them and see what the vibe is.” Rory says, finishing with a slight wave of their hands, before he perks back up again. “Oh, what’d you wanna show me? You said you had something you wanted me to take off your hands?”

Erica nods, reaching back into her bag to pull out the bottle that Benny had given them a few minutes prior, the shimmering liquid inside sloshing around once more with the movement. Rory tilts his head quizzically, not unlike a puppy as they notice the odd liquid’s brown-to-purple tonal shift, and they quirk an eyebrow.

“What is that ?”

“Dunno, but, it’s another one of Benny’s weird flavor experiments, and I know that you can be a fan of those sometimes, and we’re definitely not gonna be trying this anytime soon,” Erica emphasizes her point by jiggling the bottle around a bit, the mystery liquid gurgling ever so slightly with the movement, “You want it?”

Rory makes an ‘o’ shape with their mouth, and takes the bottle from her grasp, flipping the bottle up and down and back and forth, watching the way that the drink inside glistens.

“Wicked. I’ll take it!”

“What songs did we say we were thinking about performing again?” Erica asks, picking at the strings on her guitar absentmindedly, “One of the options is one of the songs Jack Black and his buddy did for a movie or something, right? ‘Tenacious D’ is their group, isn’t it?”

Rory and Benny hum in affirmation, and Erica nods once before continuing, “I still say we should do something by Paramore or like… MCR. Single Tear, even.”

Benny – who’d been tapping away gently at his drum set trying to get the sequence of notes for one of the songs right – pauses to sneer in Erica’s direction.

“Absolutely not. No emo music, we promised!” He says, jabbing one of his drumsticks in her direction.

“I don’t know man, I do a pretty mean Gerard Way impression! I’ve always wanted to recreate his cheerleader outfit that he wore on MCR’s tour,” Rory cuts in, nodding to himself as he makes the ‘okay’ symbol. Erica snaps her fingers a few times in agreement, a quiet applause. Benny rolls his eyes.

“Okay seriously, what other options do we have? We have the Tenacious D song, which I'm pretty sure it’s called ‘I Think I Love You’. Then, we have ‘Flip City’ from the Ghostbusters 2 soundtrack minus all the other fancy instruments, ‘We Didn’t Start The Fire’, and ‘Stacy’s Mom’. We need to vote now , our musical careers are at stake!”

Erica rolls her eyes, and Rory nods vigorously.

“Right! My vote is for Tenacious D!” Rory pipes up, throwing his hand up in the air.

“I like your enthusiasm, Rory! I also vote for Tenacious D, on your behalf. Erica, what's your vote?”

“I’m not trying to be the odd one out here, so I guess my vote is also for that one.”

Benny claps once, pumping his fists. “Perfect! Let’s get to practicing!”

After a long while of practicing, Benny throws his drumsticks to the ground, only in mild frustration and just slightly overdramatic, and groans obnoxiously.

“ Okay , I think that’s enough practice for now. Who’s up for a Special Benny Snack break?”

Erica groans, scrunching up her nose and shaking her head, but Rory perks up, picking up their hand and waving it excitedly. Benny grins.

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about! Be right back.” And with that, Benny heads into the house, leaving the two vampires alone. Erica fiddles and plucks at her guitar strings again as Rory plays with the microphone cord, twirling and untwirling it around her fingers. Erica, cool as a cucumber, leans towards Rory, catching their attention ever so slightly. They quirk an eyebrow at her, and she simply smirks right back. Uh oh.

“Sooo… How are things with Ethan?”

Rory splutters, his face flushing as he nearly drops the microphone onto the floor. Erica chortles, wishing that vampires could show up on camera so she could’ve caught his reaction. Rory tries to casually clear his throat but fails, opting to try and lean against the nearby table.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about! Things are perfectly fine, and perfectly friendly . We’re just friends. Just a couple of friendly dudes doing friendly dude things,” Rory pauses, trying to compose themself, before smirking right back at Erica. “I should be asking you how things’re going with Sarah . I see how you look at each other sometimes!”

It’s Erica’s turn to flush and stutter now, and she juts out her bottom lip in a pout and crosses her arms in front of her chest, to which Rory just cackles. Before she can bite back with something smart, Benny re-emerges into the garage, a plate of seemingly innocent sandwiches in his hands.

“Behold, another one of Benny the Magnificent ’s greatest works!”

He tries to offer a sandwich – which seems to look like a normal grilled cheese sandwich, but upon closer inspection, anyone can see that it is not just cheese in that sandwich, but peanut butter and possibly a pickle or two – to Erica, who quickly shakes her head, turning Benny and pushing him in Rory’s direction, who happily takes a sandwich from the platter. Benny takes his own as well, putting the extra sandwich to the side, a quiet ‘suit yourself!’ coming out of his mouth before he takes a huge bite, humming with approval at the taste. Erica tries not to gag, and Rory takes a bite of the sandwich as well, seemingly unfazed. After a few moments of eating in silence, Rory puts the sandwich down, and steeples their fingers in front of them, turning to face Benny, who’s just finishing the last bite of his sandwich.

“Benny, I just gotta say it…”

Benny perks up, awaiting to hear the usual praise coming from his friend.

“These are ass, and if I have to take another bite I think I might vom.”

Benny’s and Erica’s jaws drop in sync as they look at Rory, who also seems surprised at himself for saying that as their hand shoots up to slap over their mouth.

“ What?! I thought you liked my creations!” Benny cries, throwing his hands up in the air, and Erica’s shocked expression begins to mold itself into a gleeful one.

“I do! I like all of them!” Rory yelps, trying to fix the situation, but the words keep tumbling out of his mouth, and it’s like watching a dam break at last. “Most of them. At least a few of them… okay, maybe just like one or two..?”

Benny gawks as Rory slaps her hands over her mouth again, realizing that talking isn’t going to fix the situation anymore. Erica barks out a laugh, claps, and eventually her laughing fit forces her to double over and clutch her sides. Benny frowns at Erica and shoves her in an effort to get her to knock it off, causing her to stumble a bit as she tries to stay in her seat. Soon enough, the laughter dies down ever so slightly and is reduced to giggles, and Erica sits back up again. Benny glowers at her again, crossing his arms over his chest as he pouts like a little kid, slouching in his seat.

“Can’t believe I thought you were a flavor connoisseur like I was, turns out it was all a lie.” Benny starts, before something clicks in his brain, and he sits up quickly and turns to Erica.

“Erica! That drink I gave you, did you ever try it after we talked??”

Erica, still recovering, shakes her head no, wiping at the tears that had formed in her eyes.

“No, and I never planned on it, dork! I just took it so you’d leave us alone, and gave it to… Rory…” Erica pauses, the cogs in her brain turning as the pair turn to look at Rory, then back at each other, and Erica’s expression grows dangerous with each passing second.

“Benny… what did you put in that drink?”

Benny shrinks in on himself ever so slightly, turning away from her sharp gaze and scratches at the back of his neck.

“I-it uhh, may or may not have been… a truth potion?” He squeaks out, shrugging sheepishly. Erica glares daggers, and Rory pales.

“ What?! ” They say simultaneously, Erica growling it out as Rory yelps again. Benny throws his hands up in front of him, waving them around wildly as he tries to defend himself, both with his words and from a hypothetical barrage from the two vampires sitting in front of him.

“It was a truth potion! I wanted to give it to Erica so she can finally stop being a coward and confess her feelings for Sarah, or get some juicy vampire gossip from her, I don’t know! I didn’t plan on it being given to anyone else!”

“Of course you didn’t, dumbass! You never do!” Erica snaps, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration and getting to her feet, and she begins to pace back and forth. “How long do the effects last? Did you at least figure that out, Einstein?”

“Probably a day or so at least? Shouldn’t be longer than that, so it should be no problem, see?” Benny says, trying to fix the situation, but Rory’s still not satisfied.

“A day or so?? What am I supposed to do, spill my guts to half of Whitechapel at the festival tonight? You guys already know I can’t hold water, what makes you think I’ll be okay with a truth potion and singing a song about love? I didn’t wanna tell Ethan like this, it had to be special–!”

Before he keeps on yammering, Rory slaps their hands over their mouth once again in an effort to keep the words in, eyes wide. Benny’s eyebrows shoot up, and he blinks a couple times at the vampire. Rory blinks back, and Benny smirks.

“You have a crush on Ethan and didn’t think to tell me your master plan?”

It comes out muffled, but Rory still responds truthfully, to her dismay. “’S not jus’ a crush I fink, def’nit’ly more, but the chances of him liking me back have t’ be slim t’ none.”

Benny snorts and shrugs, a smirk still adorning his face.

“I don’t know man, only one way to find out now!”

To that, Rory pouts, shaking his head and running their hands down their face and then shaking his hands to loosen them up a bit.

“Whatever. Let’s just get this over with, I guess.”

Rory waits in the wings of the stage, looking over the crowd, his stomach twisting in knots. He fidgets with the cord of the microphone in his hands as he catches sight of Ethan and Sarah, lost in their own conversation as they wait for their friends to take the stage finally, the last act of the day. The tech crew is nearly done loading up Benny’s drum set, making sure everything is set up correctly and is all tuned up alongside Erica’s guitar. One of the crew stops by Rory, taking the mic from their hands and tapping it a couple times and mumbling into it to test it, before giving it back with a thumbs up. Rory nods in thanks, and turns back to look out at the crowd. Erica comes to stand just behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder gently.

“Everything okay?”

Rory half-shrugs. “Well, you know, just terrified. Not of the crowd, though.”

Erica nods in understanding, patting their shoulder a couple times comfortingly. After a few moments, they both hear the voice of the stage manager further back in the wing say ‘ five minutes to places ,’ and turn back to look in their direction, spotting Benny nearby in the process.

“Thank you, five.” Rory and Erica say simultaneously. Rory takes a deep breath, shaking out his limbs and rocking back and forth slightly to calm their nerves. Erica pats them on the shoulder one more time, squeezing gently, and she walks off to go grab her guitar from the stagehand holding onto it.

“Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?” Benny chirps, coming up behind Rory and bumping shoulders as he passes, heading to his drum set with drumsticks in hand. Rory takes another deep breath, and makes his way to the front end of the stage. She looks back over her shoulder at Erica and Benny, who both give her an encouraging thumbs up. She smiles, and gives one right back.

“Let’s rock!”

They patiently await for their cue, poised and ready, and suddenly the two sides of the curtain roll open, revealing the small band. The crowd – which was a bit larger of a turnout than they expected, but it is a festival after all – cheers, and Rory can’t help but grin at the sight. They throw their free hand up in the air and wave it excitedly, bringing the mic up to their mouth with their other hand.

“Helloooo Whitechapel!” They start, and the crowd whoops and whistles in response. “My name is Rory, and these are my two friends Erica and Benny. We’ve got something special in store for you today, and we hope you enjoy it. This is ‘I Think I Love You’ by Tenacious D!”

The crowd cheers once more, and when they quiet down, Rory turns back to his two bandmates, counting them down silently, and then it begins.

As both of Erica’s and Benny’s solos come to an end and the chorus is ready to begin, Rory takes a chance to step towards the end of the stage, a determined look in his eyes. Ethan watches, quirking an eyebrow as Rory points a finger directly at him, but then it all clicks, and his face flushes. Rory smiles sheepishly, and brings the mic back to his lips.

“Ethan, I have to tell you something that I’ve been thinking about for a long time, but didn’t have the courage to say before… I think I love you.”

The crowd cheers loudly and Rory pauses, thinking, before they shut their eyes and shake their head, waving their hand as if to shake off their last statement, and start again, growing more passionate with each word that comes out of their mouth.

“Y’know what, scratch that, I do love you! But, I’m gonna say ‘I think I love you,’ because I don’t even know if this is love, ‘cause I’ve never felt this feeling before, and I think I might be going insane!”

The crowd cheers again, and Rory seems to forget where she is for a moment, but she shakes it off and an awkward smile breaks out onto her face. She tries to dance around casually as she searches the crowd again, looking for Ethan, and a full grin replaces the awkward one she had before as she finds him and sees that his expression matches hers – lovestruck.

“HEY, I think I love you! So what am I so afraid of?!” Rory breaks into song again with added vigor, bouncing around the stage and trying not to get tangled in the microphone cord. Ethan can’t help but watch with adoration, and Sarah grabs him by the shoulders and begins to shake him back and forth, squealing in his ear. Benny fist pumps once, a huge grin on his face, and Erica smirks, both of them feeding off of Rory’s energy and playing with added intensity.

“Do you think I have a case? Let me ask you to your face,” Rory turns back around, looking for Ethan in the crowd once more, and once she finds him she outstretches her hand towards him, speaking to Ethan directly. Ethan beams.

“Do you think you love me? I think I love you!”

“Thank you, Whitechapel! Good night!”

As the crowd roars and the curtains close, Sarah practically shoves Ethan through the throngs of people, trying to work their way backstage. A few handfuls of people notice the pair and try to move out of their way, but the rest are still buzzing with the excitement of the performance that Rory, Erica, and Benny just gave. Ethan tries to mumble “oops” or “sorry” to anyone they bump into, but Sarah comes to the rescue and just yells “coming through!” to anyone within earshot, and that seems to work at least somewhat. Eventually, they make their way to the wings of the stage, and push past the curtain, weaving through the tech crew that are working to clean up. Sarah eventually spots Erica near the dressing rooms, and throws up her arms, waving to try and catch her attention.

“Erica!”

At the mention of her name, Erica whips her head around, until her eyes land on Sarah. She smiles softly at her, and when she spots Ethan following right behind Sarah, her smile turns into a knowing smirk. Ethan’s face turns bright red, and Erica snickers.

“Go get ‘em, lover boy!” She quips, pointing over her shoulder with her thumb at one of the dressing rooms. Ethan waves her off, his blush spreading to his ears and neck. He can hear the girls start to giggle and chatter away about something else as he walks to the door that Erica had gestured at, and he stands in front of it awkwardly as he tries to think of something intelligent he could possibly say to Rory instead of just allowing his brain to turn into a bag of bricks. He feels like with the performance alone, Rory had already put the whole thing and the feelings he had into words so perfectly, what else could he possibly add? As he’s standing there lost in thought, the door suddenly flies open and Ethan jumps.

“Shoot, sorry, my bad, I’ll mov–”

“Oh! Ethan, hey!”

Ethan stops, his mouth agape as he realizes he’s now face-to-face with the exact vampire he needed to talk to… completely unprepared to do so.

“...Rory!”

Rory beams at him, and Ethan feels like his brain completely short-circuits at the sight.

“Uhh… I– uhm. You… you did. Good. You did good!” He somehow manages to stutter out, and Rory snickers.

“Thanks, man. Although, that stuttering was a bit painful to watch,” Rory says, before their eyes widen and they cover their mouth with their hand in horror. “Oh my god, I am so sorry. Benny gave Erica this stupid truth potion which she then gave to me because she didn’t wanna drink it, and of course I drank it all, and–!”

Ethan places his hand over the one Rory has shielding their mouth, and chuckles. If vampires could blush, Ethan knows that Rory would be just as red as he is. He shakes his head and rolls his eyes at the mention of his best friend’s failed plan.

“I told Benny that his plan would never work, Erica’s too smart for that,” He says, then his eyes widen as well, and he tries to recover, “N-not to say that you’re not smart or anything, because you are and can be, i-it’s just–”

Rory giggles, taking Ethan’s hand in both of her own, and Ethan never thought he could do it but he manages to blush darker than before; he has to be radiating heat now, there’s no way he isn’t, but either Rory doesn’t notice or he simply doesn’t say anything, to Ethan’s relief.

“Hey, it’s okay! You’re good, we’re good,” She says, pausing to look down at their joined hands. She smiles, but furrows her brows a bit, and Ethan tilts his head questioningly.

“Did… did you like the song? It wasn’t supposed to be a confession-of-love performance, just a regular one, but that’s how it ended up, I guess. Thanks to the dumb truth potion, and a spur-of-the-moment decision I made at our rehearsal yesterday.”

“I loved it, you guys did great. You did great. I loved watching it. Watching you.”

Rory beams again, and Ethan grins right back, until he remembers something, and smirks.

“Oh! To answer your questions from before – I think you do have a case, and I do think I love you.” Ethan adds cleverly. Rory blinks at him a couple times, confused, before it finally clicks and he cackles, pulling Ethan close and wrapping his arms around him, squeezing him in a hug. Ethan squawks at the sudden movement, but recovers quickly, breaking into a fit of giggles and squeezing right back.

“I love you, Ethan!”

“I love you, Rory.”

#submission #mbav #my babysitters a vampire #my babysitter's a vampire #mbav holiday exchange #mbavholidayexchange #ethan morgan #sarah fox #erica jones #rory keaner #benny weir #ethory

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saintsir4n · 12 days ago

Text

BROKEN HOPE

where eden shelby learns that she cannot have everything

WARNINGS: VIOLENCE, ANGST

——

1924

TOMMY Shelby had done a lot with his life. He had won, he had lost, he had killed and he had saved lives. All with the knowledge that he would have his family to turn to. Over the last few months; he had finally married the love of his life, she had been shot, he had an aneurysm, his eldest daughter had been kidnapped, Michael had taken a life and more turmoil and pain had erupted through the family.

And now he had to make more decisions, more consequential choices that would rupture more than just the family, but him. What he had to do wasn’t easy, it never fucking was.

He thought of it and tried drowning the growing guilt with whiskey. Even his brothers attempted to steer him away from the bottle but they couldn’t.

It was breaking their brother.

And more importantly, it would break his wife.

Eden Shelby.

The very woman who rushed into the room, with a stack of papers in her grip and an excited smile on her face. Lizzie was behind her, as was Polly.

“Sorry love for bursting in,” She rushed out, “but Tommy look. It’s done. Thank fuck. Look love, two years and it’s done. I was just telling…” she rambled when she settled down the pages in front of him, shooting smiles to her in-laws who couldn’t look at her. She tilted her head to the side when she noticed her husband’s vacant stare and hand his hand gripping onto his glass, “what’s wrong?”

“Pol shut the door,” Tommy instructed.

The woman made no effort to do so.

Eden’s brow arched, “Thomas?”

“Shut the door, Aunt Pol.” John begrudgingly urged.

Eden huffed, “What’s the matter? I know two years is quite some time but I was busy. We all are all the fuckin’ time —“

“Two years, Tom,” John stated, heatedly staring at his brother.

Tommy shot him a glare, “Shut up John.”

“That’s great Edie. Really great.” Arthur weakly praised his sister in law.

Polly stood, arms folded as she looked between her nephews, all appeared to be concealing something. But what, she didn’t know. But boy was she determined to find out.

Eden’s excitement faltered, “Thank you Arthur, at least one of you appreciates it.” She paused, “Thomas?”

Tommy’s gaze snapped toward her, he swallowed more of his drink as he did. Eden had already been shot because of the Italians. In the arm which affected her being unable to type let alone pick up a pen. And she caught an infection briefly. Which caused her mind to play tricks on her, yet writing brought her back. It made everything make sense to her. Especially her role in the family, as mother two pretty girls. They’re pretty girls. His wife.

His fucking wife.

Tommy’s eyes darted over to his aunt, “I said shut the door, Pol. And Lizzie get out.”

The women were startled.

“Thomas,” Eden said warningly.

“It’s alright,” Lizzie let the door shut behind her.

Tommy cleared his throat, and stood from his seat, “I need to talk to my wife.”

“Then talk.” Eden stiffly motioned. “Why do you look like that? What’s wrong? Is it those coppers again? We sorted things with the Russians, why does everyone look like someone shot a horse?”

Tommy leaned over the table, his eyes didn’t leave hers, “Listen Edie, it was out my hands.”

His brothers shifted in their seats, earning a sceptical look from their aunt.

“What was?” Eden asked.

Tommy continued, “I couldn’t get out of it.”

“Couldn’t get out of what Thomas?” Eden’s tone was more impatient.

He repeated, “It was out of my hands.”

“What fucking was?!” She raised her voice.

Arthur fumbled his hands and muttered, “She might need a drink.”

“So what, she can smash it over his face?” John sounded almost excited about the prospect. "I know I fuckin' wood."

“Will someone just tell me what’s wrong?!” Eden snapped, glancing between the men.

Polly moved forward, “Yes, just spit it out.”

“I made a deal.” Tommy declared, his palms grew sweaty on the table.

So he pulled them back. He stood, not tall, only stiff under his wife’s uncertain gaze.

Eden shrugged, “So?”

“You and your fucking deals Thomas. More Russian’s?” Polly had to ask.

Tommy answered, “Nor the Russians. The Calvary.”

“Coppers? What deal did you make with the coppers.” Eden felt a wave of nausea wash over her. “What fucking deal?”

“I need to protect my family. I need to protect you but I had to make a choice and I chose.” Tommy said, rounding the table. “To protect you because I swore to always protect you. To protect Inara and little Ines. I had to do what I did or I’d lose you. And I can’t lose you.” Not like I almost did.

Eden’s desperate gaze darted over his nearly stoic face. He was breaking down. The truth was peeking through the cracks and it drove her a few steps backwards.

“What… what did you do? Just say it.” Her voice pleaded. “Please you’re scaring me.”

Tommy averted his eyes, they trailed away from her confusion and his aunt’s dread. They landed on the piles of paper stacking on the corner of his desk. The piles and piles of paper. All the stories and metaphors between the words, the sentences that told more than they should. They spoke too much and had to go.

It had to go… to protect the family.

“It was you or your book and I chose you.” He uttered, confusing her further.

Eden was unsure if she misheard, “What? My book. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Words have power Edie, you know that. You even taught me that.” Tommy murmured, not daring to look at her.

“Holy Jesus,” Polly whispered to herself when she realised what had to happen.

He continued, “They know your pseudonym, they know who you are. And they know they can’t have a black woman have the reach you have. They can’t let your light shine through this fuckin’ fog.”

Eden blinked rapidly, “What are you saying, Tommy?”

“I’m sorry.” Only then did he stare at her, eyes softening and face tightening.

She shook her head in disbelief, “You’re what?”

“That book needs to go,” Tommy said, more firmly.

She scoffed. “No, it doesn’t.”

Eden stumbled forward.

Guilt settled on Arthur and John’s faces, when they rose to their feet, blocking the path of the book and ceasing the arguments from Eden’s mouth. Polly stood to the side, with her hand covering her mouth, as she watched on.

Tears stung in Eden’s eyes.

Writing was her passion. It was her voice, her power. Outside of this family, she had something that was for her. A sense of agency regardless of the name she had to use to gain traction. It was hers.

It was her voice.

Tommy knew that.

But their enemies knew that too.

And so her voice got lodged in her throat when her husband picked up her book. Her mouth opened but screams couldn’t be heard when John and Arthur gently yet firmly tugged her back.

Tugged her so she could reach out, not when Tommy scrambled to pick up her pages and pages of work. Not even in when his feet stomped over to the mantle piece where the fire simmered. Not when she clawed at their arms when her husband allowed two years were of passion being burnt to a crisp.

Polly stood in shock, frozen she was. She couldn’t have predicted this. She knew from the beginning Tommy could potentially hurt Eden. But there would be ways back from his discrepancies. But this… he had truly fucked up.

Her eyes briefly shut at the wail ripping through Eden’s mouth.

And with her remaining strength, Eden tugged out of the men’s grip and fell to the floor, eyes filled with pain and tears as they watched each piece of paper curl and turn to ashes.

“Two years Tom.” John accused his brother who turned away and picked up another glass of whiskey. “Look what you’ve done!” He screamed as if to relieve himself of the guilt he felt.

Arthur conflicted on whether to help Eden up but Polly’s scolding gaze forced him to back away. His aunt attempted to aid Eden but she couldn’t move.

There was no helping her. Not like this.

“Look at her!” John’s yell drew Tommy’s attention. “Writing was all she knew, all she had and look what you’ve done!”

“I think that’s enough,” it was far from it, Polly knew, sending Tommy a withering glare when Eden’s throat grew hoarse and hallow. “I need to get her out of here. Away from the three of you and your foolish deals and callousness.”

“It was her or the book,” Tommy whispered.

Polly scoffed, “Sod off Thomas.”

“It was her or the book!” He screamed, watching as his aunt forced his wife off of the floor.

“C’mon love.” Polly ushered her toward the door.

“It was you or the book Edie, I know what I’m picking every time.” Tommy stumbled forward.

Eden didn’t turn to look at him, she could hardly process everything around her. She could just recall the stench of burnt paper.

Polly pulled open the door and called out.

“Francis, take her back to her room.”

“Yes Mrs Grey,” the maid quickly complied, keeping a from yet gentle grip on the fragile woman.

Tommy called out “Edie, love.”

Polly forced the office door shut and fiercely turned to her nephew.

Johnny humourless laughed, “You’ve really lost the plot.”

“Fuck off.” Tommy lunged at him.

“You fuckin’ what?!”

Arthur targeted to break them up. “Enough, enough.”

“She was comin’ in her to tell you more than just about that fuckin’ book.” Polly’s voice pierced through their angst. “You may have one way to salvage this. You’ve taken her livelihood but given her somethin’ else. Another Shelby.”

And just like the brother’s, lost it all of again.

a/n:

guys this took place before the big arrest, at least a few hours before.

yes, this led to the deterioration of eden’s mind.

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kauriart · 1 month ago

Text

Hero

An NSFW Dragon Age fic for kaijuburgers as part of the 2020 @black-emporium-exchange | m!Cousland x Loghain | Read it on A03

Oren Cousland is drunk.

But not drunk enough.

There’s a serenity, surely, waiting at the bottom of a bottle that he hasn’t found yet. And he is nothing if not determined to find it.

Stubborn determination has carried him this far, after all.

He’s in the kitchens — second kitchens? Some over-stuffed yet tidy room near the wine cellar. It smells comfortingly of food and flame, and is as much a balm to his frazzled senses as the drink. Moreso perhaps.

There are oil lamps strung along the walls, but the fire in the room is smokey-low and dim, flickering erratically as though uncertain if it ought to go out. He lifts his latest bottle and pours. The glass fills so quickly some of the wine spills out over the rim and over his fingers. A puddle of deep burgundy forms on the table, glossy as velvet.

The first time they kissed, Loghain wore a burgundy tunic.

But that was years ago.

And he is not nearly drunk enough to go wandering into those memories, no matter how close they press to the surface.

Oren lowers his mouth to the glass, carefully slurping up the excess wine as the door to the room slides open, wood creaking and shifting heavily. Alastair blinks. “Sorry. Didn’t think anyone would be here. What are you doing up at this hour?”

The drunken detritus on the table should be obvious enough.

Oren lifts his wine glass carefully. It’s still rather full. “Celebrating.”

Alastair raises a single auburn brow, but makes no comment. Instead he crosses the room, boots dragging heavily across the polished floors and sits in the chair opposite his fellow Warden.

Or, ex- fellow Warden. No one has bothered to explain if Kings get to be Wardens after all.

“We won, didn’t we?” Oren says, voice rough from the wine. “Successful landsmeet and all.”

Only it doesn't feel that way. Not really.

Surely victory ought to carry with it some semblance of satisfaction. Of accomplishment.

Alistair is quiet and still. Brow furrowed. Everything about him has changed to a striking degree. So much at odds with the half-giddy, nervous energy he usually displays. “What do you intend to do with him?”

Loghain.

Strong hands and broad shoulders. Eyes like grey steel in the candlelight. A hard mouth, and hard kisses. Each one sweet, and salty, and stolen.

Oren dips his fingertip into the puddle of spilled wine, and tries not to frown. “You’re the King now. I should think that deciding the fate of prisoners to the crown falls to you.”

For the barest moment, Alistair looks old. Then he reaches across the table and snags Oren’s wineglass, draining what’s left in three long swallows. “Loghain’s crimes were foremost against the Order. You’ve been our Warden Commander for the better part of a year. Doesn’t matter that you were never officially promoted.”

“Weisshaupt might disagree.” Oren says drily, and pours Alistair another glass of wine.

“Weisshaupt can go bugger itself, for all the help they’ve been.” Alistair mutters. He swirls the wine in the glass, but doesn’t drink. “It’s your call. I’ll stand by you, whatever you decide. I owe you that, at least.”

“Poor thanks, if you ask me.” Oren’s mouth twists into something that is almost a smile. “Couldn’t you just shower me with riches and titles? Half-naked noble women?”

“I hear Gwaren needs a new Teryn.”

He gives Alistair a startled look even as his insides twist, unsure if it’s a joke or not. Alistair is rarely cruel, but…

… things have changed.

Alistair holds his eyes for a moment, copper gaze unreadable before he grimaces and heaves a tired sigh. “Sorry. It’s… it’s been a day.”

“I know,” Oren swallows hard. “ For what it’s worth, I’m… sorry too.”

“I’m sorry… your Majesty.” Alistair’s brow quirks up, and the line of his mouth eases, just a little. Just for a moment.

Oren snorts, and clinks his wine bottle against Alistair’s wine glass. “I’m sorry, your Majesty.”

Alistair takes a drink, and the line of his mouth twists. “In war, victory.” he says so quietly, it is almost to himself.

In the morning, when Oren wakes, it isn’t really morning. The sun is already climbing down from his peak, and he has the grain of the table etched into his left cheek, a monstrous headache thundering through his right temple, and a deep sense of regret for that last bottle of wine.

Or bottles. Plural.

He’s not even sure how many he regrets, because he’s not sure how many he had — some industrious soul has already dispatched the remains of the celebration. But it had been an expensive evening.

And for all his excess he had never quite reached that floaty place where he could forget about Loghain, their past, and the decision laid out before him.

Loghain had been found guilty of treason, and had been summarily stripped of his titles and position. Even his daughter had failed to speak in his defense.

Fereldan judgement is swift. Fereldan punishment, even swifter. The nobility may have backed them in the Landsmeet, but it would not go well for the new King were he to falter in the dispatch of justice.

But Loghain’s crimes carried a particularly personal sting for Oren.

So he bathes, and changes into his cleanest uniform, donning a warrior’s full plate. Even strapping steel to his hips. He doesn’t shave. His hands shake too badly to manage a blade, but the quarter-inch of stubble makes him feel unkempt — and the bloodshot eyes don’t help – too much like a year-old Warden who sleeps in a muddy tent, and too little like a man fit to judge the Hero of River Dane.

He tugs a hand through his dark curls feeling suddenly as though he were fifteen again, half in love with a man he’d known since boyhood, watching him cross the length of his father’s hall, and silently begging to be noticed.

He hadn’t been — not then.

But then, one year, there had been a kiss. And then another. And then it was more than just kisses. And Loghain’s yearly visits had become twice a year, and then, every few months, and then every month.

And Oren had thought—

But then Loghain’s visits had ceased abruptly, and without explanation.

That had hurt.

But what came next hurt even worse.

Rendon Howe, Loghain’s right hand, had swept in and murdered Oren’s entire family.

And everything that had happened from then until now had been a blur of grief and betrayal and bloodshed.

He frowns at himself in the mirror.

This will be the first time in two years that he has spoken to Loghain alone.

He remembers the last time, though they’d barely spoken then. Loghain had kissed him breathless in the hall outside his room. And inside…

Oren shakes his head as hard as he can to stop the memories from coming. Even so they punch through, bright bursts of starlight behind his eyelids. The drag of Loghain’s fingertips across bare skin. The feel of his mouth curling into a smile. The taste of him. The mass of dark hair in Oren’s hands. The rumbling sounds of pleasure Loghain always kept locked tight in his chest.

It feels like a thousand years ago.

Everything has changed.

Everything.

And yet as he takes the long way to the part of the castle where Loghain is being held, he has to pause, and lean against the wall, hand against his face to still his breathing. There’s a sick sort of unease in his belly. Giddiness and dread and enough wine that he’s still halfway to drunk.

Maybe he just needs a good vomit.

There are a pair of guards stationed outside the door, but he orders them away. Whatever he means to say is for Loghain’s ears only.

Oren takes a deep breath, and pushes the door open.

It is not what he had expected of a prison.

The room is large and richly furnished, with polished wood, and jewel-toned tapestries, and furs flung across every bare surface. There are no windows, but a fireplace is lit and well-stocked, casting the room in a warm, dramatic light.

There are benefits to being the Queen’s father, it seems, no matter one’s crimes.

Loghain is sitting near the fireplace, with a large book open on his lap, dark hair pulled back into a neat tail. He’s unarmed and unarmored, but Gwaren’s heraldic crest, a wyvern, done in gold thread, still winds down one of his shoulders.

Figures.

“Loghain.”

Loghain looks up slowly, supremely unconcerned. One finger presses to the page, marking his place in his book. “Has Maric’s bastard decided what’s to be done with me?”

Oren glares, hands curling into fists at his sides, though he refuses to rise to Loghain’s insult. “Your King,” he says instead, leaning heavily on the word, “has sent me.”

“You,” Loghain says, voice expressionless. He looks Oren up and down with a calm sort of intensity. And if he recognizes him — or remembers what they once shared — he doesn’t acknowledge it. He tilts his head, inviting an answer. But the shadows shift along the sharp planes of his face, and all at once he’s too hard to look at — too imperious, and starkly beautiful, even in his defeat.

Oren looks away.

The silence between them stretches before Loghain speaks again. “Do you know they call you the Hero of Ferelden?”

Oren clenches his jaw. “No one calls me that.”

“They will.” He snaps the book on his lap shut. The sound is startling enough that Oren looks back at him. “That should please you. You always did love… heroes.”

Oren’s heart gives a small, painful jolt.

“So you do remember me.”

Loghain looks at him for a long time. And the world spins and spins, flickering between what was and what is.

“At Ostagar you didn’t… you didn’t even…”

“What would you have had me do?” Loghain’s words are sharp, and his eyes even sharper.

Oren has no answer. Nothing that isn’t childish or petulant. Thousands died at Ostagar.

Duncan died at Ostagar.

Half of all living Wardens died at Ostagar.

He shakes his head, breathing heavily through his nose. He can still remember the stink of the battlefield, even before it began. An army is all noise and sweat and shit even before it is broken into pieces. And he and Alistair had watched it all from their tower. The tidal wave of Darkspawn crawling over the men below, and Loghain’s banners turning round, leaving them all to their fate. There’d been no sound –– they were up too high. But Alistair’s screams filled his ears, drowning out the tiny crack that splintered across his heart.

He really is a fucking child.

Loghain stands and moves closer, and Oren shifts from foot to foot. He won't back away, he won't. But having Loghain so close makes him uneasy.

The table at the center of the room is laden with food, mostly untouched. Loghain uncorks a bottle and begins to pour. “Wine?”

Oren makes a sound of disbelief. “No.”

“Ori—”

“Don’t call me that!” Oren roars. Rage rises up so fast it nearly chokes him. “My family called me that. Before Rendon Howe had them slaughtered!”

He doesn’t even realize he has his sword in his hand until Loghain moves to take it from him, grasping his wrist and twisting so sharply that for a moment everything goes numb from his elbow down. There’s a burst of pain, sharp and sweet, and Loghain has his sword.

This close his armor will make little difference. Loghain is well known for his unholy strength and brutality on the battlefield. And he has already tried to kill Oren. More than once.

More than twice.

A question burns his mouth. “Did you know?”

Loghain doesn’t answer, but his head tilts back slightly.

“Did. you. know.” Each word is as sharp as a slap, but it’s Oren who feels it. A bright broad sting across his heart. But he has to know. He has to.

“I did.”

Without hesitating, Oren smashes his forehead against the bridge of Loghain’s nose. Everything whites out in a starburst of pain. The two men stagger away from each other swearing breathlessly. Oren holds himself up one handed as the room tilts wildly before righting itself with a nauseating jolt.

Loghain is glaring at him, blood all down his upper lip and down his chin. His nose doesn’t look broken, but it’s already beginning to swell. “Idiot,” he says stiffly and uses the hem of his tunic to stem the blood-flow.

Oren chuckles, thinking he is definitely, certainly, still at least a little drunk.

And maybe brain-damaged now.

Loghain tosses the sword aside, still glaring.

Maybe they’re both brain-damaged.

“Ori,” Loghain starts.

“Fuck you,” he says.

Loghain sighs. “Why do you ask questions when you don’t want the answer?”

“That’s fucking retorical too.” Oren mutters. The bottle has tipped over, spilling a stream of wine onto the carpet below.

The first time they kissed, Loghain wore a burgundy tunic.

Loghain still has the tunic clamped over his nose. Fine linen spotted with blood. He pinches down a few more times, but the bleeding is already beginning to slow.

“Is it broken?” Oren asks.

“Probably.”

“Good.”

Loghain narrows his eyes and Oren nearly laughs again, still a little dizzy. “You don’t headbutt someone in a fight.”

“I didn’t realize we were fighting. I thought you were admitting to your part in the slaughter of my family.”

“No,” Loghain says, making a face at the splotches of blood all down his tunic. He peels it off, wads it into a ball and casts it into the fire. “You were asking questions you didn’t want answered.”

Oren wishes they hadn’t spilled the wine. It would give him something to do besides trying not to look at Loghain’s bare chest.

“Alistair gave you the choice, didn’t he?”

Oren grunts, and picks at the grapes on the table. “Why? Trying to seduce me into sparing your life?”

Loghain’s mouth twists into something too dangerous to be a smile. “Never had to seduce you before.”

Now it’s Oren’s turn to glare even as his cock gives a jolt in response. It never took much from Loghain to get him hard. But he’s older now, and hopefully not so easily baited.

But —

“Your birthday was two days ago,” Loghain says softly.

Oren freezes. Even his heart stops beating, if only for a moment.

“Every year I came you asked me for a kiss.” Loghain takes a step forward, then pauses, brows knitted into a frown. His hand twitches at his side, fingers clenching and unclenching in tiny, measured movements. “I never understood why. But I gave it to you.”

“You never understood why you kissed me?”

“I never understood why you wanted to be kissed.”

Despite everything, Oren’s chest feels tight with a sudden longing. “I was raised on stories of you. The Hero of River Dane. The right hand of the King. You,” he says carefully, “were like the sun.”

“Maric was the sun. He was the golden boy. I was only ever his shadow.”

“Not to me,” Oren breathes. “You were my first.”

“I assumed,” Loghain says dryly.

Oren bites back a dozen sarcastic replies in an instant, but he’s tired, and his head hurts. And all that is left to him is honesty. “I was in love with you.”

The sudden flare of anger in Loghain's eyes isn’t bright, but cold and bitter. He reaches out, almost calmly, and grasps Oren by the throat.

It’s so still and deliberate that Oren doesn’t jerk away, not until Loghain begins to squeeze. He tries to claw Loghain’s fingers off his neck, but Loghain barrels him backward, until the back of his legs hit the bed and they both tip over. Oren writhes trying to break away, but Loghain is monstrously strong, and has all the leverage.

He folds his hand into a fist and drives it into Loghain’s mid-section, but he uses the arm that’s still mostly numb, so Loghain grunts, but doesn’t let go.

“Murderer!” Oren hisses, thrashing ineffectually. “Fucking coward!”

Loghain has an extraordinary voice. Low, and rough and impeccably expressive. It could be bright, or thunderous, or sharply brittle as ice. But now it is so thin and thready it is difficult to hear. “You were never in love, Ori. You mistook hero worship for love, and now that you’ve finally grown up and realized the world isn’t made up of fairy tales, and happy endings, you want to blame me. Well go ahead.”

Oren grunts and tries to kick out, but Loghain’s weight is across his shins.

“One day there will be a boy who looks at you the way you looked at me. And you will have to explain to him that you became a hero because there was nothing, and no one that you weren’t willing to shatter to do what must be done.” His fingers tighten, mercilessly. “Heroes aren’t kind. Heroes aren’t just. They don’t have that luxury.”

Oren makes a choked sound as his breath falters. Tears run into his ears.

“And then he’ll look at you the way you are looking at me now,” Loghain says quietly.

Oren manages to get a couple of fingers wedged beneath Loghain’s grip, and sucks in a thready breath. “That’s... because you’re choking me, you fuck.”

“Or maybe all you ever wanted was a hand on your cock that wasn’t your own.”

Loghain leans in, the thumb of his free hand sweeping against Oren’s bottom lip and for a brief moment Oren thinks he might try to bite Loghain. But all he does is take a single, strained breath.

And wait.

His eyes flutter closed.

The grip on his neck relaxes a little.

And Loghain shifts closer, breath warm and unsteady. “Ori...”

The sound of his name in Loghain’s mouth twists inside him. He makes a tiny sound, dismay and distress and a bright streak of shame at his own inexplicable arousal. But then Loghain is kissing him, and the tumult of emotions dissolves into pure shock.

Loghain smells the same. Feels the same. Tastes the same.

And Oren cannot help but press deeper into the kiss, even as his hand comes up to the broad expanse of Loghain’s chest, hovering, certain at any moment that he’ll push Loghain away.

But then he feels Loghain fumbling first at his belt, and then at the laces of his breeches, and then Loghain’s hand is cupping his bare cock.

Oren’s head spins. He makes a sound that's a sob and a prayer, all harsh and broken and begging.

But his hand slips down Loghain’s chest, and starts working his trousers open. Loghain’s nearly entirely hard, and the shape of him in Oren’s hand is familiar and strange and overwhelming.

What is he doing?

He ought to squeeze the fucker’s balls until they pop.

Loghain slots their bare cocks together, wraps them in his large hand.

And Oren makes a shuddery sound through his nose. Maker, it’s been so long...

“Did Maric’s boy not do this for you?”

“No,” he manages. “Fuck you.”

Loghain chuckles, the sound a low rumble. And Oren realizes he’s never heard him laugh.

And he wants…

Maker what does he want?

Loghain’s grip on his throat eases deliberately. “Take a breath,” he says.

Oren does. A full, sweet lungful, even though it hurts, and it hurts when Loghain grips his neck once again, clamping down.

It goes quick after that. They’re both too riled up to savor anything. Loghain twists his hand around the pair of them as Oren tries to thrust up. There isn’t enough slick, but the sensation is still dizzying — sharp and insistent and demanding. Waves of pleasure rocket up Oren’s spine and radiate through his core. He grabs a handful of Loghain’s hair tugging him down for another kiss, until he’s thoroughly breathless and quite literally seeing stars.

Their cocks slide together, Loghain’s thumb brushing over the wet tips and the hand at his throat is like a vice, anchoring him, even as he drifts higher and higher and far far away. And Loghain growls something, rhythm suddenly jerky and harsh, and there’s a sudden slick of heat between them, and yes yes—

He bows off the bed as he comes, thrusting hard into Loghain’s fist. Any sound he might make is choked out of him, and there’s only a strangled silence and the quick sure sound of Loghain’s hand, as he guides Oren through his orgasm.

Then all at once the hand at Oren’s throat is gone, and Loghain shifts, bending, taking his spent cock in his mouth, sucking hard enough it feels like he may bruise.

Oren makes a startled cry, jerking bonelessly as the sensation rises, so sharp it’s almost painful.

But it’s gone nearly at once, and then Loghain is kissing him again, mouth tasting of copper and salt and sin.

A goodbye kiss.

They both know it.

“Loghain…” Oren’s voice cracks. Broken, ragged thing. “For the crimes you have committed against Fereldan, you will be put to death.”

The room is perfectly quiet. As is Loghain’s expression. But he reaches down and brushes the backs of his knuckles across the faint stubble on Oren’s cheek. The only bit of tenderness he has shown the entire night.

His eyes shine faintly with approval.

Oren slides a hand across his own abdomen, half expecting to find himself gutted and bleeding though Loghain had tossed away the sword. It hurts just as much.

More, even.

He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, as much to stop the ragged sounds of his breathing as to scrub away the feeling of the kiss, of the taste of himself and Loghain in his mouth.

It is a small group who gathers in the early morning for the execution. The weather in the courtyard is properly morose. The sky, a solid sheet of grey, dark with the threat of rain. It is wet everywhere, the trees droop, heavy with dew, and the ground is scattered with silver-brown puddles.

It is a rather peaceful place to die.

None of Loghain’s supporters are present. Neither is the Queen. But Alistair is there, dressed in his Warden armor, and hefting a great, two-handed sword. He has a wide silver band upon his brow, not precisely a crown, but a clear mark of his new status. With his hair slicked back, and his expression dark and severe, he looks nothing at all like the young man he’d been — and every inch a King.

In turn, Loghain looks like the man he’s always been. Straight backed and severe, head to toe in black doeskin and velvet, with his hair loose upon his shoulders. He looks like the whole affair is beneath him. The spectacular bruising across the bridge of his nose and beneath both eyes is all that is out of place.

“Loghain Mac Tir,” Alistair’s voice cuts through the silence. “For crimes against Ferelden and her people, and for grievous harm done to the Order during a blight; the Ferelden Wardens sentence you to death. Kneel.”

Nothing shifts in Loghain’s expression as he drops silently to his knees. He obeys, but concedes nothing.

Alistair raises his sword, the weight of it dragging against time itself. Slowly slowly the world stills.

A drop of rain suspended in the sky.

It might be blood. It ought to be blood.

Red. Crimson. Burgundy.

The first time they kissed, Loghain wore a burgundy tunic.

Oren closes his eyes. Hears his own breath begin to splinter apart.

He knows what happens next. The slice of the sword. The thunk and squish of finality. The silence. Long, dark hair spilling across the flagstones, still and wet. Grey-blue eyes unseeing, slowly filling with rain.

Oren gags.

“L-Loghain…” His voice is weak. Scratchy and half-broken from the bruises from Loghain’s hands that ring his throat. He coughs, nearly retching, and steps forward. “Loghain…” He takes another, and then another, and then his feet carry him, tripping over himself, stumbling as he rushes forward faster than the blade can fall. “I conscript you to the Wardens!” It feels like something tears, and he clutches at his throat, coughs again, and spits out blood. “Loghain Mac Tir, I conscript you to the Wardens.” This time at least, his voice is clear.

Stillness.

Silence.

No matter how long he lives he’ll never forget the look on Alistair’s face.

A raw thing, torn open and bleeding for the world to see. Then Alistair swallows it all behind a mask of utter blankness. He lowers the sword slowly. “Out.”

No one moves.

“Everyone, out!” Alistair bellows.

It takes a moment. Long, shocked moments of silence and shuffling feet before the courtyard is cleared. Only the Wardens, and the new Warden conscript remain.

It begins to rain.

Loghain turns to Oren, still kneeling. “Have you gone mad?” he asks mildly.

“The Wardens need men.” He answers Loghain, but looks at Alistair, pleading. “Whatever they’ve done... their crimes are erased once they are conscripted and take the joining.”

Alistair’s shoulder’s shift, a nervous sort of twitch like he wants to shake his head, but can’t.

“I’m sorry,” Oren tells Alistair raggedly.

“I told you it was your decision, so I’ll stand by it.” A breath, and Alastair flings the sword to the ground in a clatter of steel, expression stony. “But I won’t make that mistake again.”

He stalks away just as the skies spill in earnest. The rain becomes a downpour, a rush of sound that swallows even the broken sounds of Oren’s breathing. A single flicker of lighting arcs across the sky.

Oren closes his eyes, thunder in his ears. Rain sting the back of his neck, and slide beneath his collar. He doesn’t realize he’s tipping over until he feels his knees slam into the wet cobblestones.

He feels Loghain’s arms come up around him, fingers at the collar of his uniform, undoing the buttons, easing the constriction against his throat. It takes a few moments kneeling together in the rain, but Oren’s breath comes easier.

“He hates me now,” Oren says hoarsely.

“It’s me he hates.”

Oren shakes his head wearily. “I’ve married him to a woman who doesn’t love him. Bedded him to a woman who can’t stand him. And now this.”

Loghain snorts. “If keeping his favor was so important, you should not have spared me.”

Oren feels something slide down the bridge of his nose. Tears, or rain. “Why is throwing people away so easy for you?”

“You mistake what is easy, for what is necessary,” Loghain sighs. “I’m not sure you’ll make a very good hero.”

“Unlike you?”

Loghain takes a deep breath. “I am not so concerned with being good.”

“Well that’s a fucking revelation.” Oren mutters.

Unbelievably, Loghain laughs. It isn’t a cruel sound. Or a bright one. It is soft and strangely warm.

It is still raining heavily.

And Loghain’s arms are still around him.

Oren swallows hard. “Why is it so easy to fall in love, and so hard to fall out of it?”

Loghain doesn’t reply.

And he doesn’t let go.

“I didn’t spare you,” Oren elaborates after a moment. “You may die in the joining. Or get promptly eaten by an archdemon if you don’t. And the uniforms are itchy.”

“I consider myself unspared.” Loghain says solemnly.

And together they sit in the rain, not speaking. Not moving.

And for a brief moment, Oren thinks he feels the touch of a feather-light kiss upon his brow, but he can’t be sure.

1/1 my tumblr writing masterpost

#dragon age orgins #m!Cousland x Loghain #cousland x loghain #my fic

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