#i will be stewing in my frustration for eternity

[deunmiu-dessie]

ⅺ▬ ⁽ 𝓋𝒶𝓂𝓅𝒾𝓇𝑒⁾ ¹

part two

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 ♡︎ : ₅˖₈ₖ ˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ♡︎ : slightly edited, talk of past sexual assault ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎

૮ ˙Ⱉ˙ ა ʳᵃʷʳ ⁿᵒᵗᵉˢ : i had to split this into two parts! it’s giving very much manhwa vibes!

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ♡︎ : your elder half-sister is to be married to the mysterious and supposed tyrannical duke kallisto de ardelean, on word of the emperor. with your sister no longer having her chastity and being scared to lose his daughter, your father, marquis bastian, and your elder half-brother, tommen devise a plan to send you in her stead.

꒰m!vampire₊⊹ afab!reader꒱

 the sound of cutlery grating against one another makes anxiety coil taut within your belly, the emotion mischievously swimming its way upwards to form a burning mordant taste within the base of your throat; bile threatening to ascend and expel from your mouth. your nerves are strung tight like a bow, bending, pulling, hurting- waiting to be disentangled from its stretch; but to no avail. the persistent, uneasy ache pulsing through your veins causes your head to throb and pound uncomfortably - the onset of a migraine looming.

    the clinking of silverware becomes a symphony of discomfort, each scrape, and clatter adding to the cacophony that fills the room. it becomes increasingly difficult to focus on anything else, as the unease consumes your thoughts and senses. the atmosphere feels suffocating, as if the tension in the air is tangible.

  you find yourself longing for a moment of respite, a break from the relentless discomfort. but it eludes you, leaving you trapped in this sea of unease. the storm within you rages on, its intensity growing with each passing second.

      'when will this be over?' you muse sourly, stumbling to hold in a huff of frustration and discomfort; the stinging, scalding gazes of your siblings and attendants are alight with contempt and taunting humor- directed at you. the sensation sends a chill skittering down your backbone, a chill so frigid that goosebumps begin to blanket your skin like a fresh layer of december frost; intricate and icy.

  as you sit there, the weight of their judgment bears down on you, pressing against your chest and making it difficult to breathe. the room seemed to close around you, the walls closing in like a vise, trapping you in a suffocating bubble of scrutiny. the air is heavy with tension, each second ticking by like an eternity, as if time itself had slowed down to magnify your discomfort.

    and you find that removing your eyes from the bowl of lukewarm soup in front of you to meet their disdainful faces, was nigh impossible. unthinkable. so instead you remain fixated on the porcelain dish, undisturbed by the tiny grains of sand scattered at the bottom, swirling lazily in the stew.

 'this again?' you ponder silently, before being startled by the tinkling laughter that fills the room.

     for a fleeting moment, your gaze flickers upward to scan the dining hall at the soft, girlish snickering; finding the venomous eyes of your elder sister staring right back at you. your glossy eyes quickly find solace in the sandy, savory depths of the bowl of soup below you once more. your fingers weaving jointly underneath the table, nails turning pale as the vice grip of your extremities coil, trying to strangle one another. you felt like a rat trapped within a burning bucket with nowhere to go, fated to die-but how badly you wanted to gnaw your way out to freedom.

 "oh my, dear sister, you've hardly touched your food."

  your back molars clench against the tender flesh of your cheek at the attention, your body cowering back into the delicate velvet chair underneath you, praying to be devoured whole. with trembling hands, you nervously rub your dewy palms against the faded blue fabric of your dress, causing it to darken with the touch of moisture. it was as if your very nerves had been set ablaze as you could now feel the disconcerting stare of your father branding the side of your cheek.

your soft but prevalent ebbeton accent cuts through the tense atmosphere like a sharpened blade, the gazes of the room bleeding into your skin.

    "i find myself lacking an appetite this evening," you emit softly, offering a forced smile to your elder sister in an attempt to pacify her. you’re not surprised when aerith’s thin upper lip curls into a snarl, downturned eyes narrowing and eyebrows furrowing. anything that you did; that defied her orders, usually triggered aerith to taunt and beat you. there was no winning when it came to the girl, you had figured that out when you were just a child.

     not expecting your reply, aerith’s narrow upper lip curls into a vexed snarl, downturned eyes tightening and eyebrows drawing near to each other. 'who the hell does she think she is?' a forced, cruel smile encases aerith’s mouth, golden spirals of silken hair dancing over her shoulders as she slants her head in an opposing manner. the blonde is only aggravated further at your curt, almost blank expression. "it'd be a waste for you to not at least take a bite, don't you think?"

  she leaned in closer, her eyes boring into yours, daring you to defy her. the room seemed to grow colder, the atmosphere heavy with tension. aerith knew that she had the upper hand, that she had the ability to make your already hellish life, worse. and she reveled in it. the power she possessed, the control she exerted over others, was intoxicating. she was not one to be underestimated, and she made sure you knew it.

    the intense thrumming of your fearful heart reverberates throughout your body, anxiety substituting the boiling blood surging through your veins. you swallow the orb of tension that's wedged its way into your throat and dig your almond-shaped nails into your thighs, a flimsy smile painted onto your lips. "i simply do not feel hungry tonight, sister," you reply calmly, though your heart pounds in your ears. "surely that is not a crime."

    your sister's eyes narrow, her fury evident in the furrowed lines on her forehead. you can almost taste the outrage, mingling with the metallic tang of fear on your tongue.

"(y/n)."

    you flinch back into your seat at the boisterous sound of your father's voice, a cold sweat beginning to form on your brow, shakily you pick up the rickety spoon, a far cry from the elegant silverware adorning the table. with trembling hands, you cautiously dip the spoon into the soup, the loose pieces of sand giggling at your misery. slowly the spoon ascends to your lips- before three sharp knocks echo throughout the dining hall. every malicious, joyously cruel gaze, flits to the door. your father, never one to be unnerved, dabs at his lips with his napkin and clears his throat. "enter."

    the heavy oak doors are gradually pulled open by two knights who stand guard at opposing ends. the assailant quickly waltzes into the room, his face, pale and drawn, betrays the weight of his duty. beads of sweat trickle down his forehead, glistening like tiny diamonds in the candlelight. his disheveled attire, once pristine and regal, now hangs loosely on his frame, evidence of the tumultuous journey he has endured to reach this moment. settled upon his spindly hand is a slender silver tray, which carries a letter.

“-and what is the cause for you interrupting the household dinner, boy? "

  the man choked back a shuddering breath and with a graceful yet urgent stride, he approaches the grand mahogany table at the center of the room, halting just in front of your father, lowering into a ninety-degree bow and thrusting the salver forward.

     "a letter from the imperial palace..." the boy's tentative voice trails off for a moment, hesitant to declare the rest of the announcement. your father observed the scene with a stoic expression, his piercing gaze fixed upon the man before him, before he rolls his eyes, picking up his utensils once more. "well? out with it then.”

“- it's closed with the emperor's seal, my lord.”

    all respire within the room seemed to come to a standstill, the birds did not dare to chirp and the wind was not brave enough to howl. the silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the faint sound of your father's labored breaths. as the seconds ticked by, the room seems to hold its breath, waiting for marquis bastian to break the silence. finally, your father gently places his utensils aside and swiftly grasps the letter, his fingers trembling with a mixture of anticipation and unease. clearly, some things could unnerve marquis bastian, you thought, as you surreptitiously returned the spoon to its rightful place upon the table.

     popping the seal, your father glides the letter from the envelope delicately, unfurling the piece of paper to allow his eyes to glaze over the contents. yet, with each passing second his eyelids draw back to showcase the whites of his eyes, his fingers digging into the paper with a mix of shock, disbelief, or perhaps even anger. you can't quite discern his emotions. your father, marquis bastian, was a man known for his unwavering composure and unshakeable resolve. his presence alone commanded respect and admiration, and it was a rare sight indeed to witness him unsettled.

   his usually stoic face contorted with a myriad of emotions, his brows furrowing and his lips trembling ever so slightly. the room seemed to grow colder, as if the air itself was affected by his sudden unease. you watched in silence, your heart pounding in your chest, as your father's grip on the letter tightened, his knuckles turning white. the seconds stretched into minutes, and still, your father remained frozen in his chair, his eyes fixed on the damning words before him. 

   tommen, your eldest brother, swallows thickly at father's silence, the hairs on the back of his neck at attention and his leg bouncing nervously underneath the table. "father, what ails you?" marquis bastian was distraught, so much so in fact, that he ran a wrinkling hand down his face, head falling into his open palm. the patriarch of the house clears his throat and sets the paper back onto the tray.

"a-aerith. your engagement has been decided by the emperor."

    tommen's heart sinks at his father's words. your elder sister, forever the oblivious blonde; and incapable of reading the room, beams happily and clasps her hands together, head tilting to the side with a whimsical, distant gaze in her eyes. "oh! who is it, daddy? a duke? a marquis?—" the girl trails off with a gasp and places a soft, small hand over her mouth, her cheeks turning a rosy pink. "could it be the prince?! oh, daddy, say something! who is it?!"

tommen's eyes follow his father's every movement, his own anxiety growing with each passing second. he watches as his father clears his throat, a sign of his struggle to find the right words. your father, still in dismay, doesn't even attempt to soothe aerith as he breaks the news to her, his gaze empty, like a vast, swarthy sea of water without end.

"duke kallisto de ardelean."

 you watch in confusion as her smile slowly fades, her pretty, sparkling jade eyes seem to dull, the vibrant hue that once adorned her rosy cheeks now fades away, leaving behind a pallid complexion that betrays the absence of her usual vivacity.

   the blonde's daze is shattered in an instant as she forcefully pushes herself away from the table, her hands crashing down on the sturdy oak surface, her nails leaving marks. "no! i won't do it, you cannot make me!" your father's lips are set into a thin line and despite aerith looking to him for answers, for hope that only his words can bring, his expression is unreadable; and for a moment, something dark and enraged unfurls within the blonde's stomach, threatening to consume her.

"daddy? say something!"

tommen, always the mediator, attempts to smooth over the situation. "aerith, sit, let father think for a moment— hm?" your eldest brother can't help but add an encouraging whirr at the end of his demand after seeing his sister's frightened gaze; a sight that tugs at his heart agonizingly. aerith reluctantly tumbles into her chair, reddened cheeks cushioned by clammy palms; her nails digging into her scalp worriedly.  "brother, do something."

tommen's jaw ticked in annoyance- frustration. there was no way aerith would survive at duke ardelean's home, particularly because of her licentious behavior and absence of subordination. with aerith's lack of chastity, she was nothing but used, damaged goods— not even a puppet to be utilized. ( she would've been better off marrying a count, someone she could manipulate and break faith with. ) sending her off to kallisto would do nothing but insult the ardelean household and bring disgrace to their family for generations to come. 

    tommen's love for his sister was undeniable, and he couldn't bear to see her endure humiliation or worse. he refused to stand idly by and witness the downfall of his family, the destruction of everything they had worked so hard to build.

   slight motion from his peripheral causes tommen's head to turn slightly in its direction, catching sight of your dingy garments and absence of etiquette. ‘ah, the bastard.' he thought to himself. watching as your back straightens immediately when his viridian-colored gaze flits to your slouched figure. there is a bottomless sea of revulsion whirling like a hurricane within its depths and you grip your right arm tightly, nails digging into your flesh; scarring it with crescent moons, a desperate attempt to maintain composure, to keep yourself afloat in the face of his disdain.

    but despite your best efforts- you seemed to drown. the contempt in tommen's eyes remained unwavering. his judgment was etched into his features, a constant reminder of the vast chasm that separated you. in that moment, you were acutely aware of your place in his world, forever relegated to the outskirts, forever branded as the outsider.

"father, if I may?"

   marquis bastian looks toward his son, lips thinned and face weary. he was without a doubt, lost on what to do the thought of losing his little girl to such a man, made his stomach churn and ache.

tommen drags his gaze away from you and locks eyes with marquis bastian; he's tentative, uncertain if the solution that he's come to would assuage his father. but, he takes a deep breath and explains.

   "aerith has been out of high society for years now, after the incident with count aslan's daughter, and there were only a few witnesses at the happening.” tommen begins gradually, making sure that his father is mindful of every little detail. "truly-she's not even talked about within social circles anymore."

   your father grunts in agreement, shooting a scalding gaze at his immature (but loveable) daughter at the reminder of the mishap. the blonde's pout deepens and she crosses her arms over her chest in childish defiance.

   “duke kallisto has never gone to any social gatherings before and he's been away at the northern border for about the same period, perhaps even longer, with his eldest son joining him only a couple of months ago. he would have no idea who aerith is." marquis bastian's eyebrows furrow deeply, producing wrinkles in-between his thick, graying brows.

    tommen watches as the cogs turns in his father's head. “'it's official only on paper and since duke kallisto has never come to any social setting and no one knows what he looks like, i doubt there will be a public wedding, especially since he's currently at the northern border leading the knights."

marquis bastian's eyes widen and he finds his son's viridian gaze. “are you saying—” tommen nods quickly, leaning back in his seat. “if we send the bastard, they'd be none the wiser."

all eyes narrow on you, calculating and cold, it raises goosebumps on your skin, hinders your breath, and makes you break out in a cold sweat. 

    a small voice inside you yearned to protest, to expose the sheer madness of their 'scheme', warning that it would only lead to the gruesome demise of the entire family for treason. but, what right did you have to speak? you were nothing but a bastard, a child conceived out of unwilling sex, brought into this world by a maid who was promptly cast aside the moment you took your first breath.

   you were raised in the shadows, hidden away from the prying eyes of society, forced to serve the family that had abandoned you. your existence was a constant reminder of their shame, a living testament to their sins. and yet, despite the cruelty and neglect you endured, a flicker of defiance burned within you. but fear held you back. fear of retribution, of being cast out into the cold, unforgiving world. fear of the unknown, of what lay beyond the walls of the only home you had ever known.

you were a mere puppet, a marionette manipulated by the hands of those who saw you as nothing more than a means to an end. your existence was reduced to a tool, easily discarded when it no longer served its purpose. it was a fitting fate, since commoner blood surged through your veins. you were forever destined to be overlooked and discarded.

     lips thinning you watch as your fathers face flushes with the color he lost while reading the letter, no longer tense as he nods his head in agreement with tommen. he lets out a deep hum before locking eyes with his son. “that might just work.” marquis bastian absently strokes his beard before giving a decisive nod. “we’ll have to start the process quickly. with how she is now…” he trails off prompting you to hastily blink back the tears that threaten to spill down your cheeks. 

 “hajorld, send a letter to madame kilsby.” 

  all eyes fix upon aerith as she emits a disbelieving whimper. “daddy! that’s not fair, you promised that madame kilsby would teach me! you swore,”  her voice, sharp and grating, causes marquis bastian’s face to pinch into one of anger. “had you not spread your legs like some common whore, aerith, i would not be forced to take this action."

  aerith's heart sank at her father's accusing words. she had been looking forward to learning from madame kilsby for months, only to have her hopes dashed in an instant. the disappointment was palpable in the air as she struggled to hold back tears, her rose-tinted lips pressing together as she slumps back in her seat. your father sighs deeply and picks back up his cutlery. “may the gods have mercy on us."

"chin up!"

    you wince softly at the abrupt pain that blooms bitterly across your calf, the skin puckering and swollen from the harsh, periodic whipping of madame kilsby. stiffly your chin lifts upwards. the heavy books that make a home on the top of your head for the time being, quiver- as if they are walking bare within the frigid december air; waiting to topple. 

     her aging hand presses deftly into your lower back, fixing your posture once more with a soft hum, assessing, watching. she observes as you prance forward, wobbly within your heels but nonetheless ideal, given the time frame in which your lessons had begun.

"to me."

   as gracefully as you can, you turn to face madame kilsby in all her beautiful glory and for the second time this lesson, your breath catches briefly in your throat. you gaze at her shamelessly, taking in her red tresses, which like a dancing flame, curl atop her head; her green eyes, the color of luscious green forests, are deep, enchanting, and dangerous.

    the smell of her perfume is sweet (but not too much so) and floral, with just a whiff of spice she is a woman to behold, and you do so often. with a barely-there breath, you walk back towards her, feet aching within the shoes given to you. if your form is off, it doesn't show on her face. you come to a stop in front of madame kilsby and she locks gazes with you, the corners of her mouth curl up, she's pleased— it makes her all the more inviting.

"good y/n, i'm impressed."

  an apprehensive smile caresses your lips, brightening your typical apathetic beauty, and madame kilsby, finds you charming even more so. the older woman clears her throat softly and gently removes the hefty books from the top of your head, setting them onto the table next to her with a thump.etiquette and most other teachings usually are taught to children at a young age; that way it evolves almost into a second nature for them. since you were born out of wedlock and worst of all to a maid, a woman of no noble origin- you had been cast aside, as there was no need for a bastard to learn anything.

     madame kilsby had been reluctant to teach you, the first couple of days you could perceive her ridicule, her apprehension. yet, just as quickly as it came, it went, the hostility, the backhanded compliments, every scornful thing she had done while teaching you the first three days, seemed irrelevant. 

  you, she concluded, are her most promising student. you heed her words, obey, and watch diligently. you emulate, take, and evolve her teachings to fit your technique. your unwavering, confident blank gaze and features add to the feminine, mysterious ambiance that seems to encompass you. seeing you take shape had been breathtaking for madame kilsby. 

     she had never seen such rapid progress in a student before, especially one who had been deemed unworthy of her teachings. your determination and quick wit impressed her, and she found herself looking forward to each lesson with you.

   "there is nothing left for me to teach you now. as you've soaked up every bit of knowledge that i could provide. and beautifully so." the curvature of your lips pull downward, and madame kilsby watches as your features return back to their typical apathetic look.

'i have two days left before being shipped off to duke ardelean's home.’ you think sourly,briefly escaping your anxious musings to offer a distracted smile towards madame kilsby. "thank you, truly."

     the woman inclines her head and gently rests a hand upon your cheek. "let me know if there's anything i can do for you, child, if it's within my power to do so, it will be done."

   'would it be wrong to ask her to stab me with a knife? probably.' and just like that, in two days, you would be shipped off to your death.

two days later

  the ride to the ardelean estate is hell on wheels, you believe. your body is sore from your unduly tense posture, and your bum aches continually at every hobble and wobble of the carriage, it doesn't help that the corset that you had been forced into (and not delicately either) makes it all the harder to draw breath. 

  the carriage had been riding all day to get to the estate on time, a staggering eleven-hour ride- where you most definitely couldn't get any rest even if you had tried. it feels like an eternity before the carriage pulls to a stop. 

"my lady, we're here." 

    your nerves are scorched, set ablaze with fear and unease and it engulfs your body in a flame so searing that you find yourself airing your face. the door opens slowly and you swallow down the squeal of dread that tries to claw its way out of your throat, you place your hands comfortably on your lap, back straightening despite the sting of pain it brings and face blanking.

    a large palm facing upwards comes into your peripheral and you place your own gloved hand into it, stepping out of the carriage door, on a stepping stool, and finally onto the gravel. your eyes adjust to the brightness of outside before the estate comes into focus, and it's enormous, your breath catches in your throat at the sight of it. the structure is beautiful in its own haunted way.

   "welcome to the ardelean estate, lady fureio." 

    the monotonous chorus of voices surprises you, your body jolting softly, it leaves your heart to thump laboriously in your chest; eyes finally narrowing in on the attendants of the estate, the head maid and butler stand front and center, eyes cordial and seemingly all-knowing. 

   your smile is small, reluctant— yet warm nonetheless, you tip your head downwards in greeting, swallowing thickly, palms beginning to moisten and skin warming at your nervousness. "thank you." 

  a smile brightens the head maids face, her plump but sagging cheeks flushing a soft, lovely hue of red. "my name is esmerelda, i will escort you inside my lady, to get you settled in." she watches with rapt attention as you exhale shakily, nodding, "that would be great esmerelda, thank you."

   her countenance swiftly adopts a stern expression as she directs her attention to the two knights positioned behind her. if they have a problem with carrying your luggage, it remains imperceptible upon their visage. without hesitation, they proceed to retrieve your possessions from the rear of the carriage and carefully carry them into the grand estate ahead, their armor clanking softly with each step.

   you don't own many thing, only a few dresses (which weren't much to look at) a singular pair of worn shoes, and a couple of hairpieces that were fraying at their ends. while marquis bastian had paid for your etiquette lessons and other teachings— he was adamant about not spending much else after that. which was quite foolish of him now that you thought back to it.

    the woman watches them intently, her eyes sharp. as the knights disappear into the castle, the woman turns back to you with a slight nod of approval. "they will ensure your belongings are safely stored in your chambers," she says, her voice firm but not unkind. 

   you offer a gentle smile and a slight nod, gracefully aligning yourself with her stride as she beckons you to accompany her into the estate. she trails in front of you slightly, as you two walk past the maids stationed outside for your welcoming. 

 "where is the little lord?"

 "i couldn't find him this morning."

 "young master calix skipped sword training as well."

 esmerelda's stern gaze quickly has them hushed, their chins tucking against their chests pitifully, your lips purse softly as you comb through your head for lost details on the ardelean household, following slowly behind esmerelda.

    kallisto de ardelean is a father to three boys, the eldest son: azur, who recently turned seventeen, joined kallisto a couple of months back at the frontier to help with the north's demon subjugation. he, along with kallisto, wouldn't be home for a while.

   atreyu, kallisto's fifteen-year-old middle child is learning at the academy and finishing up his second year. and because winter is coming, atreyu's company would be expected in a couple of weeks from now.

    you pause momentarily in your thoughts. not much is known about kallosto's last son, as he is too young to participate in any social gatherings, and too young for the academy, not even his name is known, well, you supposed now that you knew it. 

calix de ardelean.

 "it's been a long ride has it not? shall i have a bath drawn for you?"

    you were exhausted, eyes laden, and breath slightly shallow from the ill-fitting corset that adorned your figure. you wanted to sleep, needed it even; yet the prospect of a warm bath followed by donning a comfortable nightgown seemed even more appealing.

   “that’d be perfect esmerelda, thank you.” you can hear the smile in her voice as she responds back to you. “of course, my lady.” 

     the two of you make your way through a corridor after a long trek up a flight of stairs, it’s adorned with paintings. they're eerie yet exquisite; gloomy and desolate. the paintings seem to come alive as you walk past them, their eyes following your every move. the brushstrokes are so vivid and lifelike that you can almost feel the emotions emanating from the canvas. it's as if the artists poured their souls into each piece, leaving a lingering presence that sends shivers down your spine. the colors are so vibrant and the details so intricate that it's hard to believe they were created by mere human hands. 

   however, one catches your gaze, steals your breath away even—  as if time stands still as you lock eyes with the portrait.

“who is he?” 

   your mouth opens before you can dissuade yourself and esmerelda turns to face you, watching as you shamelessly gaze deeply at the painting, lips parted and almost breathless. you're not sure how the painter is able to capture the aura that surrounds the man perfectly— but they do and it's monarchial... terrifying. 

    his tresses are long and ebony; framing his face delicately, his lips are ruby in color- inviting; and his skin is pale as porcelain. the man's eyes are the color of freshly spilled blood, they gleam with an all-knowingness that warms your skin and strips you bare. you find it almost impossible to drag your gaze away from the painting, he's quite literally the most beautiful man you have ever seen.

  "that is duke kallisto, my lady." 

   you whip around to face her, eyebrows furrowing and heart thumping desperately within your chest, nearly pounding out of your ribcage, your ebbeton accent thickens as you speak, a look of clear disbelief in your eyes. "truly?" when she nods in confirmation you step forward and touch the portraits golden frame, trailing your fingers lower to trace over the cursive letters of duke kallisto's name. realizing how peculiar you must look, you quickly pull your hand to your chest; face warming in embarrassment.

 “shall we get going?”

ardelean estate

        the next day

calix de ardelean was a curious child. 

 his transgressions usually got him into trouble with his father more times than headmaid esmerelda had been able to count on both hands— though, that never truthfully seemed to stop calix, not for long anyway, especially since kallisto is reminded often of his late wife whenever he sees that playful glint within calix's ruby-red eyes, and folds almost immediately.     

     sometimes calix's childlike antics were simply disregarded by kallisto because the boy was just a child. a child who had never gotten to meet his mother, a child who lacked the maternal love that his elder siblings grew up with. kallisto could not be irate with his baby boy, no matter what he did.

   so it’s not surprising that calix is currently skipping sword practice. not that he despised it in any way, truly it was his favorite thing as it helped past time as he waited for his father to come back from the northern borders. 

  he hadn't been told about the marriage, only deduced it after catching wind of the rumors from the maids. he was curious, perhaps even a bit scared, he didn't like change. he would chase her out no matter what, before his father could come home. 

  now, to search for the woman who infiltrated his h- 

"ahem, young master calix- enough of these childish games."

     the boy jumps, startled by sir. fjord's deep timbre. without a word, calix quickly takes off down the hallway with a bellowing, tinkering laugh. his cheeks are flushed the cutest shade of red and his obsidian hair is ruffled at the top of his head. 

     glancing over his shoulder to look for the man, calix rounds a corner and immediately bumps into a soft, thick fabric, that sends him crashing butt-first to the carpeted flooring, hands burning. the boy whines softly and pouts, gazing up and up until he locks eyes with a woman. 

pretty. 

   with a worried frown, the woman lowers down in front of him, she smells of honey sickle and sugared lavender and it has warmth unfurling languidly within his tummy, turning him to mush underneath her soft, amused gaze.      

     "you must be calix." he nods slowly, unable to look away from her observant- filled eyes, she smiles brightly, it's welcoming and genuine. "my name is aerith fureio." 

    her fuller lips pull downward as she notices the redness that envelopes calix's hand, she reaches forward to grasp his wrist softly, angling it so that his palm faces upwards to her gaze, a nervous gasp expels from calix's lips, he's surprised to feel that ‘aerith's’ hands are slightly calloused. though from azur's teachings, a woman of noble birth never does domestic work, that's what maids are for. 

    it was difficult for women to comprehend how to wield a sword and so they weren't taught to do so. instead, they lived a life where they needn't lift a pinky. 

  so why were such warm and delicate hands, bruised as if she'd been working? 

    "you'll need some ointment for your palms." aerith glances over her shoulder to a maid who stands nearby with widened eyes. "lily, could you please?" 

    calix glances at the maid whom he hadn't noticed, too caught up in the woman in front of him. he glared at her viciously, watching as she scampered away with a small squeal. "yes, my lady!" 

   calix quickly snatches his hand from the woman and clutches it to his chest, round eyes scowling at her. 'aerith' chuckles soft and low, resting her elbow against her thigh and laying her cheek on her palm— gazing at the boy. he shuffles backwards away from her.

     "you're that lady that moved in yesterday, huh?" his gaze is sharp and unwelcoming but the woman in front of him seems to brighten at the sound of his sweet voice. she inclines her head in affirmation, it's surprisingly elegant in calix's eyes. "i am."

   it's a simple answer, not one he's expecting but it makes his heart beat fiercely. 

  the boy finds that the ire he once held for this unknown woman slowly starts to fade away, no matter how hard he wills it to remain. her eyes are like pools of warmth that beckon him to swim within them and her smile is small, but genuine- and calix swears that it's the first one that he's seen outside of his family.

    he opens his mouth to say something but there is nothing. 'aerith', seeing him struggle, cocks her head to the right and lets out a soft hum. 

  “say, i've had a hard time figuring out these halls, i just keep getting lost no matter what i do." she trails off in faux hesitancy and watches as his face lights up slowly but surely. the boy clears his throat and toots his nose up in a haughty manner, a smug smirk hugging his lips, calix finds that though her accent is unfamiliar and slightly heavy, it's not unpleasant to hear.

    "i suppose i'll give you a tour, no need to beg." calix scrambles to his feet, fixing his clothing. “i'll visit you early tomorrow morning, be ready!" before she can say anything else, the boy is off, running through the halls once more. 

"my lady? where has the little lord gone?" 

  smiling, you stand from your crouched position and turn to face your personal maid. "it seems he's run off. have the balm sent to his quarters when you have the chance."    

     lily nods and follows dutifully after you. "shall i show you around tomorrow then my lady?" you place a hand over your mouth to stifle your small laughter. "worry not lily, it seems i've reserved a guide." 

[senseichaos]

Howdy howdy! I ADORED "You Can't Run. Hell. You Can't Even Hide" The balance between absolute fear, dizzy hypnotic confusion, and wide eyed admiration that the reader character holds for Vox is immaculate! Also them calling him Mister Vox is just Chef's kiss (it is WAY too hard to find xReader fics or even just fics in general where the honorific is Mister (C/N) and I love every one I find). The clothing change moment was probably my favorite, I'll always be a sucker for the representation of being broken and rebuilt in someone's image combined with the gift of pretty clothes. I keep going back to reread the whole story.

I know it's a oneshot, but since your requests are open, I figured I'd shoot my shot and ask if you would make a part two where Mister Vox just wrecks us, preferably sexually. We did leave off on him finding us trying to run away, do we not deserve to be punished for such an offense after all he's done for us? I also would love to see if/how much Vox has to push us to slowly become happy to be his, if that's something he wants (I could imagine having a rowdy unwilling runaway as his possession would get frustrating after awhile and be terrible for his image). There's honestly so much potential for what could happen next, and even though I could stew in my imagination, I would very much love to be at the mercy of your interpretation of the funky TV man a little longer.

That said, take your time, I know you've gotten a huge influx of Hazbin requests, hell I wouldn't be surprised if someone else already requested something similar to what I requested. I also understand if you can't/don't want to fulfill this request for any reason, that's what makes it a request. No matter what, you're an amazing writer and I hope you have a wonderful day!

💙✨

AAAAAAH!! I love you sm! When I saw this request I knew I had to do it at some point! I'm giving you the name 💙 anon from now on so if you request again I know it's you!

_______

Forever and always

(part 2 to: You can't run. Hell, you can't hide either)

Summary: After that day you attempted to escape from Vox, you had become somewhat accustomed to this new life you are forced to be living. Or you were until Vox gives you your first day off, causing you to find something out that would change how you live forever.

Genre: Smut, Angst, Horror (?)

Warnings: Non-Con, Yandere behavior, Possessive behavior, Sadism, Masochism, Electric shocks, Mind control, Drugging, Love potion, Vox is an asshole, Hurtful language, forced, gilded cage, soul contracts, unprotected sex (DONT), Vox owns reader, dacryphilia, let me know if I missed any!!

(not proof read)

--------

That day you attempted to escape from your gilded cage you wished to escape again, though vox had managed to continue his control. Even when he tugged you back by your electric leash you felt that horrid sinking feeling. This was it. For the rest of eternity as you know it Vox has you. He owns you, your soul, your body, your life; or well, lack thereof. You couldn't run from him no matter what you did, he practically controls the pride ring, keeping you tethered there like a puppy on a leash is simple to him. He has eyes everywhere. You cannot hide anywhere.

Recently Mister Vox has become a lot more... Touchy. Those fleeting touches of his fingers against your back, poking against your chin, pressing into your neck, swiping against your bottom, touching against your bosom. There is an odd burning feeling to it, you don't want to enjoy Mister Vox touching you in such ways, you don't want to enjoy it when he sucks his teeth at you or licks his tongue against his gums. But you do. You can't quench that desire. Especially when he'd moved you into his room from your apartment building. He hadn't made you share a bed with him, thank Lucifer, but he had made you sleep near enough to him that you can tell when he's.. pleasuring himself. Almost as if he wants you to hear him.

You and Mister Vox have never been better, besides from such hurdles. You stay obedient no matter how badly you wish to escape his arms. To cut all of his tight bounds on your body and run away. You'd figure out how, one day, you would.

"Good morning my dear! Did you have a gratifying sleep?" This is how most mornings go, Mister Vox will wake you with a poke if your side and a coffee in hand, already fully dressed and done up. You've always considered yourself a light sleeper, so you never know how he manages to make you a coffee every morning without so much as stirring you awake. You smile, nodding softly as you pry your eyes from his two dimensional face.

"Thank you Mister Vox, uhm.. did you have a good sleep as well?" You ask, taking a sip of the perfectly made coffee. Vox smiles, nodding as he takes a seat on the side of your bed.

"Of course, my dear. So, I know you have been working very hard recently... So I've decided to give you the day off!" Mister Vox declares, outstretching his hands as he gives you a manic smile. A day off? Why? This has to be a test. he's just going to leave you.. alone? For a whole day? This has to be fake, a joke, a flook.

"Oh my dear don't look so surprised! You've been a very good girl recently so I thought you deserved a day off," Mister Vox pauses, looking up at the roof for a second before peering back at you. "Now don't think this means we don't have rules, you are to stay in here for the day. If you want to go shopping I have to accompany you, alright? But I do have an appointment in an hour so it won't be for long,"

"Remember, I have eyes everywhere.."

You laugh awkwardly, shrinking into your own figure.

"I know Mister Vox.. I wouldn't forget," You can't stop that sorrow from entering your voice, but quickly you put on that mask of a smile once again. Mister Vox clasps his hands together, that red dripping from his maw again. "Great! Now I'll see you soon, be a good girl for me, hm?" He says, ruffling your hair atop your head with a condescending gaze.

"Yes Mister Vox," you reply simply, watching as he disappears in Into a blue line of electricity, shooting into the camera.

Fuck. Now what?

You can't remember the last time you were given this type of freedom, even if it wasn't a lot of freedom. Often you were tethered to Vox's side. Everyone in the building knows that you belong to Vox. Everyone outside of the building probably knows this, too.

There's this odd feeling in your stomach, this odd feeling as if you were floating. It happened every time you drank your morning coffee, but you'd always assumed it was just that feeling of awakening from slumber. But today, oh today it is stronger than ever before. It's as if you can feel every nerve in your body be rewired, every single hair on your body stand on end. Every sensation is doubled.

What the fuck was in this coffee? What is this euphoria? What is this yearning.. this yearning for Vox? You suddenly wish he was here, with you, holding you, calling you his good girl.. m

Shaking your head to rid yourself of such thoughts, you stand from your bed, fixing the large blue shirt you wear (that vox often asks you to wear when you sleep) as you walk to the kitchen.

The kitchen in Mister Vox's room is a large area just off to the side of his desk space, lined with many kitchen appliances and red cabinets. You are determined to figure out what he's putting in your coffee, what's making you feel so emotional. Needy. Awful. You scan the room, finding the coffee machine in the corner of the room with a couple bags next to it. Coffee, sugar, creamer... Nothing suspicious yet, it seems. Crouching down, you look open the cabinets beneath the coffee machine. Looking through the half full area.

Then you saw it, a small vial hidden behind a spare bag of creamer labeled 'Valentino and Velvette: Love potion'.

Terror shoots through you, causing you to drop the vial to the floor. It shatters everywhere, leaving the pink liquid to seep into the tiles below. He's drugging you. All this time, you feeling this want for him, burning at his touch, listening to him as he jerks himself off late at night. You wanting him to do things to you. It's all part of his plan to make you his, completely. To make you want to be his.

Burning tears fall down your cheeks, humoring you as you stand on shaky legs from the tile. What do you do? Now more than ever you want an out, a loophole, a way to take your soul back from his greedy claws. Anxiety, terror, hurt, worry, pain.

You want to prevent yourself from doing anything drastic, you really do. But all you can feel is this pain, this pain as you run on your feet to the balcony door. Trying your hardest to pry open the doors as they rattle loudly, shaking them, pulling them, pushing them. This evil man can't keep you here for any longer. You'd do anything to leave, ruin yourself for him, do something awful, make yourself less attractive to him.

Nausea. Headache. Your knees buckle as an electric blue overtakes your vision. What is this? You can't breathe, Vox. Vox. Help. Your head clouds, words fill your brain and you feel yourself being wrapped up by sharp claws. You can't scream. Help me. Please.

"You really think it's that easy?" Mister Vox.

"I can't believe I trusted you alone, even for a minute. After all I've done for you, as well. After I gave you a life some would dream for. Stupid girl." He sounds mad, horridly mad. Regretful. Throbbing takes over your body as sound waves film your ears. You can feel him lift you into his arms, placing you down onto a soft surface harshly.

"How am I supposed to make you understand this? You're mine,"

Your vision slowly comes back, until all you can see is him as he stares at you from above. His eyes are dark, domineering, needing. He's ready to take. What is he doing? All you can feel is his claw as it travels up your middle, between the valley of your breasts, stopping at the middle of your neck.

"Now, my dear? Are you going to let me teach you a lesson? For being such a brat?" You gasp, feeling his hand as it circles around your neck, effectively taking some air from your lungs. You shake your head, attempting to move your heavy legs from him with wet teary eyes.

"Nonono! Get off, please, get off!" You cry, writhing in his grasp. He sighs, rolling his eyes as he clicks his fingers. Suddenly a pulse of electricity goes through you, causing a shock to blur your eyes and pull a scream from you.

"Every time you try anything I'm shocking you, Dove. Don't try to escape from me, it's not going to work," he grins, laughing at your frightened teary eyes. "I can do whatever I want to you, my dear! I fucking own you!!" He growls, using his hand that isn't around your neck to push your thighs to your chest, revealing your bare pussy from beneath your oversized shirt.

"No please.. I'll do anything..?"

"Oh I'm sorry dear, but this is what I want more than anything right now.. maybe you should have thought of this before making such a racket and alerting everyone in the building, hm?" He says, dragging his clawed finger through your building wetness. He finally takes his hand from your neck, instead using it to keep your thighs in place as he pinches your clit between his sharp claws.

"Ah! Mister Vox.. hurts..!" You wail, wiping your tears from your eyes as he continues to abuse your sensitive bud between his fingers. He chuckles looking up at you as you gasp in pain.

"Hah! Wail all you want, dear, no one can save you." Vox guffaws, finally taking his claws from your clit. Only to plunge them into your aching hole without warning. You moan out, feeling the sharpness of them inside of you as he curls his fingers into your g-spot.

Mister Vox revels in your wails of pain and pleasure, fucking you with his clawed fingers harsh and fast. His claws are surely are scratching you from the Inside, he can tell by the way your hands tremble and clasp over your lips.

You can't help but feel good. This masochism of yours that forces it's way into you. Every scratch of his fingers inside of you just makes you want to cum. You can't give him that satisfaction, you can't let him know that you are enjoying every second of his claws thrusting inside of you. This is awful. You hate it. You hate that you love it.

"Is my little dove enjoying this? Awe.. to scared to admit you fucking love this?" Vox laughs sadistically, giving you an extremely harsh thrust of his fingers into your g-spot. You squeal, vision going white for a moment as his fingers go at this manic speed. You feel your orgasm build, wishing to break through the walls and release. But you can't let it, you won't let him have that. You'll never let him have that feeling knowing he's won.

"If you don't cum I'll fucking ruin you, dove."

You gasp and choke on saliva, clawing on the bedsheets below as he forces you to orgasm. There's no getting out. He knows that you are trying not to cum. And he won't let it happen.

"Yes.. Mister Vox.." you say softly, hole clenching around his fingers as your orgasm crashes over you in waves. Vox makes sure to drag it out, giving you slow rhythmic thrusts of his fingers to watch your body contract and writhe with pleasure.

"Good dove, listening to commands for me," He says softly, stroking the side of your cheek as he kneels between your legs. You want to pull away, but once again that burning and yearning feeling fills you. That stupid potion had an effect, and you can tell. From the way you feel a dizzy want when he looks at you to the wetness that continues to build between your thighs.

"Now, I'm going to fuck you so hard.." He laughs so himself, smiling crazily as he presses his hand to his face. "I'm gonna fuck you SO FUCKING hard, you won't even remember who I am anymore! How does that sound, my little slut?" Your lower lip wobbles as more tears threaten to fall from your eyes.

"Awful.." you whisper.

Another strong electric shock goes through you, causing you to scream out Mister Vox's name in pain as your body is left shaking and aching.

From the corner of your eye, you see Vox unzipping his fly.

"Wrong answer! Haha! Wrong fucking answer stupid slut," He growls, pressing the tip of his cock to your hole without a care. There something wrong with him, he's acting more crazy than ever before. He's getting off on your fear, getting off on your pain, getting off on knowing you can't do anything but be his.

With a loud slap, Vox sinks his entire length into you. You scream, clutching onto the bedsheets for dear life as he looms over you. He doesn't even give you a moment to let you rest, immediately setting a ruthless pace with his hips into yours. Every thrust causes your vision to go spotty with the pure force he drives his hips with, groaning with every thrust as he stares completely into your face as it scrunches in a pleasurable pain.

"S'too much! M-Mister vox It hurts!" You cry, reaching out to press your hands against his shoulders, clawing into his coat. You don't even care anymore, you want at least a small bit of comfort from these strong unforgiving thrusts. Vox chuckles at this, leaning down closer so he can capture your lips in a (forced) yet passionate kiss.

His long electric blue tongue immediately finds its way into your gob, passionately fornicating it against your own as his thrusts send you into a sort of floaty state. Vox maps the entirety of your mouth, tasting every crevice of you from your lips to the back of your throat. He thrusts almost ravenously like a dog, tip of his cock sometimes painfully pressing against your cervix.

Pulling away, Mister Vox looks Into your eyes, revelling in the way you claw at his back. You whimper and moan loudly, eyes fluttering closed as a tear falls down your cheek. He kisses it away, looking up at your closed eyes with a grin.

"Open your eyes, dove. Look at me while I fuck you." You cry out, opening your eyes for him so you can see him look at you with pleasure.

"Y-yes Mister- Ah! Vox.."

He chuckles, thrusting into you extremely hard. You can see the bulge of his cock in your stomach, poking against your skin in such a way you almost want to touch it.

"I'd fucking breed you if I could, fill your filthy cunt with all my little babies so then you can't even dream of leaving.. but I can imagine," Vox rambles, taking your cheek into his hand so he can look at you longingly- and almost affectionately. If it weren't for the position you're in you'd almost be enjoying this moment.

"Mister Vox!" You cry, back arching as your orgasm begins to prod at your stomach.

"Hm?" He asks, grunting as he thrusts into you.

"Can I cum? Please! Please please please.." You beg, legs quivering wildly. Vox chuckles, giving you an adoring look as you bite your lower lip.

"Awe look at you! Asking Mister Vox to cum and everything.." Vox begins, biting his lip as you sputter on a moan. "Of course you can, dove. Let go so I can fuck my cum into you.."

You scream his name when you cum, digging your nails so hard into his back you're sure his coat has tears in it.

You'd given up. Well and truly. You wouldn't admit it. But you've finally accepted it. You belong to Mister Vox. Forever and always.

Forever and Always.

Vox gives you one last thrust, emptying his cum into you with a moan from his own lips. Eyebrows furrowed in pleasure, Vox drags out his orgasm by serving you a few more small quick thrusts, making sure every last drop is inside of you.

But when he has, he doesn't pull out.

"Mister Vox.. pull out.." you whimper, wiggling your hips against him.

"Haha! As if. I said i'd fuck my cum into you, didn't I? I haven't done that yet.. okay?" He asks, stroking a hand through your hair.

"Yes Mister Vox."

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Traitors & Lovers (Hero & Villain) part 22

Warnings: emotional angst & pain, mentions of physical wounds healing and major fight in the future

A simple kindness. In return for Hero trying.

-------------------------------------------------------

The next three days were... better. Under Hero's precise care, Villain's wounds were healing, and every time she woke up she was in less pain, and could walk more fluidly without stiffness and a constant limp in her stride.

She slowly cut back on how hostile she acted toward Hero, if only for the fact that it made life more bearable and less sour. She was not warming up to him, she insisted to herself. She was just... learning to tolerate him better.

She found herself seeking Hero out more frequently, bored and seeking entertainment. Sometimes they played card games, other times it was movies and idle conversation.

But she was becoming restless, cooped up in the house every hour of the day. Her confidence was returning, and she wanted freedom back -- to have a choice between staying and leaving. But every time she brought the topic up with Hero, he'd get nervous and deflect or redirect her attention elsewhere to avoid addressing the main issue: that he couldn't keep Villain trapped here for eternity. He might be getting overprotective after witnessing Villain nearly die in his arms, but he couldn't keep her safe from the outside world forever.

Villain knew Supervillain was still out there somewhere -- and she needed to be prepared to face him again when the time came. And that would never happen if Hero kept coddling her and not letting her practice fighting to rebuild the muscle she'd lost.

Every time Villain asked to leave the boarded-up house for even just a breath of fresh air, Hero would freeze up, a haunted look in his eyes -- and Villain knew every time that her question was taking him right back to the day he found her, broken and beaten and bleeding out. That it was pain keeping him from letting Villain wander where she wished. The pain of coming a hair's breadth away to watching her die, and the apprehension that it could happen again if he didn’t keep her close.

It was as endearing as it was frustrating to have Hero constantly fussing over her well-being. And eventually, she couldn't take it anymore.

The outburst happened during breakfast, after Villain had been stewing in her agitation all night.

"You have to let me go," she blurted after a bite of scrambled eggs, seated across from Hero at the counter.

"What?" Hero glanced up from his plate at her.

Villain's expression hardened. "You know you can't cage me forever. A wolf is a wolf, even clothed in silk. I am designed for fighting, not living a sedentary life on the sidelines while Supervillain is still out there."

Hero flinched at the name, startled enough for the fork to slip out of his hand and clatter on the plate. "I'll handle him," he gritted out.

"How?" Villain challenged. "Do you have a plan? Some invisible winning card you plan to use? You and I both know you won't stand a chance against Supervillain alone."

Hero's jaw clenched. "I'm not going to ask you to fight with me, Villain," he growled firmly. "I don't want you to have to face Supervillain again. You almost died at his hands -- I can't go through that again. I want to know you're here at this house, safe, when I finally go to find and kill him."

"Oh, so I can't die, but it's perfectly okay if you do? What kind of absurd logic is that?" Villain snorted. "You need my help if you want to stand a chance at beating Supervillain. I'm getting stronger -- another week and I'll be healed up enough to fight."

Hero's face twisted with phantom pain. "I don't want you to. Please. I'll find a way to swing the odds in my favor and kill Supervillain--"

"--Again," Villain cut in, "how? Supervillain is powerful and dangerous -- and you want to chase after him half-cocked and winging it? You'll be putting me in more danger if you go face him without me -- who do you think he'll be hunting for once you're dead? Me. If we fight him on a united front, we can win."

Hero seemed to consider her words, but then shook his head stiffly, to Villain's disappointment.

"I... can't," he croaked, "I can't ask that of you. It's too dangerous."

"You're not asking -- I'm offering. This is my choice to make."

Anxiety creased Hero's brow, his face deeply troubled. "I'll... I'll have to think about it."

Villain let out a heavy breath. At least the answer was better than an outright 'no' this time.

They both fell into tense silence, before suddenly... there was a loud knock at the front door, making both of them bolt to their feet in alarm, meals forgotten.

"Who have you told about me?" Villain hissed quietly.

"No one," Hero whispered back. "No one knows you're here. And no one should be knocking on the door right now."

Villain saw her own fear reflected in Hero's face.

"Go hide," Hero said urgently, "I'll see who it is."

"What if it's Supervillain? Did he find us?"

"If it was Supervillain, he wouldn't be knocking on the door -- he'd be blasting it in with explosives. Knocking politely isn't his style."

Villain couldn't argue with that. He had a valid point.

"It might just be someone lost and looking for directions," Hero added.

Villain's stomach churned with unease, but she quickly darted off into the nearest hall, retreating where she couldn't be easily seen, but she could see what was happening if she peeked around the corner.

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

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[thereceptioniststyles]

Thin Ice

The remainder of the week dragged on at a torturous pace, each moment an agonizing eternity. I sat there, feigning indifference to Harry's kiss with Grace, but inside, I was seething. Every attempt to appear aloof and desirable was a facade crumbling under the weight of my madness. Finally, Friday crawled its way into view, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Weekends were my sanctuary, a respite from the torment of Harry's wandering eyes and suffocating presence. In the safety of my apartment, with only my cat for company, I could finally exhale.

December arrived, cloaking the world in a blanket of snow. The journey from my car to work became a treacherous dance on slippery ice, each step a battle to maintain balance and not fall to the ground. With every breath, I exhaled clouds of mist, each one a reminder of the bitter chill that permeated the air, mirroring the frostiness in my heart.

Lost in my thoughts, I trudged along the sidewalk, oblivious to the approaching figure until their touch jolted me from the depths of my mind, sending me crashing to the icy ground below.

"Oh, Ayla, love, I'm so sorry," Harry's voice pierced through the haze as I struggled to regain my composure.

Wincing, I attempted to pick myself up, but my limbs flailed uselessly until Harry extended his hand, pulling me to my feet. Though I was tempted to drag him down with me in my embarrassment, I refrained, my pride wounded enough.

"It's fine, Harry," I muttered through gritted teeth, my words as sharp and cold as the winter air. That enveloped

Standing before me, Harry's hands rested on my shoulders, his gaze scrutinizing as he pressed a light kiss to my forehead.

"You're a champ," he declared, his concern seemingly genuine.

"What do you want?" I snapped, the frustration boiling within me. I had strived for elegance and grace, yet here I was, sprawled on the ground like a clumsy fool.

"Just wanted to catch you before we tackle the day at work," Harry replied, his tone light.

"Why's Grace coming in later?" I inquired, unable to mask the bitterness in my voice.

Harry chuckled, his amusement grating on my nerves. "She left my place last night. Just a quick visit."

My blood simmered beneath my skin, ready to erupt.

"You know, Harry, being with you is like being in a damn car crash," I spat, my words laced with venom. "One moment, everything's smooth sailing, and the next, I'm slammed with the impact."

Harry stood there, stunned by my outburst, yet offering no resistance as I unleashed my pent-up emotions.

"Keep going," he encouraged, his voice carrying a hint of challenge.

"Why would you kiss me if you're just going to mess around with someone else?" I demanded, gesturing angrily between us. Tears threatened to spill over, betraying the storm raging inside me.

"I can't control what you think, Ayla," Harry retorted, his words slicing through me like shards of ice. "It was just a kiss. Grace is just a distraction. You have a talent for blowing things out of proportion. Grow up. No man wants a woman who acts like a child."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving me to stew in a whirlwind of emotions. His scent lingered in the air, a bitter reminder of what could never be. I knew I couldn't face another day at work, trapped in his presence for eight agonizing hours. Today, I would break.

I grabbed my phone and fired off a quick text to Callie, concocting a story about a fall on the way to work and a trip to urgent care. It was a lie, of course. I had no intention of subjecting myself to the sterile, fluorescent-lit halls of the local clinic. No, my plan involved retreating to the sanctuary of my bed, cocooned in blankets, nursing wounds that were more emotional than physical. At least there, in the warmth of my covers, I could hide from the world.

As I trudged back to my car, frustration bubbled within me, threatening to boil over. With a primal scream, I unleashed my pent-up anger, pounding my fists against the unyielding metal of the steering wheel. Angry at myself for allowing things to reach this point, furious at Harry for his obliviousness to my worth, and seething at the universe for its cruel twists of fate.

The short drive back to my apartment was a blur of rage and resentment. I parked with a forceful slam, the sound reverberating through the quiet street. If I was going to be consumed by fury, then the whole world would bear witness to my wrath.

But even before I reached the elevator, my phone buzzed insistently in my pocket, interrupting my storm of emotions. With a sense of grim inevitability, I glanced at the screen. "Baby," read the text, a sickeningly sweet endearment that now tasted bitter on my tongue.

Part of me longed to turn the car around, to storm back into that office and unleash hell upon Harry. I wanted to shatter his complacency, to show him that I was not to be trifled with, that beneath my disguise of poise lay a warrior waiting to be unleashed.

But I hesitated. Instead of succumbing to the urge to confront him head-on, I made a different choice. A calculated one. If Harry wanted to play games, then I would play along. I would give him a taste of his own medicine, a bitter pill to swallow. And perhaps, in the twisted dance of our relationship, I would find some semblance of control amidst the chaos.

My fingers hovered over the screen, a storm of conflicting emotions swirling within me. I could feel the weight of Harry's words pressing down on me, his insidious manipulation threatening to drown me in a sea of doubt and desire.

With a trembling hand, I composed a response, each keystroke a battle against the tumult raging within me.

"I bet you like playing these games," I sent, my words a thinly veiled challenge, a gauntlet thrown down in the twisted dance of our relationship.

Seconds stretched into eternity as I awaited his reply, my heart pounding in my chest like a drumbeat of anticipation.

And then, there it was, his response illuminating the screen like a damning confession.

"I do."

The simplicity of his admission sent a chill down my spine, a stark reminder of the depths of his depravity.

But before I could formulate a reply, another message from Harry invaded my screen, each word dripping with poison.

"I like it. Almost as much as you liked when I kissed your forehead. I bet you wished it was your lips."

His words cut through me like a knife, slicing through the facade of indifference I had so carefully constructed.

I was stunned into silence, the weight of his implications crushing me beneath their unbearable weight.

"If you come over tonight I can show you what it feels like, in case you forgot."

His audacity left me reeling, my mind unable to comprehend the depths of his depravity.

Harry was sick, twisted, a puppet master pulling the strings of my emotions with callous disregard for the damage he wrought.

He knew the power he held over me, the way his words could unravel me with a single utterance.

And worst of all, he was right.

As much as I despised him, loathed the hold he had over me, a part of me yearned to succumb to his sick little mind games, to lose myself in the chaos of his embrace.

He knew all too well how to push my buttons, how to exploit my weaknesses for his own twisted pleasure.

And in that moment of painful clarity, I realized just how deep I had fallen into his web of deceit.

I was trapped, ensnared in his toxic embrace, unable to break free from the chains he had forged around my heart.

With a heavy heart and a trembling hand, I resigned myself to the inevitable, knowing that no matter how hard I fought, Harry would always be one step ahead, a puppet master pulling the strings of my shattered heart.

All Parts

[swiftcast-selene]

“You want us to do what?”

He squints at the Lalafell standing before them, trying desperately to decipher the intent behind his smile, his small frame lurching forwards as he wrings his hands towards them, his excitement palpable but his expression otherwise unreadable. There’s something about the atmosphere here that makes it hard for O’nehgi to focus. Between the hum of the lights above, the saturation of the colors plastered on every wall, the lack of smells anywhere around him, he’s rarely felt more disoriented in his life - and being the Warrior of Light’s husband makes you go through a lot, so that’s saying something.

“It’s very simple!” he chuckles, and his laugh makes O’nehgi’s ears twitch. “While it’s - ah - always nice to see such a wonderful couple as you two, the world of showbiz works just a little differently. I’m just asking you two to keep it on the down-low, is all.”

He’s not sure he understands. Tail twitching, he turns his eyes from the Lalafell back to his husband, who seems about as lost as he is. Sagra, from the top of his some eight fulms, seems as impassive as ever, and the Lalafell - Metem, was it? - hesitates a second, his smile faltering oh-so-briefly, like a merchant who mislikes the offer they’ve just been given.

“...It’s for the ratings, you see,” he continues, emphasizing his point by gesticulating to the screen behind them, playing a series of quick-paced colorful images. “When a new fighter comes in, the fans, they want a fresh slate! Something they can project onto! That’s why our champions need to always feel like they’re available, you understand?”

As if on cue, both Sagra and O’nehgi turn their attention to the screen, and immediately squint at the assault on their senses. Everything in Solution 9 has been so much, but the Arcadion has been especially aggressive in how much of their attention it wants to monopolize at all times, and whatever’s being shown on that contraption looks to be designed to try to fill as much of one’s mind as possible. O’nehgi can catch two, three phrases before he has to look away, pressing his index and thumb into the corners of his eyes to try to massage the ache away.

Metem seems distraught by their silence. Clearly, the need for instant results is a widespread thing, here - having to deal with two slow-paced Steppe dwellers seems to be the poor man’s worst nightmare.

“Please,” he croaks out, defeated. “This could be the biggest season of the Arcadion. You two are the sort of stuff we’ve never seen before! I’m not asking you to never come out with it, of course - just - just a little while. Get the fans thinking! Get them theorizing! Have a few trends going, give the magazines a little bit of meat to bite onto! You know?” Sagra lets out a low hum, a deep, reverberating growl that comes from the chest, and Metem seems to tense up at the sound - but O’nehgi knows it just means he’s rolling the idea around in his head. His ears perk up, curious as to what he’s thinking about, but he says nothing; partly to give him time to percolate, and partly because he’s enjoying seeing the Lalafell sweat. There’s something of a merchant in him, and he’s always sort of enjoyed messing with merchants - old Ala Mhigan habit of his.

The Au ra’s face falls, like the idea’s not quite within his grasp, and a slight wrinkle appears across the bridge of his nose, like it always does when he’s getting frustrated. O’nehgi decides Metem has stewed long enough.

“I just don’t understand,” he pipes up, and the Lalafell seems immensely relieved to finally hear a voice, “what exactly - a rating might be. Or - or how us being eternally bonded affects it.” 

He taps his chin briefly, tail swishing behind him, eyes flicking down to see Metem wringing his hands together again. “Well, you see -”

“We’re open, you know,” he interrupts him, and quickly watches him go from confusion, to horror, to embarrassment. “If you were interested in my husband, all you had to do was ask.” He knows that’s not what Metem meant - but the temptation to mess with such a high-strung little man was too strong to resist. He hears Sagra cackle behind him, a long, draconic growl that seems to completely shatter the Lalafell’s confidence, and he beams with the satisfaction of a prank well executed.

“That’s not - that’s - I mean - please!” Metem blurts out, and O’nehgi bursts into laughter, indicating no ill will towards him. “Listen. Listen. You two will be stars. I’ve seen how you can fight - you’re the breath of fresh air the Arcadion needs. All you have to do is pretend you’re just friends so the tabloids can sell more. Just for a little while! Then you can - you can return to your marital bliss, like nothing ever happened –”

O’nehgi’s still not certain what he’s trying to get at. He tilts his head towards Sagra again, tail swishing behind him, hoping he’s understanding it better than he is. A moment passes, before the Au ra’s eyes suddenly open wide.

“Oh! Negi, he means for us to play-act it,” he starts, and Metem leans forward hopefully, nodding along to encourage his thought process. “Like when we act as if i'm not the Warrior of Light at all, and you are a traveling healer who owes my tribe for our help, but you have nothing to barter except your body-”

“Right!” Metem pipes up, his voice suddenly loud and confident again. “Exactly like that. But please stop talking now.”

It’s O’nehgi’s turn to turn beet red, and he hides his smile in the fold of his collar, averting his gaze. Sagra’s smiling widely, satisfied with himself, before turning his attention back to a very agitated Metem.

“You should have opened with that. That’s easy enough. We can do it, right, my moon and stars?”

“Excellent! Amazing! Showstopping!” the Lalafell exclaims, already on his way out the door, relief visible on every part of his body. “Tomorrow! First fight! We’ll be expecting you there to face off against Black Cat! Be there! Toodles!”

The door shuts automatically behind him, leaving the two of them behind. O’nehgi’s the first one to burst out laughing, and Sagra quickly follows suit, wrapping an arm around him to pull him in close.

“You think he’ll regret adding us to his roster?” he snickers, and Sagra doesn’t even hesitate for one second.

“Oh, he already is. It’s much too late for him.”

[utt-archive1]

@asgardianhammer (ty you mir <3

[ ϟ ]—– ' Then why do you continue such foolishness? Why do you insist on hurting us both?' A moment's pause then, for the need to breathe and return oxygen to his lungs is grand, overwhelming, the desire to find calm even grander. There is too much ominous rumbling from within, too heavy a rainfall clattering harshly upon them, and for once he is not apologetic about it, nor is attempt made to soothe the skies. The hail commences its relentless downfall then, the onslaught completely ignored.

' Love does not die, or fade, or simply vanish.' ' If anything, it is the one thing that is eternal, it lives on forever.' ' Do not fault me for wishing you near, you might as well have requested a starved man to stop thirsting!'

🌩️--- Foolishness. Could he have avoided giving her a word to fixate on? For a flicker of a moment, she was attempting to deescalate, find some reason in the mess they'd made of things. Now, her pride flared, twisting up with every other emotion stewing inside her as the god continued.  

"Then why did you leave me? Again!" The wind nearly swallowed her pang voice, every nearby tree creaking to lean in heart's desired direction while feet remained rooted. "To have you at my side again just long enough to remember your embrace, your kiss…"

To check she was physically well, all the dust reformed into what they're told was a whole weather goddess. Most days, she considered a second opinion.

"Then gone, you reach for me in calls in the sky but not-"

Just out of sight, children, mutants, and Asgardians alike were running inside while the grownups gathered everything that could be salvaged. Faintly registering their frantic movements through the rain distracted her, and a hand wave redirected enough droplets to clear a path.

What fell on her remained untouched, the soaked curls clinging to burning cheeks unnoticed. When she looked back at Thor, frustration was released with another deafening crack of thunder.  

"I waited. Again," Ororo breathed, a tiny storm rumbling her chest. "Then accepted, only for today..."

The moment she stepped off that bus, familiar bright ceruleans never left her. Thor's gaze felt even when they held separate conversations, tenderness, and longing mirrored whenever she found it. One accidental hand brushed over a picnic table, and countless innocuous touches followed. Skin electrified each time she thoughtlessly allowed it until asked to stay. After that, every attempt at avoiding this conversation was made and ultimately failed.  

"Now, an eloquent proclamation?" Confusion contorted delicate features into something harsher than intended. "Does thirst only overcome a man when the meal is within arms reach?"

[agwitow]

I should have been more careful when I stumbled my way into the rural tavern after a long day's work. But I was tired. Utterly and completely exhausted.

It had been two-and-a-half months since the heroes swept through and defeated the lich responsible for the plague that'd devastated the country for over a year. Two-and-a-half months since the oppressive magic lifted and healing magic worked again. And just over a month since the Sol Clerics finished the massive undertaking of healing the afflicted.

And that was that.

At least... that's what the heroes and clerics and royal councils believed. Stars and salt, even most commoners believed it too. But no one remembered, or wanted to remember, that just because the disease was purified didn't mean all of its effects were reversed.

Once-healthy people still struggled to breathe, or fell sick from the slightest of things, or found themselves so much weaker in so many different ways from before. Which was why I, and people like me, were still working so hard.

It didn't excuse my carelessness though.

"Is that what I think it is?" the barmaid asked, setting down a bowl of stew and tankard of mead.

I glanced down at my chest and muttered a curse under my breath. The symbol of the Eternal Night hung from a simple leather cord, glinting dully in the lantern light. I quickly stuffed it back under my shirt and looked back at the barmaid, uncertain whether I'd have to run or fight my way out of there.

"You're a follower of Death, yeah?"

I winced. "The Guardian of the Eternal Night is my patron, yes."

She tsked. "Never understood why you lot felt the need to pretty it up like that. Your god is the God of Death. Calling 'em the Eternal Night--"

"Guardian of the Eternal Night," I interjected.

She waved a hand dismissively. "Either way, doesn't hide the fact that you're a follower of death."

"Do you need me to leave?"

"Eh, whatever you want. As long as you don't cause problems in here, your coin is as good as the next person's."

I couldn't help but sigh with relief. I'd be able to eat and rest a bit before needing to make an escape. After all, she might not care about my presence (so long as I was a paying customer), but that didn't mean the other locals would be anywhere near as accepting.

"So, are you a necromancer, then?"

"What?"

She gestured at me, silently indicating the symbol I'd hidden. "You lot tend to be necromancers, yeah? That or bloodthirsty warriors, but you don't look like the fighting type. No offense."

I blinked. "No, I'm not either of those things. And no true believer would ever practice necromancy."

"But you're a follower of the God of Death!"

"Shh!" I glanced around the tavern, scanning for anyone who might have heard her, but none of the other patrons seemed to be paying us any mind.

"Well? What did you mean by that?"

I sighed again, though this time because I knew my peaceful evening was about to become incredibly frustrating. "The Eternal Night -- death, as you so blithely call it -- is a blessing. To pervert it by reanimating corpses? No. One would have to have no respect for death and the dead to do something like that."

"What's so great about dying? I mean, there's not much great about being a walking corpse either, but I can see why some might be drawn to it."

I shook my head. "Death can be a tragedy. But at the end of a long life, it is a comfort and reward. The Guardian is there to welcome those who cross over, to listen to their stories, and guide them to the River Lethe so they might some day be reborn."

"I suppose such a being wouldn't think too highly of necromancers," the barmaid conceded. "But surely fierce warriors, those who send hundreds upon hundreds of souls to your god, are favoured?"

"Not really. The teachings... they emphasize the importance of living a long life. The longer the life, the more stories we will have to share with the Guardian."

The barmaid frowned, though in the way one does when rethinking something they thought they knew rather than the way one does when they are annoyed by a differing point of view. "So... what is it that your ilk do, then?"

"We heal people. We are doctors."

“So, your patron is the God of Death?” Yeah. “So, are you a necromancer? A great Warrior?” …Nah, I’m a Doctor.

[thewelllitweenie]

It's not often the grand banner of the Condiment King was raised calling the knights together from their mercenary work to unite into the Grand Army, and Mustard Flanks was stewing in frustration waiting for a river crossing back to his Chapter's Fortress. Staring across rapid currents Mustard watched as the flat barge sat moored at a pier for seemingly no reason at all as the minutes stretched into hours and the hours sunk into a slow eternity. Regret grilled at the edges of his mind, he should have hiked across the pass and forded where the river shallower but no he didn't want to ruin his hose and have to clean the greatsword since his recently elevated squire had taken up with the hammer swinging idiots in the Order of Ketchup. That shame, the Champion for Mustard losing his aspiring Squire to a rival chapter had yet to have any real social ramifications but the practical application of travelling over land without someone to help was certainly being felt. The anger had faded to regret and Mustard had been left feeling like he had failed his comrades in Condiment arms, had his own glory and adventuring ways made him a poor tutor and mentor to an aspiring knights who wanted their own spurs. Still it had happened and he can only hope to fight side by side his former mentee, and maybe just maybe rejuvenate that relationship. Heinz Meiesterfüd's old mail and sword hung like a millstone around mustard's flank, his own personal greatsword had long stopped being sensation he was aware of in his tired arms so when it slipped and crashed into shin it shattered the revery as surely as it crashed through shields.

It was then that Mustard Flank was aware he was not alone on the pier, sitting attentively and with great excitement was small goblin with an assortment of pots and pans tied to it's body, a roasting pan strapped to its chest was blazened with heraldry of a bright white dollop of something. "Brother! I have travelled long and not seen hide or hair of another spurred knight called to the war!" Exclaimed the small creature, strapped to its back was long two pronged grilling fork "I am Sir Squelch, Champion of the Ranch" it stated standing up executing a precise parade ground salue. It was then that Mustard fully took in the sight before him, Squelch stood proudly, the pots and pans were in fact pots and pans but arranged and polished like the cuirass of a knight. slashed sleeves of clashing colours, broad feathered hat at a rakish angle and an obnoxious cod piece the goblin was carnival mirror image of Mustard. Except and oddly galling was that Sir Squelch was attended by a squire, standing behind and to his side was a human adolescent of ambiguous age or gender in the livery,chain mail and serious expression common of chapter aspirants across the land. "And of course my squire, Belch Burply" he said after a moment following Mustard's gaze. "Well met Sir Knight, I am Musta-" he was cut off by an enthusiastic and joyful cry "Sir Mustard Flanks, champion of the Mustard Muster, hero of the pastry crisis, slayer of the Glus and liberator of No'Radzere. Your fame precedes you and we're honoured to make this river crossing along side with one of the King's greatest champions." Interrupted Squelch positively beaming. Belch cleared his throat gaining Squelch's attention "oh yes, Belch at rest, get comfortable. We're all comrades in arms here" the squire dropped onto a nearby crate dropping the heavy burden of their travelling pack with a deep sigh. " Good sir knight, where is Heinz? Your faithful squire, solver of the lament configuration, mapper of dread mountain, reigning record holder of pink fear‽" Squelch's eyes widened as he spotted the pain in Mustard's face "oh I'm so sorry, we are all lesser for his loss" he blurted out certain he had created a faux pas with no remedy. Waving a gloved hand dismissively at squelch, as if waving the apology away like errant smoke drifting "oh no he's fine, just took up his knightly orders with another having finished his time with me. Hienz is a fully elevated brother at arms now so I'm between squires. He'll be winning accolades in his own right and inspiring a new generation of aspirants under the red of the Ketchup order." It was the first time he had said it out loud to another who would, at least should understand the magnitude of what this meant.

[travelling-on-the-octopath]

THANK YOU ABOUT CLAUDE AND INGRID'S SUPPORT OH MY GOD IT'S LIKE ACTUALLY ONE OF THE WORST?

Like, I haaate saying that characters are written out of character since I feel that's a pretty heavy accusation to throw at a writer towards characters they created (and it can come off as petty really easily) but?? Like?? Claude acts NOTHING like this anywhere else, where the hell are the writers pulling all of this sexism out of him?? And Ingrid's yelling at someone FOR FUCKING YAWNING? WHEN IT'S ALMOST NIGHTTIME?? "One would think you're not of noble birth, with how you conduct yourself " oh hi Lorenz thanks for stopping by this support chain.

And then the rest of their chain genuinely plays out like a shitty episode of George Lopez, like legit not even kidding it's SO bad. And Ingrid says that Claude reminds her of Sylvain excepts Claude treats women better, when 1) NOTHING in the support gives off that impression of the two of them being similar EXCEPT FOR 2) CLAUDE BEING SEXIST WITH SPECIFICALLY AND ONLY INGRID.

Like there are so many things the support could have been about that could have been infinitely more interesting/entertaining than Shitty Sitcom Couple (complete with the Shitty Sitcom Couple trope of "ohhhh those two look like they hate each other, but they have kids so they totally love each other!" in their shitty ending). In fact I'm petty so:

The differences of the value of a Faerghus knight and a warrior of Almyra (disguised as a knight from "someplace else"), giving Ingrid a broader perspective on what knighthood could entail for those who want to achieve it as well as Claude getting to know Faerghus culture better AND giving the player a better feel for the culture of both

Kinda like you said, talking about how both Ingrid and Claude weren't allowed to feel free about who they are due to the circumstances surrounding them

Make it cute?? Have them fight over whether pegasi or wyverns are cuter better! Miss Born And Raised Horse Girl vs. Mr. Gives His Wyvern Head Scritches! You can even have that evolve into them discussing the habitats of pegasi vs. wyverns, why the Kingdom has a higher concentration of pegasi than the rest of Fodlan and the same but different for wyverns and "the Alliance" (read: Almyra), stuff like that.

There were options!! But no it's just four supports of NOTHING happening, they still barely want to talk to each other by the end of it?? And the entire lesson to glean from the support is "actually there's no reason for us to change that much lol" THEN WHAT'S THE POINT OF THIS HELL?? Honest to god one of the worst support chains in the entire game I'm sorry for ranting but reading these two talk to each other was one of the worst things about replaying VW my 2nd playthrough so they have a Special Place in my heart specifically reserved for hating their support </3

It seems this support was based on a premise: Have Ingrid be temporarily unable to tell the difference between someone's (relatively harmless) behaviour and Sylvain's Absolute Bullshit. So what conked me over the head was that like. Okay, there is an Alliance noble who has a streak of behaviour canonically compared to Sylvain's, and who would actually remind Ingrid of him should she witness it.

Lorenz motherfucking Hellman Gloucester.

Have Ingrid call him out! Walk up to him after he's done flirting with whatever poor girl he has his sights on, and point out (calmly) that he can't prop up his standing as a noble while he treats girls' hearts like they're objects. Have HIM point out that she's hardly in a place to judge, seeing as she's caught in the perilous position of choosing her house or her dream. Have her snap there, because that fucking stings to hear, and then come back in the next support conceding that, to a certain degree, he was right, but that it doesn't make her wrong to point out that he can't be all that noble if he's playing games with the people he either has to watch over or make alliances with. That would have been a good example of Ingrid calling out Sylvain-like behaviour, and it giving her a moment to think about her own conduct.

But no! No we get Claude getting dunked on for doing what humans are technically biologically programmed to do: sleep and rise with the sun. And honestly, I wouldn't have mind just a slice of that frustration from Ingrid, but only if it were framed as her having a shitty day; how even a kid pursuing knighthood can reach their boiling point and snap when it's unwarranted. Then, like you said, cue the genuinely nice support chains: Ingrid going flying to relax, Claude waking up in the middle of the night because he heard a strange noise and passing it off as just wanting to pay a visit to the wyverns, talking about what it means to meet expectations, Ingrid saying that being completely silly and aloof just isn't her nature, Claude conceding to that and silently empathizing with acting as expected without sacrificing bits of himself--teasing the idea of racing each other. A whole "You may think I need to lighten up, Claude, but I've been riding since as long as I can remember. I won't go down easy." "Ha! Serious even about this. I have to respect that. All right, bring it on, Lady Galatea." And then imagine an ending card that's all about Ingrid making it to knighthood, and flying out to the Throat once in a while, where it's said her pegasus and a white wyvern raced through the night sky practically endlessly :( that would have been some cute shit right there.

Banging me fists on the table, WHY must we be robbed of proper Claude content at every turn. I don't even want to say they wrote him poorly, if only because it seems they didn't paint and polish him; that is to say, they're not quite sure of every detail of the character. Which isn't completely outlandish; I don't know every little possible thing about the characters I've created in the past, but that's the sort of thing you iron out before you write them in a certain scenario hit "publish" without comparing it to their other appearances. Claude and Ingrid's support chain honestly feels like it was written in the beginning of their characters' formation, and then was never revised, because...well fuck Claude I guess :/

[achaoticeternal]

𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝘂𝗿𝗿𝗲𝗻𝘁 - 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝟮

CHECKMATE SERIES - part 1 pairing: druig x asgardian!reader

summary: protection is a natural urge - a primal instinct. you vowed to Asgard, Druig vowed to arishem to protect these people. for the first time, you must do so together. word count: 3.5k warnings: blood, war, death, and various weaponry a/n: in the mcu timeline, thor and the reader would both be 15-ish in earth years and loki will be making an appearance soon. Asgardians age weirdly so take everything with a grain of salt

700 AD

As Thor and you had built a great bond between the Eternals and Odin, it was only fitting that you be present now. The cold was blazing a heatless flame to the Earth, the coldest winter you had ever heard of. While Thor was off-world, training and abiding by his father's rule, you stayed on Midgard, offering your services to the people of the village who spoke of large, tall beings with skin painted an unnatural blue. It was a warning sign that Frost Giants had reached this realm and intended to send it into another Ice Age.

Despite your numerous attempts to call upon the Allfather, your letters and cries were constantly dismissed. The Frost Giants had been cornered back to Jotunheim - what was the proof that you had? could you really trust the words of humans? This was your daily frustration. Though you may be a young Asgardian, you were not some foolish warrior searching for a battle.

Shaking your head in frustration, you gripped your cup of stew a little tighter, causing cracks to form between the groove of your fingers. Others had taken notice of your state and signaled to each other. It wasn't long before you heard boots scuff across the floor and halt in front of you.

Peering up, attempting to shield your frustrated features, you were met with Thena. If Odin wouldn't send his warriors to aid you in protecting these people, you knew that you had to call upon the beings whose supreme duty was to these mortals. Though the humans were not completely helpless, they lacked the technology and advancements that would spare them from the wrath of the Frost Giants.

"I apologize for disturbing the peace," You mumbled, looking back into the contents of your cup.

"My dear, please," Thena shook her head and squatted down to your level, "Do not apologize for your frustrations with your leader. It is endearing to see other people caring for these mortals like we do. I have seen for centuries how my friends admire them and know I observe how you do. While they look to us as Gods, we do not see them as lesser, but as our children to guide."

Her flattering words allowed you to grace her with a warm smile, as you met her gaze, "Thank you, Thena. You have a way with words."

"Thank you," Thena nodded, standing back to her full height, "but don't tell the others. They'll come seeking me out for comfort."

This caused you to laugh, not just a chuckle, but a full belly laugh. It was the first time you had felt such happiness in months. But this distracted another who sat a few seats down from you - Druig.

"Ugh, must you always be so loud," he sneered, sending a glare in your direction. Though you had grown close to the Eternals, Druig still wasn't even partial to the idea of you.

You stood from your previously crouched position, "Maybe I wouldn't seem so loud if you weren't consistently eavesdropping into my conversations."

Druig's impartial expression held as he watched your movements. Thena stood back in observance and just in case things escalated, while you strode over to his end of the table. As you approached, you lifted yourself onto the bench and then took a seat on the actual table. One leg hung over the edge and the other was bent for you to rest your arm against, "Always eavesdropping in the corner - longing to be heard, craving the upper hand."

"I always have the upper hand, my dear. I'm a telepath," He responded smugly, leaning towards your figure, "And I can always hear the little voice in your head that is craving to be close to me, for me to ta-"

Before he could finish his sentence, you drew forth the dagger from your thigh holster and let the blade threaten to the pale skin of his neck, "I dare you to finish that sentence."

"That's enough you two," Gilgamesh said, handing a pint of ale off to Thena, before walking over to you with two spare pints.

"It was really starting to get interesting," Thena commented, before sipping from her goblet.

Gilgamesh pushed the dagger away from Druig, but your eyes never left the blue-eyed man. He smirked and broke the connection when he took a pint from Gilgamesh, silently thanking the strong Eternal.

"(Y/N), could I interest you in a fresh cup?" Gilgamesh was really trying to alleviate the tension. You couldn’t be upset with him for that. But you could still be livid with Druig and his consistent negative behavior that was always directed at you.

Finally, you broke your gaze and turned to the taller man, "No, thank you. Excuse me," and with that, you left the hall to better parole the perimeter of the village.

The stars twinkled from their never-changing positions as the map of the skies. Children of the town had told you about various constellations that their fathers, many of them sailors, had told them about in bedtime stories. Your eyes traced paths to connect them together and reveal their shapes. Scorpio - the scorpion; Leo - the line; the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper; and then you settled your eyes on the North Star.

The North Star - just beyond it lay Asgard and your friends. A silent prayer fell from your lips in hopes that Heimdall could hear and report to the king. If Heimdall could see all and watch as you spent your days protecting these people from things supernatural to their world, then maybe he could look a little closer and see how you longed to return to the halls once you completed your duty.

Wind whistled through the evergreens that lay on the outskirts of the village. The winter air was a cold bite against your previously warm skin, but you made no movement to go closer to the fire. Your observance had consumed all your attention to where you didn't even hear the approaching steps behind you.

"Y'know, we're supposed to be doing our night watches in pairs, right?" The sudden intrusion of the heavily accented voice made you jump.

Your hand flew to your hips as you snapped your head around. Some relief filled your lungs as you noted the familiar face, "Well, my partner never showed up, and I really couldn't be bothered to go stomping into his room for another fight, Ikaris."

Dressed in his blue armor with gold detailing, Ikaris offered out his hand, an indication for you to stand. You reached up to grasp the outstretched hand, and stood from your spot, leaving your indentation in the snow.

"Druig can be a bit insufferable, but it can't be that bad..."

"Oh, but it can," you laughed as you brushed snow from your pants, "I'm not sure what I ever did to him, but he has never been... fond of me to say the least. I tried to be nice, but alas - he simply distains my entire existence."

Ikaris frowned slightly and pondered at what to say. Though his fellow Eternal had always been cold and distant with many in their group, he had never been as hostile as when it came to you. Even when conversations came around to the topic of you, Druig always had to add a negative comment or derail to another subject. Ikaris' eyes flickered back over to you and a warm chuckle left his mouth, "Maybe he just fancies you."

A full laugh bubbled from you at Ikaris' comment while shaking your head. However, the two of you were blissfully unaware of the presence of two beings beyond your sights. Druig had been lurking in the shadows ever since he saw Ikaris leave the community home. He had been patrolling the outskirts of the village when he had originally seen you, deep in thought, and thought it best not to disturb you at the present moment. Yet when Ikaris joined your side, it sparked something inside of Druig. An icy fire of annoyance and anger - a devilish mix that taunted the thoughts in his head.

But there was another being. Not of this world. Ikaris and you were still sharing a moment when a large ax came flying out from the forest of evergreens. It split the ground as it landed mere feet in front of the two of you. Quickly, you cut your attention to see blue flesh emerging into the clearing and red eyes that wished you death. A roar ripped past the monster's jaw, as he drew the ax back to strike again.

"Ikaris, go! Alert the others and have them evacuate to the east side of the village - I'll hold it off until others can help," You pushed Ikaris to go and without any quarrel, he took off into the sky.

Turning towards the beast, you drew out your dagger and detached a medallion from your armor. Druig was stunned at the emergence of the Frost Giant turned his head to see your lack of weaponry. How could you hold of such a beast? Yet, he thought too quickly as he watched the dagger shift into a full spear that gleamed with gold and the medallion enlarged itself to become a shield - the crest of Asgard on the front to embellish it.

Gritting your teeth, you bounded towards the giant that charged towards the village that lay behind you. Your eyes analyzed the area to come up with a strategy to attack - you couldn't take it down completely by yourself, but you would be able to hold it off. As you drew closer, you wrenched your body into the air and flipped yourself to avoid the ax swinging down. As you made your descant towards the snow, the blade of your spear slashed against its forearm and then thigh. The Frost Giant growled in pain and anger, turning to attack again.

Suddenly Druig had appeared a few yards between the two of you and raised his right arm in the direction of the Giant's head. His eyes frosted over with gold, as you struck the Frost Giant again. Yet when you peered up, gold twisted into the vision of the beast and you swiftly turned your head to spot Druig with struggle engraved into his brow. Humans were one thing - but a cosmic beast was another.

Druig's face was contorted in a mix of focus... and fear when he glanced into the thoughts the loomed in the brain of the beast, "(Y/N), there are more! There are-"

Before you could warn the man adorned in black, the Frost Giant shook its head and wrenched its body in his direction. Stomping towards an unarmed Druig, the monster raised its hand to strike, "Druig!"

Yet you were too late in your alarm, as the Giant backhanded his body across the snowy field. You sprinted towards him as the ax gleamed from the moonlight when the beast rose the weapon high above its own head.

The blade was mere feet from striking him when you reached your arm out to grab at Druig's hand, lunging towards his body. With all the focus you could muster, you thought of warmth and security - a cry to find help for Druig.

When your eye's opened again, you were in front of Ajak and Sersi, as your arm's clutched the unconscious Eternal in your arm. Hot tears stained your cheeks as you tried to find words to explain, "I- Frost Giant attack- Druig came out of nowhere and tried to control it but it broke free from his grasp- help him!"

Phastos appeared and assisted Ajak in carrying Druig's frame into another room so that Ajak could remain focused on the task at hand. Sersi crouched down next to you, pulling you into her embrace to comfort your shaking chest. You weren't sure why you were so emotional at this present moment, such things never got to you in battle. But when you noticed the lack of others in the room, your Asgardian instincts came back to your reality.

"Sersi," you pulled away from her, standing back from your kneeling position, "where are the others?"

"They left just mere moments before you arrived in here, they went to he-" However, multiple cries and roars ripped through the skies, followed by terrifying screams.

"I must go help them. Sersi, protect these people with your life."

Leaving without a response, you burst out of the cabin and towards the battle waging ahead of you. Your eyes caught Ikaris zipping through the skies, continuously attacking the beasts from above. Makkari used her speed to move lost citizens from the scene, while Kingo shot at any spot where the giants tried to draw closer to the village. Gilgamesh and Thena were battling with the beasts with such ferocity that you weren't sure where you could interject.

Your eyes flashed across the scene, attempting to make a decision when a certain object caught your eye. One of the giants had presented the Casket of Ancient Winters - your worst fear realized - and when you looked into the face of the beast, you recognized the grotesque features from your studies - Laufey. Where was the Allfather to protect these midgardians?

"Don't fall into the crossfire of that relic!" You cried out, hoping that the others could hear you. Once again, you drew out your dagger, but this time it shifted into a longsword that could penetrate the heart of the beasts. You sprung into action as the giants started to push forward toward to village. Sprite and Makkari were pulling citizens out of the crossfire the best that they could, yet the casket had already struck a few humans, freezing their frames in fear permanently. It was all so overwhelming, "Heimdall, please!"

A cry echoed from behind you, a small child - a little girl - was clutching a blanket and frantically searching for her mother. You chopped away at the hand of one of the giants, letting it hit the ground before you began to sprint towards the blonde child. You squatted down next to her as you checked to make sure she was unharmed and attempted to console her.

Yet as you tried to calm her tears, she pointed behind you and screamed. One of the giants with large icicles braised across its knuckles was charging towards the two of you, but before it could come any closer, a white beacon emerged from the heavens. Sparks of dazzling colors signaled that help had arrived and that the battle was far from over. As the beacon retracted, the Allfather on his great horse was at the front of the great Asgardian battalion. With a raise of his scepter, warriors rushed forward to defend the land and the people of this earth.

Standing from your protective position, you looked to the Allfather proudly and he nodded back at you. Odin focused his vision back to the battle in front of him and began to calculate his strategy for victory. The little girl by your side squeezed your hand twice, drawing your attention down to her. The roar of the giants snapped you back into the dangerous reality.

Quickly,m you ushered the little girl back into town in order to find her mother or at least a safe place to hide her away. The Giants and Asgardian had come to a stand still on the outskirts of the village, yet debris continued to fly through the air. You clutched the child’s hand tightly and spotted Makkari and... a healed Druig! Ajak was a miracle worker and hopefully would be kind enough to use her talents on the Asgardian warriors.

“Druig!” You yelled, trying to signal him to get Makkari’s attention. She was your last hope in helping the girl find her family as the cold continued to rain down, “Tell Makkari that I need her to help this girl find her family.”

Without saying a word to you, Druig signed your words. Before you could open your mouth to speak again, the speedster rushed off with the child. You looked over to Druig and nodded a thank you. There was a new unmentioned tension between the two of you - maybe because he wanted to offer a thanks for saving his life or maybe yell at you for it. You were never too sure with him.

With no words, you turned back towards the battle and conjured the longsword again. You went to take your first step, yet you were met with the weight of a hand upon your shoulder. First, you glanced at the pale hand and then up at Druig whose eyes turned into a whispy gold.

Thank you.

Two words echoed in your head, and though it was a new experience, it wasn’t completely unwelcomed. Though you never would be close to Druig, maybe it would be possible to tolerate each other’s existence for the most part. You offered him a curt nodded, then both of you marched back towards the battle. 

In this war atmosphere - Eternals, Asgardians, and Ice Giants alike fought with a ferocity that would be fearsome to the mortals. It was loud and it was bloody, but it was for the good of the Midguardians and their world. 

One of the smaller giants hustled toward your frame, gnashing its teeth as it charged. It was weaponless besides an icicle that served as an extension of its arm. You sneered back at the beast, ready for this fight to come to a conclusion. With ease, the blade of your sword slashed across the chest of the beast, causing it to clutch the wound before falling. 

A horn cried across the battlefield which made you look to the heavens. Ikaris flew across the field, eyes burning yellow, while a pack of arrows followed closely behind him only to rain down on the Frost Giants. You turned to look in the direction of where the arrows had been fired to see Druig with a group of warriors, eyes all gold.

Yet, your eye caught sight of another attack, an attack on Odin. Three giants fought with the Allfather who took down two with great ease as he was greatly skilled in battle. However, the one that remained found a weak spot and thrust his weapon of ice at the King.

“Father!” Your voice called out, hand outstretched to assist him. The moment seemed surreal and your body felt like it held no weight. In an instant, you had simultaneously transferred in front of the giant to protect the Allfather. You felt nothing except for the cold. The breath had escaped your lungs as you looked down at your abdomen, only to see the blade of ice thrust into your side. 

The battlefield was silent as only the Eternals and Asgardians remained standing. Odin, enraged with grief, pointed his scepter at the Giant and then it too lay dead. All eyes laid upon the scene as your blood seeping out of your wound, weapon still caught deep inside you.

Two hands brought you back to a painful reality; Druig kneeled by your right side and Odin standing to your left, “I... (Y/N), why would you do that?”

Your eyes never looked to the concerned man at your side, who in this instant was being so unlike himself. Instead, you casted your eyes up to the Allfather, “For the good of Asgard.”

“Save your breath, my child,” Odin spoke curtly, “We need to deliver you back to halls for immediate medical attention.”

Suddenly, Ikaris landed right in front of you, shocked at your state, “Your highness, sir- I’m sorry, but I don’t think you could make the journey, our leader Ajak can heal-”

“Ajak can’t heal her, Ikaris,” Druig cut in, still kneeling by your side, his hand desperately holding onto yours as if your life depended on him not letting go. Before Ikaris could speak another word, Druig’s eyes flashed gold and you could feel his touch in your mind. He felt your pain, and he saw how the witches and maidens on Asgard could heal you. You would survive this, “She must go. And must go now, before she looses anymore blood.”

The farewells, goodbyes, and victory praises were cut short as the warriors of Asgard quickly fell into line under Odin’s command. Two generals pulled you away from Druig and Ikaris, over to the Allfather’s great stead. They lifted you onto the fantastic horse as the white beacon of the Bifrost came raining down again. The Allfather lead his horse with you upon its back and his legion followed as you all disappeared.

The Eternals were left standing there, still shocked by the battle they had just encountered. Yet they all knew that Odin would wage a greater war on Jotunheim to avenge your sacrifice and all the lives of the Valkyrie, Asgardians, and humans. 

However, as the hours past, all the humans returned to their homes in the village and the Eternals began to celebrate and retell the story of the battle. All except for Druig, who stood solemnly at the indentation of the crest of Asgard that remained imprinted in the snow.

-----

taglist:

@m-1234 @rexorangecouny​ @angelcvsmic​ @sapphireplums​

[starlessskies94]

Consequence (Joel Miller x OC)

Summary: What if Joel survived his injuries from the Abby and Fireflies attack but ends up with really bad amnesia. He can’t remember his wife, Ellie, or the Outbreak; only before. How will his family bring back the man they once knew?

Pairing: Joel Miller x OC

Notes: HEYYYYY Guess who's back??!! It me!! I just want to say a HUGE thank you to all you lovely readers; the support for this story has been unreal and I'm eternally grateful for it; I literally couldn't even put it into words. I'm doing a lot better now and I'm in a much better head space and ready get back into the wonderful world of this story. I have slightly changed a sentence in chapter 11 (The flashback of winter) just to include Ada's medical knowledge because it was bugging me that I missed it the first time. It's just a little change and it doesn't really change the chapter in any. It was just something I needed to change from a writers POV if that makes sense. Anyway thank you for sticking with me for so long; you incredible people make my day with your support/comments etc… its readers like you that really keep me motivated to continue writing so thank you for that.

I hope you enjoy this chapter and it doesn't disappoint as it's taken me a while to get back into the swing of things so hopefully I'm not too rusty and it's not a let down. Love yous lots hope you enjoy the chapter ❤️

Chapter Fifteen

They’d been driving for what felt like hours and they were running out of road. Tommy had managed to follow Joel’s tracks from the gate, although at times it had been difficult with the rain washing most of them away. Eventually they followed their way out towards the ski lift outpost; only to be greeted with disappointment when they found the place empty. There were signs of life however; muddy boot and hoof prints dried to the floor from the storm that had now passed. The crumbs of half eaten carrots litter the ground and open cans of stew left scattered along one of the tables near the recently lit fire pit. Dina moved to inspect it; taking a hold of the spoon left in the pan, both stuck together by the burnt remains of the leftover stew sticking to the bottom of it.  

“Well; at least we know he was definitely here.” Dina joked awkwardly trying to lighten the mood a little. But Tommy didn’t see the funny side; his nostrils flaring in frustrated anger as he stomped forward kicking at the table, sending the empty cans sputtering across the floor. 

“Goddamn it!” He yelled. The sound echoing through the dead quiet. Ada and Dina both flinched at the outburst. The older woman moved towards him, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder in a feeble attempt to calm him. 

“Taking it easy Tommy.” She tried but he threw his shoulder aggressively, shrugging her away as he whipped around on his heel to face her. “Easy?!” He barked. “We keep just missing him, how the fuck are we supposed to find to him when he had a two day head start?!” 

Ada signed deeply trying to ignore the sting of Tommy’s spurn. She knew he didn’t mean it. He was tired. They all were. And frustrated and worried about Joel. It was hard not to lose your temper at the situation; especially one that was more of less of their own making. She and Tommy blamed themselves for basically driving Joel away from Jackson in the first place. Even now Ada was rerunning their last conversation over and over again in her head. Her guilt twisting in both her stomach and tightening within her chest at all the things she could’ve said instead. But that kind of thought would get her nowhere now. She needed to focus on the here and now. And the only thing that mattered was bringing Joel home. 

She took another breath; her eyes searching the room for any more signs that Joel may have left behind. “We just have to be smart about this.” She wondered aloud as she continued looking. “When we move on, we have to be certain we’re headed in the right direction.”

“And how the hell are we supposed to do that?! Huh?” Tommy scoffed bitterly, throwing his hands up in defeat. “We don’t even know where Joel’s going!”

She turned back towards her brother in law; her mind scrambling desperately for an idea or a lead. Her eyes staring down intensely at the floor before glancing back up at Tommy. “Well maybe he’s going back to Boston? You talked about your time in the QZ right?” She offered hopefully. Tommy’s lip curled in disdain at her idea; pacing back and forth. 

“I told him but that don’t mean he listened.” He dismissed. “And I doubt he’d head back home to Texas… he knows there’s nothing there anymore. I’ve been, I’ve seen it. The house is wrecked and it’s been picked clean.” 

The room fell silent at Tommy’s condescending tone as Ada bit her lip to keep from saying anything that might just aggravate the situation. Her eyes glancing across towards Dina who was looking around the back of the room; obviously trying to keep out of the way. Ellie had stayed by the door at first but now was kneeled down behind the remains of the cafe bar; pulling through the drawers and cabinets. Throwing away any junk that didn’t aid in her search for Joel. Her heart ached as she watched her. The teen hadn’t uttered a word since leaving Jackson. It was clear even now that she blamed herself for everything, she was so tired of this. The Fireflies had caused them nothing but grief and anger ever since she’d met them. Even years later, after the fuckers had disbanded they were still tearing apart her family and she despised them for it. 

The thought made her pause for a moment. Wait…the Fireflies…Joel's letter; her stomach dropped at the realization.

“Then he’s going after the Fireflies!” Dina announced, speaking her thoughts before she could voice them herself. Ada offered the girl a broken smile in spite of herself, a wave of relief that at least someone was on the same page as her.  But once again…Tommy only scoffed bitterly at the suggestion. 

“And why the hell would he go after the people that tried to kill him?!” He spat, pulling a face at Dina as she backed down to sit on the one the couches. Her head hung in shame like a child that had just been scolded. Ada’s blood was beginning to boil now at his attitude. She stomped over towards her brother in law; standing toe to toe with the man. Her dark eyes staring him down as her patience was beginning to wear thin. 

“Think about it, everything goes back to them for him.” She explained trying to keep herself calm. “I told him what happened and what he did to save Ellie. But he still couldn’t get his head around exactly who the fireflies were and what they meant.” She took a breath clenching her fists by her side, almost daring Tommy to shoot her down again. But the man just scoffed in her face and damn if she wasn’t tempted to punch the condescending bastard in the nose all over again!

 “Great! That’s just fucking great! He’s going after the Fireflies which means he could be anywhere by now! We don’t know where the fireflies were even headed!” 

“Yes we do! You said you got word they were in Seattle.”

“Rumors, Ada, I heard rumors. Nothing concrete. And it don’t matter anyway, that was between me and a few of the boys on lookout. I never even told Joel about it!”

Okay, now Ada was getting pissed with him. She trembled with anger; her eyes wide and nostrils flared as she once again stood toe to toe with Tommy. Her fist somehow managed to unclench as she instead pointed her sharp finger into his chest; her voice quivering. “Well I don’t see you coming up with any ideas!” She yelled into his face.” You just keep shooting down everyone else’s!”

“Because I’m trying to make sure that we know where we’re headed. We can’t go running in any damn direction, just hoping we stumble into Joel by accident.” They were practically nose to nose now; almost growling at each other like challenging wolves about to snap at each other throats for the kill. Eyes blazing with anger and frustration that had no outlet except aimed at the person in front of them. 

“She didn’t say we should!” Dina said defensively as she tried to pull them apart. It was a futile attempt however, both were stubborn and both were angrily still glaring at the other. Until Ellie slammed one of the chairs against the floor to grab their attention. 

“For fucks sake enough! God this arguing is getting us nowhere! Everyone just shut the fuck up okay?!” She growled. The room grew quiet again. The tension dissipating as Ellie glared at the both of them, until eventually they backed away from the other. Both awkwardly cowering like wounded animals. Clearly embarrassed of their childish behavior. They glance at one another with an apologetic look in their eyes. They knew  she was right. They were the adults and they were acting like moody teenagers. While the actual teenagers seemed to be the only ones with their heads on straight. Ellie took a breath as everyone turned to look at her. She sighed once again as she gestured to the record book that was left open on the table in front of her. Ellie didn’t know why, she just knew it was Joel who’d left it there. Her eyes running across the writing from happier times. She glanced back at others with tears welling in her eyes. “I know where Joel’s going… he’s heading back to Salt Lake City.” She said with unshakeable certainty. 

“What? You mean back to the hospital? Why the hell would he be going there? The Fireflies quit that place years ago.” Tommy pointed out gently. But Ellie was in no mood to argue anymore; shaking her head defiantly. 

“Put yourself in his place…Joel’s trying to remember things. He wants to get his memory back; if you were him where else would you start?” She explained and in that moment everything clicked into place. 

“Holy shit you’re right. He’s trying to retrace his steps! Ellie you’re a fucking genius!” He beamed, a broken laugh of disbelief leaving him as his eyes lit up.  “Everyone back in the truck, we move now we might be able to catch him up.” 

No one wasted a second as they scrambled to their feet; all four rushing back towards the door and out into the truck. She didn’t know how she knew but she was positive that was where Joel was heading. After all, it was exactly where she had gone for answers herself and it was also the place where mournfully she had lost him all those years ago; perhaps now it would be the place where she finally got Joel back again.

[theladyofbloodshed]

Au acosf - part 22

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Following the departure of Azriel and Lucien from the Spring Court, Nesta felt as if part of her had been hollowed out. That part of her was missing somehow.

As she always did, Nesta continued. It was all she ever did – continue on. Her attention turned back to the high lord’s bank accounts again though even that could not capture her intrigue for long. They were in better shape since she and Eris had begun handling them. It would take time for it to become what it was supposed to be.

Eris. Where was that male? Why had he not come sooner or gone looking for her? That worry writhed in her stomach like a slick of oil. The thought of Beron hurting him make her sick.

Her gaze caught on a servant in the garden who was pruning a butterfly bush back into a neat order. Nesta would never be used to that magic – a court suspended in an eternal season. The solar courts had that draw, she supposed, that time passed in a regular, natural manner. If she had no place in the Night Court, she supposed there was always Day or Dawn.

Likely, the high lord of the Night Court would find a way to blame Nesta for losing his two favourite Illyrian males from his side. Already she was wracked with guilt that they had left although she had not forced their hands. There was a tiny fragment of her that was glad the two males had stood up to their friend – for Feyre and for their own morality. Nobody was perfect. She had enough self-loathing to attest to that. However, Nesta was surprised the big bat had it in him to turn away from his high lord; both he and Azriel were still loyal to their courts though. Change would come to the Night Court, hopefully Cassian could spearhead it in Illyria. That land was his home and his heart.

A messenger appeared late into the afternoon calling for Nesta, not Tamlin. The boy was rosy cheeked and a gleam of sweat was upon his brow.

‘The high lord. Autumn Court. On the border. For you.’

Nesta clutched the arms of the chair then dismissed the boy. She had thought Beron meant he would write to Tamlin, not to her – and certainly not another personal meeting with that unpleasant male.

She did not hurry. A servant readied her horse, but Nesta let him stew on the border while she prepared herself to face him again. She had not seen Eris since the war, she told herself. It was a mantra she repeated as she searched the house for the high lord. Tamlin sat in a daze in the gallery and did not notice Nesta’s arrival. Previously, she knew that Tamlin had been the one to force Beron to fight in the war. Looking at the shell of a male in front of her, she doubted he had any authority any more.

‘The high lord of the Autumn Court has come to your border. Would you escort me?’

Tamlin said nothing, only stared at the dust particles dancing through the beam of sunlight. Nesta repeated herself, in a firmer voice. Still, he ignored her.

It had done the trick to rouse her anger, at least. Nesta could feel that fire awakening in her veins ready to face Beron as she rode towards the border, head held high frustrated at Tamlin’s lack of motivation.

‘You’re late,’ Beron snapped, by way of greeting.

Nesta dismounted swiftly, as if she had always belonged on a horse and it had not been the high lord’s son who had commissioned her lessons.

‘You cannot fault me for tardiness when no time was agreed. Furthermore, no meeting was agreed. So, I ask - why have you come here?’

The high lord tipped his brown head to the side to appraise her in a move so like his son, it was jarring to Nesta’s senses. How much of Beron lay dormant in Eris? How much of it was waiting for the opportunity to emerge? She could not shake Lucien’s words that Beron had killed his brothers and their families. Would Eris do the same? Would he consider Elain a target?

‘I have an offer for you, Nesta Archeron.’

She hated the way her name sounded on his tongue. Foreign and wrong. Only then, did Nesta notice the Autumn Court soldiers who had been meticulous in their role on the ride from the Forest House were stationed a way away so they could not eavesdrop. If she was daring enough, courageous enough, she’d strike him there and then with her silver fire and rid the court of his monstrous reign. As soon as the thought crossed her mind, Beron took a step back as if had read her thoughts. She offered him a mocking smile – one she had learnt from his eldest son.

‘I work for the Spring Court.’

‘Indeed,’ he said, inclining his head. ‘It is dull work for a mind as magnificent as your own. My son, Eris, I should like you to befriend him.’

‘Befriend?’

A slight breeze blew from the Autumn Court carrying with it the smell of smoked wood and cooked apples.

‘He has ambitions as far reaching as yours. I should like to know them.’

‘You want me to spy on your son?’

‘Simply put.’ Beron nodded again. His eyes flitted to her feet. ‘He would fall to his knees for a female like you. You are forged from fire and blood. It should be easy to capture his heart.’

‘You think I am like that? That I would burrow into his heart under a cloak of deception.’

Again, Beron swept his eyes to the ground briefly. Nesta noticed it more that time. The ground was hard underfoot, a yellow leaf curled on the grass inches from her heel. She stepped backwards a few paces until the grass felt spongier, the air thicker with pollen. That had been why Tamlin had hauled her towards him the other day. She had been in Autumn Court land. At Beron’s mercy.

‘You’re a quick learner,’ he commented. ‘I shall pay you handsomely. You shall have my protection.’

‘I fail to see the benefits. I already receive a salary from Tamlin. Your money is of no significance to me.’

Ever the scheming snake, Beron raised an eyebrow. ‘I offered my protection to you. You stole from the Cauldron and there is queen who holds a grudge. If she were to find out you resided just above the wall in the Spring Court, well, I suppose she would come for you, wouldn’t she?’

That damn bastard had her and he knew it. His protection was nothing more than his silence.

Nesta gritted her teeth. ‘When do I have the pleasure of meeting your first born?’

On the ride back towards the manor horse, her anger had been allowed to fester like a rotting wound. She doubted Beron would have dared back her into the corner like that had Tamlin have accompanied her. And she hated that she had wanted a male to offer protection. Her horse’s hooves stomped across the lawn, picking up speed as her knees dug deeper into its flank.

There was nobody she could trust entirely. Tamlin needed to find his spine. Eris and Beron would swallow his court whole. They might have been plotting against each other, both believing Nesta was their pawn, but she knew the rules of the game too – and she was the queen.

Fire wreathed her hands as Nesta stormed up the stairs into the gallery.

‘Get up,’ she snarled at the blonde male. ‘Get up and sort your damn life out.’

Emerald eyes flickered to her with disinterest. Nesta’s fire grew like a halo upon her brow until he pressed himself into the back of the chair in fear.

‘You will stand up. You will wash and shave and put on something clean then you will join me for dinner. You will listen when I talk about your court. You will take an active role again. I do not care if your heart is broken. I was stolen from my bed because of you and still I fight to keep your court alive. You will stop moping. Stop drowning in sorrow. I will not be gentle. I will not be kind. But I will get you through this.’

The fire still blazed on her brow even when she steadied her breathing. She knew her eyes were lined with silver fire too. Anger and pride was all she was. When could she be soft and loving? When had anybody given her that chance?

The first day was miserable. Tamlin had shaved and washed, but that was the extent of his motivation. Nesta bit her tongue as often as she could. She knew that same hopelessness had been echoed in her only recently. Some days she still wanted to remain in bed or drink herself into oblivion. They sat at the desk together as Nesta explained the changes within the court and the manor. She had written a decree that requested more males and females to apply as sentries to be trained and stationed around the court. Tamlin took an age to read it, but he did nod in approval.

In the days that followed, Tamlin emerged briefly from his shell. She managed to get him to walk the grounds with her once – she doubted he had spent any time outdoors, simply to enjoy it in a long time. Sunlight was good for the soul. They did not speak. Nesta did not have it in her to try and befriend the male or offer him casual conversation, but she had vowed to pull him through the fire with her, so that was what she would do.

Nesta had managed to crack an elderly servant one day, coaxing her with tea and the promise of resting her weary feet to get to the bottom of the high lord’s history. The female had insisted she did not like to gossip then spent a good half an hour doing just that. Nesta had not known that Tamlin and Rhysand had once been friends. Both the males had suffered so much at each other’s hands, lost so much. She supposed Feyre being Rhysand’s mate after Tamlin’s lover was another knife twisting in the chest. It helped her to understand both males a little better though. As for the Vanserras, the servant was knowledgable about them too. Although she protested that she ought to return to work, another cup of tea and heavy flattery from Nesta had her lips loose once more. Lucien had suffered perhaps worse than any of Beron’s sons at the hands of the male himself. And yet he remained decent and good. There was hope for the others – a slim hope, but it was there all the same.

Tamlin had joined her for an evening meal though, like Nesta he barely ate. The servants left them alone in the dining room. She wished there was a musician or another person who might turn the atmosphere into one of fun and lightness rather than the mausoleum they had entombed themselves in.

‘Grief will never leave. You can smother it all you want,’ she said, pushing a plate of food closer to the high lord. ‘But it will still demand to be felt. The best we can do is let it live beside us and not let it rule us.’

It was not uncommon for servants to dip in and out of the house throughout the day, so Nesta did not stir from her reading when the door banged shut. Tamlin had rummaged around the study for old ledgers belonging to his father for Nesta to read to better understand the politics within the court as well as its history. She flicked the page over, eyes scanning rapidly over an account from a previous treasurer of the court. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She was being watched.

Nesta’s neck cracked, she’d lifted her head so quickly. A slim male leant against the door frame, watching her with amusement plastered all over his face.

‘Wipe that damn smile off of your face,’ she hissed, getting to her feet. ‘For days I have worried about you. And you saunter in like the cat that got the cream.’

Idly, Eris picked an imaginary piece of lint from his sleeve. ‘You worried about me?’

‘Yes,’ she snarled, slapping his chest. ‘And I see it was wasted.’

‘Why ever did you worry about me? It was you who was facing off against my father. And I see you’ve lived to tell the tale.’

He was impossible. Utterly impossible.

‘Why didn’t you come here sooner? I’ve been scared that your father had hurt you. Did you not care if he had me strung up in the dungeon?’ The emotion was tumbling out of her voice before she could restrain it.

Eris frowned at her. ‘Think, Nesta. If I had chased after you, Dolos would have known you were with me. My father was watching my home – and this border. I could not move to you until he gave the word.’

He explained it so simply. And Nesta understood the logic entirely. That was what upset her; that every decision of Eris’ was planned out and logical, weighing up the benefits and the drawbacks before he made his move. There was no passion or care for her. Not like Cassian. Cassian who had vowed to protect the mortals because he was good. Tried to give her time to run as they faced the king of Hybern, not caring if it cost his life as long as she had a chance of surviving.

‘Your father could have killed me and you’d still be hiding at home because it might spoil your stupid plans. You’re a fucking idiot. Get out of my office.’

‘Your office?’

‘Mine. Out.’

Eris stretched upwards, touching the top of the door frame as he yawned. ‘Shame. I even brought a friend to visit.’

Horror mingled with curiosity as Nesta tried to imagine who Eris might consider a friend. She waited with her hands folded across her chest.

Eris whistled. A scratch sounded across the varnished wooden floors then Zasha bounded into the room, sleek as smoke, to Nesta. She’d dropped into a crouch and her arms engulfed the excited dog. The dog’s tongue lapped at her face – and for once Nesta did not care.

‘My father would like to know what your true intention with this court is,’ Eris said with a grin as he leant back onto the desk. Nesta did not fail to notice how his eyes scanned the desk for as much information as possible. ‘He doesn’t think you want to help the mortals out of the goodness of your heart. He’s tasked me with becoming your ally.’

‘Your father would also like to know what your true intentions are,’ she countered, scooping up the documents from the desk – and out of Eris’ reach. He watched her with something like approval gleaming in his eyes.

‘This is perfect. You can feed my father information that we agree upon and in return you can tell me his movements.’

Nesta threw back her head in laughter. ‘You Autumn Court males love a deal – and yet there is no benefit to me. It sounds as if I will risk my neck facing your father to benefit you, Eris. Why should I? Why should I do the hard work in this court for you to reap the benefits?’

‘My goodness, one night with my father and you’re already worse than him,’ he said rolling his eyes. ‘What’s your offer? What do you demand?’

‘Zasha. He’s mine.’

‘He can’t be traded out of the court.’

‘Tough,’ she said firmly. ‘No deal. And we both know, you won’t tell your father that I was in his court, all that time, under his nose, in your home. So you either take the deal or your informant is gone.’

‘Nesta Archeron, you were wasted in the Night Court. Truly.’

Eris mulled over the decision while Nesta stood firm in the same defiant stance she had taken against his father. She knew not to tell him how Beron had twisted her arm by threatening Briallyn. Eris did not need any more ammunition to use against her.

‘Ah, Nesta,’ he sighed, rubbing his face. ‘You were made for the Autumn Court.’

‘That’s not the compliment you think it is,’ she said, voice prickly.

‘Zasha is yours although I do not know how we will explain that to my father.’

Nesta smiled slightly, her hand brushed against the dog’s soft head. ‘You’re besotted with me, Eris. You will do anything to win my heart.’

‘Will I?’

‘He wants me to seduce you.’

‘Seduce me then,’ Eris purred, voice low and dangerous.

‘So you can reject me again? No. I’ve made a fool of myself once already for you. It shall not happen again.’

Eris’ lips puckered like he’d sucked on a lemon. ‘Calanmai ought to be celebrated in a few days. The Court should be prepared. And the high lord. I’ll come to view it. A test of your organisational skills.’

‘What is it?’

‘A spring festival. The magic will cause an abundance of crops for the year to come. Make sure Tamlin attends. That’s paramount.’

‘It will be done, your majesty,’ Nesta drawled. ‘Any other duty?’

‘I’ll come again in a few days to bring your belongings.’

Nesta’s heart thudded in an uneven rhythm. ‘That’s it? I can’t ever stay with you again?’

‘Do you want to? If my father finds you living at my property, Nesta, it will be both of our heads rolling,’ he said dismissively. ‘If you hear from my father, our first meeting went well. You drove me crazy – so much so that I gave you one of our hounds. Let that burden fall on my head, I suppose.’

‘We all behave like fools in love, don’t we?’

There had been a change in their relationship. For all the aspects of the male she had favoured – his intelligence and confidence – he was cold and clinical. The fire that he harnessed was only magic, he lacked passion or love. She tried not to feel too disheartened by how easily he was tossing her from his home – and that he did not care if she wanted to be in the Spring Court – but it was a sadness that made its home inside of her chest. She did not love him, but there certainly had been a spark, an easy friendship that grew between them with the hope of maybe something more.

‘Eris,’ she called, as he made to depart through the doorway. ‘You need to get your mother out of the Forest House as soon as you can.’

***

Rhys appeared on the edge of Windhaven, face tight as he watched the females train.

‘You’re making progress quickly with them,’ he said, coming to stand by Cassian’s side.

‘It would be more if they did not have so many chores to complete before they could train. Or if their wings worked,’ Cassian murmured. ‘They can’t use them like we can for balance. They’re a dead weight on their backs, Rhys.’

The high lord’s violet eyes roved over the thick scars shared by all the females gathered that tore through their tendons. They were lucky to get double figures to training most days. Today was one where Cassian’s hope wavered and he wondered if it was worth it. Only four had shown up to train in the bitter cold. They had all been grim faced and exhausted, knowing that each day the number dwindled, as females struggled to manage their heavy work-load. If it ever came to it, the males wouldn’t fight alongside them and four was not a legion.

‘The next male who clips a female, he’ll have his own wings clipped as retribution,’ Rhys said quietly. ‘For too long I’ve been patient, not wanting to push and cause disruption. They’ll never accept me as an Illyrian. They don’t accept you or Az either. There will be dissent no matter what we do. It may as well be something worthwhile that they riot over.’

Cassian stared at his friend. There had been a change in him since Eris had disclosed his treatment of Feyre under the mountain. It had left a bad taste in all their mouths. He knew that Rhys was spending more time with Feyre, romancing her, which included taking painting lessons as if trying to atone. How much of his behaviour had been swept under the rug because of their bond? It made Cassian examine his own mating bond. He had done the opposite with Nesta; he had scrutinised every movement of hers and judged it. She was not a female who could be moulded, she was a female made from steel who could cut her way through the world. And he should have admired it rather than expecting her to slot into their court nicely.

‘How have you been?’

Cassian held up a finger and issued another order to the four, examining their first couple of movements before sure they understood the exercises. ‘Fine. Eris’ soldiers will be returning to the Autumn Court in a couple of days.’

Rhys nodded. ‘It’s quiet in Velaris without you and Az.’

‘Az is terribly noisy. I thought you and Feyre would enjoy the peace. Or the empty rooms.’

Rhys chuckled. ‘When you’re done here, will you come to Velaris for the night? Lucien sent word he’d like to meet with you.’

‘Me? Why me?’ He frowned then called to the nearest female, a shopkeeper, ‘don’t extend your arm all the way. Your elbow will lock.’

The female, Emerie, nodded once then moved the wooden sword fluidly through the air as though she was cutting down an invisible assailant. Rhys bobbed his head with approval.

‘He wouldn’t say. Stay for dinner. Feyre would like to see you. And Mor. I’m off to the Hewn City in the morning.’

The flight to Velaris was filled with a silence that had taken up residence in his head. His self-imposed exile to Illyria was as much to do with his disappointment in Rhys as it was for his own benefit. He was driving himself mad with thoughts of Nesta warming Eris’ bed. It had been bad enough feeling every male she’d bedded in Velaris, but they were faceless strangers. Eris was sickening. Their meeting in the Spring Court had been a disaster. He’d tried to act indifferent, as if seeing her in that yellow dress didn’t stir the deepest longing of his heart. Cassian wished he could reverse time and start the meeting all over again. She was so beautiful and clever. He wished he’d gone to his knees for her and told her that instead of starting an argument.

He was beginning to understand her aversion to their bond. They were not Feyre and Rhys. They hadn’t had that chance to fall in love. Nesta had bewitched Cassian as a mortal. Still, he turned over the memories of meeting her in the mortal lands, when she had deceived the housekeeper and led him to her rooms. She was enchanting then – but as fae, Nesta’s beauty was deadly. Even the high lord of the Day Court had tried to charm her and she had dismissed him as if Helion was no more than a gnat buzzing around her head. The memory still made Cassian laugh. He did not know why he expected Nesta to love him when only the bond drew them together. If he wanted her love, he had to earn it.

Cassian’s feet landed heavier than usual on the gleaming streets of Velaris. Although he was tired – a winter in Illyria would do that – he landed far from the River House so that he could walk along the Sidra and listen to the water thunder by in the city he loved. It was almost the turn of spring but Illyria still gripped onto winter and the snow hadn’t shifted there. By comparison, Velaris felt warm although its citizens were still bundled up in thick coats or shawls.

The River House was upon Cassian quicker than he would have liked. He’d been lost in his own head imagining walking along the river in the summer with Nesta, of taking her to the cramped book shops that were stacked to the roof with novels, of dining outdoors as the sun caught in her hair. Why didn’t he check on her after the war? Why hadn’t he swallowed his damn pride and realised her anger was a defence that she’d practised for years to protect herself? He ought to have tried to be her friend first rather than expecting them to fall in love after a few heated spats at the dining table.

Feyre flew into his arms when she pulled back the door. He’d needed that physical touch having been starved of it in Illyria. He hadn’t dared to touch the females during training to adjust their positions let alone anything more. In fact, since Nesta had blazed into his life, the only pleasure he’d gained was from his hand.

She beamed at him. ‘Hello stranger.’

‘High lady,’ he said, sketching a mocking bow. ‘Is Lucien here?’

‘Straight to the point, general,’ she teased. ‘Yes. In the drawing room.’

Cassian had not been able to prepare himself fully for what Lucien might want to discuss. His brain had jumped to conclusions, analysed every one and every possible outcome. Half of him expected it to be that Eris and Nesta were engaged. As he walked the long corridor towards the drawing room, he realised he should have warned Rhys or Feyre that if that was the case, he’d likely demolish their home with his anguish.

As he entered the exquisitely decorated room that contained plush couches and armchairs able to fit a pair of wings in, Lucien turned from the window to greet him. His face wasn’t grim – that was surely a positive. Red hair streamed down his back, longer than Cassian had seen it before, and contrasted with the leaf-green jacket he wore.

The pair settled in adjacent arm chairs. It was odd to be alone with the male, Cassian realised, having always believed the Vanserras to be enemies. If Lucien felt the same, he did well not to show it. The male crossed a boot over the other and rested them on a footstool while he leant back in the chair.

‘I went to the Spring Court a few days ago with Azriel and again this morning alone. There was an incident with my father,’ he explained, speaking in a too casual tone. ‘Nesta wouldn’t say much and asked Azriel not to tell you. But the ways of the fae still linger, and she didn’t specifically tell me not to tell you.’

‘Did Beron hurt her?’ Cassian’s voice teetered on the edge.

‘No. She held her own. She’s moved to the Spring Court now. Eris, I think, is worried she’d have the same fate as Jesminda if she stayed with him.’ Lucien turned his face to stare at the window, to avoid Cassian’s eyes. ‘However, Nesta, I believe, is falling victim to one of Eris’ little tricks. He’s pushing her away because he’s scared of my father. I stopped by the Spring Court and she’s ploughing ahead with organising Calanmai. I asked if she understood what the Fire Night involved and she believes Tamlin will be overcome with magic which the year’s crops depend upon.’ Lucien shifted in the chair, a slight smirk returned to his features. ‘It is true. Eris has not fed her a lie. But he’s also omitted the truth.’

‘It’s not an event we celebrate in Illyria.’

Lucien slowly nodded to show he knew as much. ‘Tamlin will bed a female. That’s the Rite. Others will also take each other afterwards near the grove. But generally, he will seek out the strongest female in the vicinity.’

‘Oh.’

‘I asked if she’d be attending and she snapped at me asking why wouldn’t she attend,’ Lucien said with a short laugh. ‘I don’t believe she understands it and I quite like my balls where they are, so I’ll leave that duty to you.’

‘She’ll nail mine to the wall if I turn up,’ Cassian said curtly.

Lucien’s russet eye met Cassian’s. Those Archeron sisters were tempestuous yet irresistible. It was why Lucien had come to him, he knew the same strain on the bond as Cassian, knew that instinct to protect his mate.

‘Eris saves his own skin. His own life is most important to him,’ explained Lucien. ‘Even if there was something between them, if it suited Eris – if he could benefit in some way - he’d let it happen.’

Cassian tried to summon his indifference again, but when it came to Nesta he was full of passion. ‘Perhaps she wants to bed the high lord.’

‘Not likely. She speaks to Tamlin like he’s a dog. But she is good for the Spring Court. She’s ruling with a rod of iron, but it’s helping him – and the citizens return to normal. To be honest, I’m more worried Tam will seek her for the Rite and she’ll set him on fire if he tries it.’

Cassian laughed – and for the first time in a long time, it was genuine. That was the Nesta he knew.

‘What would happen if he did die? Who would the magic pass to?’

‘At this rate? Her.’

From the other side of the door, Feyre’s voice sounded. It was muffled slightly, but the quiet reply was unmistakably Elain’s voice. Lucien stilled, his head turned as if listening to his favourite melody. When their voices faded, his shoulders sagged slightly. Whilst Cassian had battled with Nesta, they had shared a little tenderness; he could not imagine how it was for Lucien to be constantly ignored by his mate. If Elain even glanced at him, it was a victory for the red-haired male.

‘How do you do it? How do you have such patience?’

‘Because when she’s ready, I’ll love her for the rest of my life.’

They chatted a while longer in the private drawing room. Lucien had not managed to persuade Azriel to come for dinner; that male was stubborn in a way Cassian had never known on another. If Azriel was committed to something, he could never be swayed. He missed his brother. It was the longest they’d ever been apart.

Feyre’s head popped in, smiling brightly. ‘Nuala and Cerridwen have cooked enough for a small army – I told them you’d be coming, Cass – so you need to come and eat or their hours of work will be wasted.’

‘You’ve twisted my arm,’ Cassian replied, draping an arm around his high lady’s shoulders as they walked into the dining room.

Feyre and Rhys sat together, giggling and murmuring to each other like teenagers who were head over heels in love. Lucien had taken a seat beside Mor, allowing Elain space – endless space was what he’d given her. But at one point, Elain had asked him to pass the parsnips and her hand has brushed against Lucien’s fingertips. Their eyes had met briefly. Mor caught Cassian’s own eye and grinned at the purity of their exchange. He wished Azriel was there with them. Nesta too. Wished he had Nesta on one side and Azriel on the other. Wished Mor would be honest with Azriel so the pair of them could finally move on from their stalemate and find the happiness they both deserved – with whoever they chose.

[dirty-urie]

Consequences

Second Person

Brendon Urie x Female Reader

What I'm Calling a "Soft Dom AU"

Smut Oneshot

6k Words

Warnings: Dominance and submission (both inside and outside the context of sex,) punishments, conversations involving slight kink negotiation, dom/sub relationship with some implied offscreen negotiation, sex

Author's Notes:

1. I am so incredibly protective of this fic. I wasn't going to post it at all, but I like it and want it on my masterlist. So be nice about it please.

2. Eternal appreciation and gratitude to @loverontheleft for her fantastic ideas. She elevated this fic from my own little self-indulgent baby to something actually worth posting, and made it at least 10 times hotter in the process.

Brendon struggling between his desire to stay in control, and his desire to absolutely ravish you

His whole head is moving as he goes down on you. He’s squeezing each of your thighs like he’s worried that you’ll disappear right from under him. You want to live in this moment forever, just laying back and letting him get off on getting you off. “Bren, fucking hell, what’s got you so worked up?” you gasp.

Brendon sucks and licks you over one more time. It pains both of you when he wretches his head off your cunt to answer you. “Just spending all day with you. You turn me on without even realizing it,” he says before he buries his face back into you.

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna come!” You shriek.

You jerk awake. “Fuck,” you mutter again, this time in frustration and not pleasure. Brendon’s on his side, facing away from you. “Brendon,” you whisper, in case he’s awake to help you out. Or at least give you permission to help yourself out. No response. “Sir,” you try. No response. You roll onto your tummy, hoping that’ll distract from the pulsing between your legs so you can go back to sleep and wait for him to wake up. It doesn’t work; you end up just having to reprimand yourself every time you unconsciously start grinding against the mattress. Fifteen minutes pass, and you can’t get back to sleep for the life of you. You’re tempted to wake Brendon, but the poor guy already doesn’t get enough sleep. You don’t want to interrupt the hours he does get to ask him to get you off.

After the tenth time of forcing yourself to stop rubbing on the bed, you give in and slip your hands into your panties. Brendon is asleep after all. The stimulation immediately makes you feel better, and you rub hard and fast to come before he catches you. You’re teetering towards the edge but just can’t quite cross that finish line. Finally, in a moment of desperation, you grab your vibrator off the nightstand. You nestle it onto your clit, so it can stimulate you externally while you finger yourself. You finally feel your orgasm ramping up, and it’s taking everything in you to not make any noises.

“Baby,” Brendon says, voice deep and scratchy with sleep. You scramble in vain to turn off your vibrator, clicking through each higher setting until it blessedly turns off. The silence is tense and heavy; he’s giving you time to stew in shame. You curse yourself, not just for knowingly breaking the rules, but for doing it so blatantly. If you hadn’t used your vibe, he might have just stayed asleep. “Was someone being a naughty girl?” He asks, tone practically begging you to dare to lie to him.

You squirm, hating the feeling of him being disappointed in you. “Yes,” you admit, exhaling in relief once the truth is out.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

He rolls from his side onto his back. Even in the dim light of the very early morning, you can see the outline of his erection proudly tenting the sheet he’s under. You wonder if he’s turned on from hearing you get off next to him or from a dirty dream or something else entirely. You reach out to palm him, and he grabs your wrist before you can get your hand on him. “Bad girls don’t get to touch,” he reminds gently.

You want to cry. You love Brendon; you want to touch him and make him feel good. “How are you going to punish me?” You ask meekly. As upset as you are about breaking his rules, touching yourself without permission isn’t that high on your list of possible offenses. You usually get away with a slap on the wrist (or the ass.) He just doesn’t like anyone but him touching his girl unless he says it’s okay. But he understands that he can’t be present all the time to take care of your needs like he’d like, so he’s lenient. You know you could handle a spanking, and he always takes care of you so well afterward that it’s barely a punishment.

You’re not so lucky though. “For one week, you will not touch me or ask to touch me at all unless I ask you to. I can and will touch you, but I’m not going to play with that pretty pussy,” Brendon tells you. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” you try to say but your voice trembles.

He lets go of your wrist. “Hey, you’ll be okay, baby girl. I wouldn’t give you a punishment if I didn’t think you could handle it, and you know your safewords, right? Those don’t just apply to sex or bondage or pain play. If you need me, I’m here, okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

Brendon kisses your temple before climbing out of your bed.

“Where are you going?” You ask.

Brendon laughs, putting his hand down his pants as he backs away from you. “Just because you can’t get off doesn’t mean I can’t.” He turns around and walks into your bathroom. You want to run after him, get on your knees, and beg for a different punishment. It’s even worse when you hear how vocal he’s being while getting off just to tease you.

He comes back to your bed looking sleepy and sated and soft, and you wish you could wrap your arms around him to fall back asleep. Instead, you steal one of his pillows and cuddle up with that. It’s not the same, but at least it’s warm, and it smells like him.

•••

You and Brendon shower together all the time; at this point, it’s not even sexual. Sure, sometimes you end up fooling around, but most of the time, it’s just a way to spend an extra couple of minutes together before he has meetings and you have errands or work or plans with your friends. But now that you can’t touch him, that’s all you want to do: wash his hair, scrub over his chest, get him hard while you clean his cock.

You’re giving him the stink eye while he’s being rude and cleaning his own body. He’s looking back at you feeling self-satisfied and smug. He really takes his time with the body wash, and you almost want to leave, but the show is good, and you think there’s a chance he’ll touch you when it’s your turn under the spray.

He does get a hand on his v-lines near his cock, and you make a noise that’s somewhere between a moan and a growl. His eyes widen in shock and amusement. “Stop making shower porn,” you snap.

Brendon raises his eyebrows. “You wanna try that again, pretty girl?”

“No.”

“No?” He asks.

You roll your eyes. “No, sir,” you say, laying on the snark. You don’t know what’s gotten into you. Maybe you’re mad at him for punishing you, maybe it’s a manifestation of your sexual frustration, but you so badly want to push his buttons.

Brendon yanks the shower curtain open and storms out, wrapping a towel around his waist. “Finish your shower and meet me in the bedroom,” he commands, and you brace your hand against the shower wall to steady yourself. You try not to let him know how much his orders turn you on. Whether he’s telling you to finish your dinner or to suck him off, you can’t help but get that rush of endorphins. You wish he would dominate you even more, but you respect that he doesn’t trust himself with that much responsibility. You finish and go into your bedroom without bothering to get dressed. He’s leaning against the wall wearing a full suit, and you know you’re in trouble. He wolf-whistles, and his eyes scan up and down your naked body. “What a treat. It won’t lessen your punishment, but I’m sure enjoying it,” he says.

You’re staring at your feet, not saying anything.

“Quite the shift in attitude,” he observes. “I was looking forward to some time with my bratty princess...”

You hope he won’t make you say anything because you know you won’t be able to without crying.

“…but my sweet girl just wants to serve her punishment and move on, doesn’t she? So obedient for me,” he praises. You smile a little at that, feeling better.

Brendon smiles back at you with no smugness or malice on his face. “Okay, love, knees,” he orders, and you finally notice the pillow at his feet. You get on your knees on the pillow and desperately pray that your punishment will be going down on him. He never uses sex as a punishment unless you two plan it out in a scene beforehand, but that doesn’t mean you can’t want it. He gets your hopes up when he unbuckles his belt and pulls it slowly through the loops before taking off his tie and unbuttoning the first two buttons of his shirt. “Do you need anything before we start?” He asks. You tell him that you’re okay, and he makes an approving noise. He moves behind you, and you stay still as he wraps your wrists together with his belt. Next, he reaches from behind you and places his tie over your eyes. He ties it snugly, and you hear him walking away.

“Sir,” you call.

His footsteps stop. “Yes, princess?” He responds.

“Where are you going?”

“The baby monitor is turned on on the nightstand if you safeword,” he assures, and it’s not an answer, but it makes you feel safer that he’ll be around if you need him.

•••

Your feet are asleep under your ass, and your knees are aching. Without being able to see, you really have no idea how much time has passed. You think it’s been at least thirty minutes, but you gave up on counting the seconds after about five minutes. You’re just about to call out for Brendon when you hear his footsteps coming back to you. “Y/N,” he says, “you still awake?”

You nod.

“Such a good girl. You took that so well.” He unties your wrists and rubs them soothingly before pulling his tie off your head. He gently picks you up and lays you on the bed, knowing your feet are asleep and you won’t be able to walk for a minute or two. To your disappointment, he puts his belt and tie back on. “What do you want to wear for dinner? We’re just eating at home, so if you want your jammies, that’s fine.”

You feel a little spacey from your punishment, and he must know because he pulls out a dress from your closet for you when you don’t answer. He eases you onto your feet and slips the dress over your head, not bothering with a bra or underwear. Whenever you’re feeling sleepy or spacey like you are now, you like to bury your face in his shoulder or chest or back. Especially if he’s wearing a soft t-shirt or jacket. But now you’re just stuck pining for him. Brendon does kiss your cheek once he’s dressed you and then puts his arm around your waist to take you to the kitchen.

He set the table nicely and everything. You’re glad he put you in a dress, so you don’t feel underdressed next to his nice outfit. Brendon pulls out your chair, and you sit down. He sits next to you. Normally you would lean against him while you eat, but you have to force yourself to stay upright. You put your head in your hand and poke at your steak, not feeling the energy to cut or chew it.

“You’re not eating,” he observes after a minute.

You put your head on the table. “Mmph, too sleepy.”

Brendon is silent next to you, and you think he’s angry, but you don’t sit up. Finally, you hear him go back to eating, so you start to doze off. A little while later, Brendon taps your shoulder. “Can you sit up for me?” He must be done with his dinner and ready to go to bed.

You lift your head off the table. In front of you, Brendon’s plate is still mostly untouched, but your steak is completely cut into bite-size pieces, and he’s holding your fork. “I want you to take at least five bites. Do you want me to feed you, or do you want to do it yourself?”

You want to cry. Brendon always knows exactly what you need. “Feed me. Please.”

At your request, he happily feeds you the entire rest of your dinner, completely neglecting his own. “Good girl,” he says when you’re done.

•••

As much as he likes to torment and tease you every way he can, limiting how much he touches you is punishment for him too. That’s why you’re not surprised when he opens his arms when you crawl into bed. His arms wrap around you as you face away from him. Him holding you from behind is nice, but you so desperately want him to slip his fingers into your panties as you fall asleep. It’s something he loves when you two cuddle. His long fingers will caress and stroke your clit perfectly, using you as his own little toy. Sometimes he won’t even be fully aware that he’s touching you unless you come for him.

“What are you thinking about, baby girl?” He asks softly.

You don’t know whether to tell him or not. Your mind so often goes straight to sex around him, and you’re worried he’ll judge you for it even though you know he gets off right along with you. Your cheeks heat.

Your prolonged silence must give you away anyway because he laughs behind you. “Mm, is my girl being all nasty?”

You smile bashfully. “You know me too well,” you say quietly.

He kisses the back of your neck, and you feel him smiling too. “Please elaborate,” he requests.

You take a moment to figure out how to explain it. “You know how you like to touch me when we’re falling asleep like this? How you rub my clit when you’re happy and relaxed? That’s what I’m thinking about. The way you’ll be barely conscious of it, but your hands consume my whole life for that little while.”

Brendon squeezes your arm to keep himself from touching you instinctively. “You’re always so good for me like that. You stay so quiet, you never beg for more, you just accept whatever I give you. Don’t get me wrong, love when you’re greedy for me, but I love being sweet and lazy with my girl.”

“Brendon, stop, please,” you whine. If he keeps talking like that, you’ll need to rub against something, you’re so turned on. You wonder if he is too. He’s not fully pressed against you, but you suspect you would feel him hard if you ground back on him. You want to try, but you don’t want to push it and risk him taking his arms off you.

“I miss you, baby. This isn’t easy for me either,” he reminds you against your neck. “But we agreed on rules, and we agreed that if you break the rules, there are consequences. However, I’m happy to renegotiate your rules after your punishment if you think I’m being unfair.”

You turn over to look at him. “No, you’re being fair, sir. I’m sorry.”

He kisses your forehead. “No need to apologize. It’s a punishment; you’re not supposed to like it. You’re supposed to learn from it.”

•••

You lie down on the couch, sneakily resting your head in Brendon’s lap while he plays video games. It’s your favorite position for reading or scrolling on your phone, and you’re hoping he’ll be too distracted by his game to notice you’re lying on him. Brendon wasn’t born yesterday though; he suspected you were up to something the minute you entered the living room. He clicks his game off and looks down at you. “Nuh-uh, off.” He nudges your head off his lap, and you sit up, pouting at him.

“Stop guilting me,” he says, and you pout harder. “Fine. You can put your feet in my lap,” he gives in, and you settle contentedly, your back against the armrest and your bare feet in his lap.

He rubs the arch of your foot absentmindedly. “Your punishment is more than halfway over,” he mentions as if you haven’t been counting down the seconds all week. “What are you going to do with all that freedom?”

You sigh dreamily. “Probably give you lots of kisses all over your face and then give you a big hug.”

Brendon stretches his arms, and it’s obvious how oversized his sweatshirt is when the sleeves flop around his wrists. He’s adorable; of course, you want to kiss his face. “Aww, I wasn’t expecting you to be all sweet with that,” he says.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, after I get that out of my system, I’m definitely hoping you’ll lick and suck and fuck me.”

Brendon’s eyes widen, and he bites his lip. “I like that too, baby,” he tells you, imagination clearly running wild. “Hey, you never told me why you were touching yourself in the first place.”

You can hear your own heavy breathing while you vividly remember your dream. “I had this fucking dream. You were devouring my pussy like you hadn’t eaten all day. No hands, just your face rubbing on me. Tongue probing inside, your nose moving on my clit. Your whole face was soaked.”

His eyes glaze over, and his thumb rubs on your foot harder. His cheeks are getting flushed, and his breathing starts to match the pace of yours. “God, that sounds incredible. What I would give to be drenched in you right now.” He moves between your legs, and an excited noise escapes from your throat. He spreads your legs and pushes up your shirt, kissing over your sensitive tummy. He kneads your bare thighs while his mouth moves over your abdomen. He moves your waistband down and nibbles along the strip of newly exposed skin.

“Oh, Brendon. Are you going to eat me out?” You ask hopefully.

Brendon sucks hard on your hip before answering. He pulls away, and you hear his shaky breath when he inhales. “No. Can’t break my own rule just because I feel like it. That’s irresponsible domming,” he responds, but you think he’s trying to explain it to himself more than you. He rubs his face over the thin layer of your shorts, and you know he knows he’s playing with fire. “God, I can do this,” he mutters to himself. He stops moving, just resting his head between your thighs. “This was a mistake. I love this wet cunt so much.”

You’re lying completely still. You know if you move while you can feel Brendon on you, you’ll come, and you don’t know how he’ll respond to that. He nips at your thigh one last time before slumping back on the other arm of the couch away from you. Then, feeling hot, he takes off his sweatshirt to reveal his bare chest and arms. You glance down briefly at him, and you can see how hard he is. “Can I-” you start before remembering you’re not allowed to ask to touch him. “Nevermind.”

He sees the ways your eyes dart to him and knows exactly what you want to ask. “Go ahead, baby. Touch my cock. Feel what you do to me,” he allows, willpower nonexistent at this point. You sit up and move next to him on the couch. You reach out eagerly and palm over him before stroking him roughly through his sweatpants. His head tips back, and you love finally getting to get him off directly instead of just knowing it’s you he’s thinking about when he gets himself off. You can feel him twitch and throb even through his pants. You rub at the small wet spot where his head is, and he hisses at the feeling.

You know he could come like this, but it would be better if you could touch him for real. You slip your fingers under his waistband. “Can I?”

He nods, trying to remember how to speak. “Yes, definitely,” he manages. “But only if you actually want to touch me,” he stresses. “Don’t just do this because you think it’s your only chance to jerk me off.”

He’s so thorough, and you love that about him, but there’s nothing you want more than to get a hand on his length and make him come for you. “I want this. You know I want this.”

Satisfied with the genuine longing in your voice, he shoves his pants down. You grasp his erection, and not even your favorite of his songs could come close to the sound of his heavy groan when you start to move your hand on him. “So perfect. Feels so good,” he says. Without his control, his hips are rocking up to thrust into your tight fist. He’s so slick with pre-come that you don’t need spit or lube or anything. You use your other hand to gently play with his balls, not even minding the somewhat awkward twist in your torso you need to get to both hands on him. You’re really soaking in the opportunity to fully devote yourself to getting him off.

“You’re so pretty, Brendon,” you compliment as you pay extra attention to the extra-sensitive vein running up the underside of his cock. One of his hands is clenched tightly into a fist, and the other is pulling on his hair. He’s trying so hard to force himself to retake control. “And so hard for me, even before I started touching you.” He pulses in your hand.” Are you about to come, sir?” You ask.

The way you call Brendon “sir” reminds him of his job as your dom to take charge and remain in full control of the situation, even in the throes of total arousal.“Stop, please, baby,” he chokes out, sounding tense and pained that he’s making you stop. You’re disappointed, but you obey immediately. “That’s my good girl.” He kisses your neck as a reward for doing what he asked. “Can you lay back again for me?”Brendon kneels between your legs, facing you. As you lay back, he continues to kiss down your neck softly. He sits back, jacking himself off quickly, and he really is a performer. Beautiful noises, tensed muscles, shiny cock. “Can I come on you, baby? Is that okay?”

You nod enthusiastically.

“Use your words, please.”

“Yes, please, sir. Come on me,” you beg, quickly pulling off your shirt and laying back down.

With that, hot come streaks your stomach. “My beautiful wife makes me come so hard. Even when she can’t come herself,” Brendon pants while tucking himself away. He reaches into the side table next to the couch for a washcloth. He sees you out of the corner of his eye about to run your fingers over your stomach to suck his come off your fingers. “No touching. Stay still,” he commands, and you pout, immensely disappointed. “Shit, we’re out of clean rags.” Your face goes red because you know he told you to restock the drawer. “Hands above your head, baby. Don’t move a muscle. I’m going to the laundry room.” You clutch the arm of the couch above your head, loving how spread out and vulnerable you feel for him. He takes a second to admire you before leaving the room. “God, you look fucking good covered in my come. Almost makes me glad I can’t come in your pussy.”

You whimper, body shaking with how badly you want to wipe up his come and then plunge your fingers into your panties. If you didn’t know better, you’d think Brendon left the room on purpose to test the limits of your self-control. Even though you know for a fact that he’d catch you, it’s ten times harder to follow his orders when he’s not looking right at you. Just when you think you’ll break, he comes back, warm and damp washcloth in hand. He swipes at your stomach with the cloth, and the feeling somehow makes your arousal spike even higher. He finishes cleaning you up and places a quick kiss right above your belly button. Much to your dismay, all the evidence of him coming on you is completely gone.

“Sir,” you mewl dejectedly.

Brendon sits you up to put your shirt back on and then pulls you into his lap. “Aww, is my baby disappointed she didn’t get sir’s come?” He asks, and you nod.

He kisses the base of your neck. “Does my naughty girl really think she deserves sir’s come?” You nod again, and he laughs. “Well, I appreciate the honesty, at least, babygirl,” he concedes. “My perfect sub deserves everything she wants, doesn’t she?”

You yawn, nestling back into his arms. “Now you’re finally getting with the program, sir.”

•••

“Y/N, the bath is ready,” he calls from the bathroom.

You groan under your blanket. “Don’t want a bath. I want to lie here and wait for you to touch me.”

“I’ll touch you in the bath,” he coaxes.

You pull the blanket over your head. “It’ll just make me horny,” you complain.

He comes out of the bathroom and flips the blanket down off your face. “Just one more night of sleep, honey, and then I can take care of you however you want.”

“Carry me,” you request, making grabby hands.

He shakes his head. “That counts as asking me to touch you, so I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. You made that rule yourself. Just change it,” you argue, pulling the blanket back over your head.

Brendon pulls your blanket fully off onto the ground. “Aww, someone is cranky. Come on, the water is getting cold.”

You reluctantly roll out of bed and walk behind him to the bathroom. The bath does look appealing once you can see it, but you’re quickly distracted by something more appealing when Brendon starts taking his clothes off. Even when he’s eating well and not working out as often, he still looks like he’s chiseled out of marble. He takes off his pants, facing away from you, and it’s hard to ignore how his ass looks so plump and firm. He gets into the bath, and you slip in afterward, letting the warm water soothe your sore body. Your tummy and pelvis have been cramping from so much unresolved sexual arousal. You settle back in the water, and Brendon gasps in apology when his erection touches your thigh. “Brendon,” you whimper.

“Shit, sorry, baby. I can’t help it. I can go take care of myself if that would help?” He offers.

You shake your head. “Knowing you’re doing that would be too much.” You eye the silicone lube in the shower, remembering how nice it was to jerk him off, have him bucking desperately into your fist. Not to mention his little noises. God, his noises. Sometimes deep, guttural, and primal. Sometimes shuddery and breathy from the throat. You know he won’t let you jerk him after he already gave in and let you get him off earlier in the week, and it hurts to think about.

Brendon feels your whole body wound up tight.“Sorry, love, I wanted to relax you. But clearly, that didn’t work. You were right. Let’s just go to bed.”

You yawn. “The sooner I’m asleep, the sooner it’s tomorrow, and I can touch your dick whenever I want, and you can’t do anything about it.”

Brendon helps you out of the bath. “Well, yes, but consent laws still apply.” He reminds with a laugh.

“Oh well yes, of course,” you say. “That’s a given. But uh, you do want me to touch your dick, right?”

He bundles you up in a towel and kisses your cheek. “Desperately. Now bedtime.”

•••

You wake up to a warm, wet feeling on your face and a wet smacking sound. “Wake up, baby girl,” he kisses you awake.

You love his kisses, but your eyelids feel like lead. You grumble half-consciously, “Too early, sir. Sleepy.”

“It’s 3 am, baby. It’s been a week since your little infraction. Your punishment is over.”

That jerks you awake. You pounce on Brendon, showering his face with kisses from on top of him. You grind on his firm abdomen, relishing in the pressure you’ve needed for so long. “I love you. I love you so much I’m never letting you go ever again,” you say before lying on him and tucking your arms under his back. You keep moving your hips on him.

“I love you too, and I love you holding me like this, but I’ve been craving that sweet cunt on my face like my favorite drug,” he murmurs against the top of your head.

You sit up again. “Yes, I want that too. So bad.”

“You have two options. You can lay back, or you can sit on my face,” Brendon offers.

You crawl forward and kneel above his face.

“I see you’ve chosen the latter,” he laughs. “Okay, get down here.”

You lower yourself, hovering over his mouth. You quiver when you feel his hot breath on your skin.

“Sit. Put your weight on me,” Brendon says.

“You have to breathe!”

Brendon licks you. “Pshh, no, I don’t.”

“Oh, that’s fucking good,” you groan. “But still. What if I break your neck and kill you?”

“Then, I’ll die doing what I love.” He brings up his hands to gently pull your thighs down, and you cautiously put some of your weight on his mouth. He kisses you before diving in, not even using his tongue yet, just nuzzling and rubbing enthusiastically with his face. You grind down, loving how much control you have after a week of being subject to his whims. He finally gets his tongue on you, and it’s better than your best dreams and fantasies. He’s so solid and real under you.

You shift down, and he wraps his lips around your clit. He sucks hard, and you cry out loudly. He pulls off and licks in little circles before going back to suckle on your clit. Noises spill out of your mouth, and they seem to encourage him to suck you harder. He mumbles something under you, and you move down, humping his chin, so he can talk.

“God, you’re so fucking wet. I love it,” Brendon gasps. “That gorgeous slickness is all over my face, in my hair.”

You move back onto his mouth, and he licks over your opening and then sticks his tongue inside you, curling and spreading it. “I’ve been like this all week,” you tell him. “You would’ve known if you had fucking touched me,” you groan, tipping your head back. He moves one of his hands off your thigh, and you turn your neck to see him quickly jerking himself. “B, knock it off. Focus on me,” you plead. He moves his hand back to your thigh and pulls you up off his face so you’re hovering over him again and he can talk.

“Hey, watch it,” he warns, voice playful. “There’s nothing I love more than this pussy, but I’m still your dom. I’ll stop touching you right now.”

“Sorry, sir,” you say, although you know he’s bluffing. You sit back down with no reservations this time and fully ride his face. You bear down aggressively, needing some consistency to get to your orgasm. He seems to know that because his head stills while you work towards coming. “Fuck, sir,” you say.

“Yes, my sweet girl?” He says, muffled by your cunt on his face.

“I need something inside me when I come. It’s been so long, it’s going to be sharp and intense, and it’ll be better if I have something to clench around. Please?”

“Cock or fingers?” He asks, muffled again.

You think for a moment. You love his cock, but you know you’ll be too wiped after you finish to take care of him. “Fingers.” You slide off him and lie back, and he flips onto his stomach. He sucks on your clit and rubs on your g-spot just enough to get you squirming. You squeal and come, snapping around his fingers. As you come, he crooks his fingers, and you come harder. You scream as you soak his face even more.

“Good girl, come for me.”

You’re boneless and relaxed when you finally finish, but Brendon is still wound up tight. He flips over immediately to touch himself, gasping when he gets his hand on his aching erection. He uses his wet fingers to stroke his cock quickly. You wish you could touch him, but you’re too wiped, and you would hate to throw off his rhythm. “Baby, I’m so close. Thought I might come just from feeling you on my face,” he grunts.

“Oh god, sir. Can’t wait to see you come.”

With that, he comes. It rolls down his fist and hits his legs and stomach. You gaze at him in total admiration, loving his blissed expression and deep moans.

He moves his hand from his softening cock towards your face. “You still wanna taste me, baby?” He asks, and you suck his fingers into your mouth fervently. Long after you’ve sucked him clean, he removes his fingers from your greedy mouth.

He pulls you into his arms and not even your powerful orgasm from earlier compares to how wonderful it feels to be able to wrap your arms back around him and pull him as tightly to your body as you can. “Missed you so much, B,” you mumble happily, dropping the dominance and submission for a second to just cuddle with your husband.

“Missed you too, Y/N.”

•••

You’re back in the bath with him the next morning, but this time you can stroke him while he rubs your clit, so you’re in a much better mood. Brendon nips at your shoulder. “So how was that punishment? Should I add it to the rotation?” he asks. You shake your head quickly, and he laughs. “Tell me how you really feel,” he says sarcastically. “But seriously, is that a ‘never again’ or ‘only for certain offenses’ punishment?”

You’re conflicted. You really hated it, but you did feel like you could handle it the whole time. “If it was a few days instead of a full week, or if I felt like I really deserved to be badly punished, I might be more willing to endure it, but that was brutal. Definitely not for something as minor as trying to get off without you. I need to touch you all the time,” you explain, squeezing Brendon's dick harder.

In return, he moves faster on you. “We can change that rule too if you need. I love you touching yourself; you just said you like when I’m all possessive and controlling. In all honesty, I’d been wanting to try that punishment out for a while, but you don’t break the rules very often. So I had to leap on the opportunity.”

“No, no, it’s a hot rule. I just might wake you up in the middle of the night to finger me from now on,” you half-joke.

Brendon kisses your neck, “There are worse ways to be woken up. I love you. Even when you’re bad.”

“I love you too,” you say. “All the time. When you take care of me, when you get me off, even when you're being rude, and not letting me touch you. You're the best dom I could ask for, and the best husband in the world.”

[fuckyeahtx]

Renay Mandel Corren

Obituary- December 15, 2021

El Paso, TX—A plus-sized Jewish lady redneck died in El Paso on Saturday.

Of itself hardly news, or good news if you're the type that subscribes to the notion that anybody not named you dying in El Paso, Texas is good news. In which case have I got news for you: the bawdy, fertile, redheaded matriarch of a sprawling Jewish-Mexican-Redneck American family has kicked it. This was not good news to Renay Mandel Corren's many surviving children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, many of whom she even knew and, in her own way, loved. There will be much mourning in the many glamorous locales she went bankrupt in: McKeesport, PA, Renay's birthplace and where she first fell in love with ham, and atheism; Fayetteville and Kill Devil Hills, NC, where Renay's dreams, credit rating and marriage are all buried; and of course Miami, FL, where Renay's parents, uncles, aunts, and eternal hopes of all Miami Dolphins fans everywhere, are all buried pretty deep. Renay was preceded in death by Don Shula.

Because she was my mother, the death of zaftig good-time gal Renay Corren at the impossible old age of 84 is newsworthy to me, and I treat it with the same respect and reverence she had for, well, nothing. A more disrespectful, trash-reading, talking and watching woman in NC, FL or TX was not to be found. Hers was an itinerant, much-lived life, a Yankee Florida liberal Jewish Tough Gal who bowled 'em in Japan, rolled 'em in North Carolina and was a singularly unique parent. Often frustrated by the stifling, conservative culture of the South, Renay turned her voracious mind to the home front, becoming a model stay at home parent, a supermom, really, just the perfect PTA lady, volunteer, amateur baker and-AHHAHAA HA! HA! HA! Just kidding, y'all! Renay - Rosie to her friends, and this was a broad who never met a stranger - worked double shifts with Doreen, ate a ton of carbs with Bernie, and could occasionally be stirred to stew some stuffed cabbage for the kids. She played cards like a shark, bowled and played cribbage like a pro, and laughed with the boys until the wee hours, long after the last pin dropped. At one point in the 1980's, Renay was the 11th or 12th-ranked woman in cribbage in America, and while that could be a lie, it sounds great in print. She also told us she came up with the name for Sunoco, and I choose to believe this, too. Yes, Renay lied a lot. But on the plus side, Renay didn't cook, she didn't clean, and she was lousy with money, too. Here's what Renay was great at: dyeing her red roots, weekly manicures, dirty jokes, pier fishing, rolling joints and buying dirty magazines. She said she read them for the articles, but filthy free speech was really Renay's thing. Hers was a bawdy, rowdy life lived large, broke and loud. We thought Renay could not be killed. God knows, people tried. A lot. Renay has been toying with death for a decades, but always beating it and running off in her silver Chevy Nova. Covid couldn't kill Renay. Neither could pneumonia twice, infections, blood clots, bad feet, breast cancer twice, two mastectomies, two recessions, multiple bankruptcies, marriage to a philandering Sergeant Major, divorce in the 70's, six kids, one cesarean, a few abortions from the Quietly Famous Abortionist of Spring Lake, NC or an affair with Larry King in the 60's. Renay was preceded in death by her ex-boyfriend, Larry King. Renay was also sadly preceded in death by her beloved daughter, Cathy Sue Corren Lester Trammel Webster, of Kill Devil Hills, NC, who herself was preceded in death by two marriages, a fudge shop and one eyeball lost in a near-fatal Pepsi bottle incident that will absolutely be explored in future obituaries. Losing her 1-eyed badass b**** of a daughter in 2007 devastated Renay, but it also made her quite homeless, since Cathy pretty much picked up the tab. A talented and gregarious grifter, Renay M. Corren eked out her final years of luxury (she literally retired at 62) under the care, compassion, checking accounts and, evidently, unlimited patience of her favorite son and daughter-in-law, Michael and Lourdes Corren, of world-famous cow sanctuary El Paso, TX. Renay is also survived by her son Jeffrey Corren and his endlessly tolerant wife Shirley, of Powell's Point, NC; Scott Corren, and what's left of his colon, of Hampton, VA; Marc and Laura Corren, the loveliest dirt farmers of Vernon, TX (seriously, where is that); and her favorite son, the gay one who writes catty obituaries in his spare time, Andy Corren, of - obviously - New York City. Plus two beloved granddogs, Mia and Hudson. Renay was particularly close to and grateful for the lavish attentions of her grandaughter Perla and her great-grandchildren Elijah and Leroy, as well as her constant cruise companions Sam Trammell of Greenville, NC, and Adam Corren of El Paso, TX. Renay took tremendous pride in making 1 gay son and 2 gay grandchildren, Sam Trammell and Adam Corren.

There will be a very disrespectful and totally non-denominational memorial on May 10, 2022, most likely at a bowling alley in Fayetteville, NC. The family requests absolutely zero privacy or propriety, none what so ever, and in fact encourages you to spend some government money today on a 1-armed bandit, at the blackjack table or on a cheap cruise to find our inheritance. She spent it all, folks. She left me nothing but these lousy memories. Which I, and my family of 5 brothers and my sister-in-laws, nephews, friends, nieces, neighbors, ex-boyfriends, Larry King's children, who I guess I might be one of, the total strangers who all, to a person, loved and will cherish her. Forever. Please think of the brightly-frocked, frivolous, funny and smart Jewish redhead who is about to grift you, tell you a filthy joke, and for Larry King's sake: LAUGH. Bye, Mommy. We loved you to bits.

RIP RENAY MANDEL CORREN 10 MAY 1937 - 11 DEC 2021

[technogeekmituna]

ROTT SPOILERS

Man, that ending really just ruined my emotional state, and I've been in this weird mood of "That didn't happen, right?" to "DreamWorks really can't handle series ending movies, huh" to "Jim wouldn't give up the amulet like that without a plan" to "I'm bitterly happy it concluded, but I'm so frustrated that I have a headache because that ending leads to a complete loss of everything they learned and accomplished"

I dont understand the writing. I saw Guillermo credited as a writer, and I'm wondering if the directors are to blame then. Cause while the plot was pretty cohesive, it felt like some stuff was rushed or kinda like brushed over so everything could keep pace together. Like, after the first act of the movie everything started to feel a little disjointed, and then, like, I feel, like, the time traveling element is a bit... nonsensical. We already established what would happen if Jim decided not to take the amulet. Draag took his place and the Eternal Night happened and the world essentially ended, because Jim needed to become the Trollhunter.

Like, I can't understand the logic why Jim would let go of everything he said was meant for him and lead to him, it was all purposeful because he was meant to be the Trollhunter. He died for that realization, literally and figuratively (in the mental state to become more.)

You can't-- The writers can't just expect that ending to make any sense when Jim is the only person to remember anything but he reset everything to EPISODE ONE.

And also, why and how did everyone just assume Jim meant he would go back to prevent everything by going back to the beginning instead of, like, a couple days prior or a year prior or something

What does him going back to the beginning, giving Toby the responsibilities of the amulet-- Actually, hold on, what does Toby have now that he didn't at the beginning of the series now that time got retconned after a hard fought good ending that got restarted? Everything got a fresh start soo.... whatever Toby acquired or learned or accomplished in his character arc the first time around doesn't exist. Not to mention what does the amulet see in Toby now?!

The amulet wouldn't choose Toby just because Jim told him to take the canal. Jim doesn't have that authority. The amulet would have found a way back to Jim or something. Nothing against Toby, but, like, I don't think he would have the fortitude or capabilities to endure what was required of Jim to become the Trollhunter.

Nothing would play out the same. Everything is different standing at the divergence of Toby hearing the amulet. It's automatically a doomed timeline, lmao. I'm sorry, but??

I hate what happened with Nomura. That was really uncool how they took her out. Like, I get how they wrote her death and I guess that reads fine, but it was not executed well. It was too quick, too sudden, unworthy. Just poor.

I don't think Strickler needed to sacrifice himself because it was for nothing anyway. I mean to be fucking fair, what did they think highly explosive human made bombs were going to do against an ancient wizard wielding a giant titan of ice?? It was to be expected that it wouldn't work. Yes, yes, they were doing all that they could, but after all they'd encountered with magic and shit you would think they'd be a little smarter about their choices. It was just unnecessary. And while I did cry, especially because I felt bad for Jim and his mom, I have to ask what the fuck was that with his dad? Why did Barbara bring that up for it to go nowhere? No insight, no plot push forward, no revelations, just the same we've been told before and a "We don't give up no matter what" line.

I loved the fight with the two titans. It was good and well executed and hard-hitting. Nira died and her death was for a reason, a purpose.

Toby's death was impactful and sad, and he did stay by Jim to the end. It was for a purpose and it written well to work.

But Trollhunters have never had a good relationship with handling character deaths, imo. They're too fast to move on or the pacing sucks or it's like out of nowhere and done and now we stew with that death. Like, they hit emotionally, but more so because we loved those characters, not really because they died

I absolutely hate retconning deaths. It's a psych out. It ruins the mood. It makes it pointless. It pads out time. It's exhausting unless handled right and with a purpose.

The ROTT ending was baaaad. To be clear, Jim starting completely over was questionable and confusing and skeptical, but what made it baaaad was him giving Toby the amulet. I need context. I need an explanation. Why? What's the difference now? What will change? Will anything change? What's the new outcome??

Like, if they had used the last couple of minutes to breeze by everything again to catch us back up to the retconned ending to show what would happen with Toby being the new Trollhunter, then I might not be as sour and salty and bitter and other nasty flavors of mood.

But you can't tell me everything will play exactly as it did before. Absolutely not. Character arcs lost. Character development undone. Character relationships will be different. Big, impactful choices will differ or not exist at all or have vastly different outcomes. Nothing will be the same, and nothing will be better for this.

I just. Don't. Understand. I know some things were cut, but I don't see how those things would make the writing for the ending better unless things cut were explicitly on the ending and we're missing severe context for Jim's decision.

Sigh. Whatever. I'm gonna fucking pout and try to be 76% content with what we got.

[noocturnalchild]

BLIND

One shot for our favorire detective Flip Zimmerman x reader ! 

Warning : Smut , NSFW, Sub!reader 

********************************************

“Hey you”

He threw his keys and cigarette packet on the table and clicked his boots towards you, as you busied yourself in his kitchen. He lifted the pot’s cover and inhaled the scent of the stew you were making. It was really not much. He said nothing, as was his habit, but you could tell from his nostrils flaring and the tiny smile that graced his lips that he was content.

“Hey” you shyly replied.

You liked him coming home to you putting yourself to use. It was the least you could do.

A couple months ago, Flip fished you out from a pretty shitty situation and shittier life you didn’t want to recall anymore. He offered you to stay with him till you figured your life out and you accepted, right away. Mere months that seemed like eons ago, and you were more than grateful for him, for that big sassy grump, cladded in his eternal plaid flannels.

“Bedroom is off limits” he said the first time you set foot in his house, with a serious look and a more serious tone, and you just nodded, apprehensive, but then he compensated, made sure you were more than comfortable in the guest room that became yours,  bought you new curtains, put in the trash the old gloomy pieces and replaced them with light and pretty ones, made sure to fix them himself. You thanked him more than necessary that day, and he just hummed.

Flip was bossy and secretive as fuck, always chain-smoking, everywhere, outside, in his pick-up, inside the house, his living room, the kitchen, his bedroom, everywhere, chewing on the stick of a cigarette and frowning at some documents that he always kept away from your curious glances.

“Go play away, girl” he would say, frowning even more as you pouted, just to smile when you turned your back to him, doing just what he asked, playing away.

You liked to keep his house tidy. He had little furniture, just the functional stuff, but you managed to insert, here and there, glasses full of flowers you picked up on the sidewalks, arranging them in what you thought were pretty bouquets and putting them in his large glasses, displaying them in the kitchen and the living room. He never commented, eyeing the things and walking around, frowning at his documents and cigarettes.

His place was warmer since you got to stay with him, he came to a nice dinner every night and the house smelled better, he noticed it all, but refrained from saying shit about it, ignoring the good changes, afraid of getting used to them just to lose it all in the coming months. He knew you were temporary here, and he hated to think about the day you were going to announce that you’d found a decent job that would allow you to pay rent and live by your own means. He actually dreaded the whole thing, mildly panicking every time he saw you, leaning over some newspaper, circling the job announcements you found interesting, just to breathe out of relief every time you came home disgusted, bitching about how awful the boss was or the dirty places you went to or just something. He would cheer you up halfheartedly and go out smoking.

“Well, there’s always tomorrows y/n”

And you always smiled at that.

As big a man as he was, He still wasn’t comfortable around you, when you slid closer to him, you both on the couch, casually watching the baseball games on Saturday nights. Or when he bumped into you in the bathroom, in your sleep clothes, and tried not to stare too long at your tits, obviously free from any constraints under those thin sleep shirts you liked to wear.

Sometimes he felt sick of himself, thinking of you in ways he shouldn’t, so he just kept keeping his distances, closing himself off, as you kept being good to him, always cheerful and happy around him, like a bee, his little bee.

Often, he came home very late, tired, exhausted. He let himself black out on the couch and when you woke up, late at night, to drink some water or go to the bathroom and you saw him all crumpled on himself on the couch, you made sure to take off his boots and cover him carefully. That, he knew. You also tucked away rebel hair strands off his eyes and watched him snore for a while, and smiled to the rare peaceful face he made when asleep, and of course, this, he would never know.

You knew he worked hard, you knew that he was like he was because of it. All the horror of crimes, all sort of wicked fuckers he dealt with everyday, the interrogatories, the stress, the anger and the nerves of his fucking job, the guns and the hematomas on dead corpses. Photographs, hundreds of them between his folders, hours and days of collecting evidence and sometimes pursuing false tracks, and you would expect him to come home to you with a fucking smile plastered on his face? Of course not, and if you were there, you better make yourself useful and alleviate some of this burden, and not expect a single thank you in return.

*

That night too, Flip came in late, very late, and collapsed on his couch, boots and jacket on. You watched him as he started snoring right away, brows pinched together, even in his sleep. It had been an exceptionally rough day, you concluded, and smiled to him nonetheless. You reached to free him of his leather boots, and he sighed in his slumber, burying his face under his arm. He was obviously uncomfortable, and instead of covering him as was your habit, you decided to push your luck a bit.

“Flip”

You whispered, close to his face, and his eyelids fluttered, selling him out. You smiled.

He ignored you but you were determined.

“Flip?” you shook his shoulder a bit and he grumbled “Come on please, go to sleep, let me take this jacket off you at least, you will be hot and bothered with it on all night” you continued, always whispering as he groaned low, tucking  his face further into his sleeves and you laughed this time.

Emboldened, you grabbed his hand and pushed him up, and it startled him, your bold move; his eyes widened, challenging you to push further.

“Don’t push your luck with me, feather weight!” he threatened you, fully awake now. But you just laughed and you saw him hide an amused smile. It was a game then.

You pushed again, two hands pulling on one big warm paw. His hand was so big, why was it so big?

“Come on Flip, please just this time” you whined, as he closed his eyes again, fully conscious.

“Please” you sang, “ it’s for your own good, you know”.

No reaction.

“I want you to have a good sleep tonight, Flip, come on” you said, softer, and he blinked, slowly opening his eyes, and this time he let you drag him off the couch. He shrugged off his jacket in one swift movement, then, docile, he let you guide him to his bedroom. It was suddenly too quiet, him just looking at you as you walked backward, hand always in his much bigger one.

You knew that his bedroom was sacred territory, but he didn’t say a thing when you didn’t stop at his door and continued to walk backward to his bed. He kept his eyes locked on yours, intense brown pupils daring you to stop, or not to. You decided to act on your instincts and kept going, holding your breath. He finally sat on the edge of his bed, and before you thought of letting go of his hand and stop the dangerous game you were both playing, he threw his big body backward, taking you down with him with little effort, making you both bounce on his mattress.  

You stayed like that for seconds, you on top of him, laid there, not daring breathe or move or speak.

Fast heartbeats and ragged breaths filled the quiet 3 am night. You didn’t move off him, you didn’t scream or run away, no, you didn’t push him away when he slowly put his arms around you, pressed you up a bit, tightly against him so your face was leveled with his. He looked at you with heavy lidded eyes, searching for something in yours, and he found it.

“Didn’t I say, bedroom. is. off. limits?” he shook you a little with each word and something in you ignited, at the deep low rumble he used to talk to you, at the veiled half threat, half promise of it.

“I… I’m sorry” you barely breathed, lips dangerously close to his, and he smirked.

“That’s it. You’re a good girl, you know that?” he whispered, nudging your nose, close, closer, too close.

Your heart wasn’t the only part of you that fluttered at his words, as you felt warmth spreading through your veins, and your body vibrated against his. He smirked again, pressing his lips to yours in a sweet and sleepy kiss. You let him, closed your eyes, then kissed him back, tentative little licks at his lips, he hummed a little and you responded with a moan.

“Hungry?” he asked. You couldn’t but nod, already feeling desire overwhelming you, wanting him to talk to you again in that tone of his, but it was his fingers that started to toy with your shirt instead. Your hands responded, rubbing and pulling on his flannel, and his muscles tensed as your lips caught fire, licking and biting and sucking at his, stopping only to catch your breath.

“Fierce little thing” he panted, reaching for your ass, patting it through the light shorts you were wearing just to pinch it hard, big hands splayed on both cheeks, squeezing hungrily as you moaned against his neck again, breath hot, burning his already excited skin.

“Flip …please”

Your hands reached for his flannel buttons, trembling fingers trying to get rid of the fucking fabric that stood in your way but he yanked your hand off and glared.

“You think you can spoil my rest, come to my room and do as you please, and get away with it like that?”

You hiccupped, frustration and hunger coiling in your stomach, pulsing in your core… This man, his voice, his tone, the look in his eyes, glistening in the dark.

“I’m sorry… please… Flip, let me” you begged, shameless, hips starting to grind against his and he groaned.

“Little bee” he puffed and rolled you on your back, looked at you as his hand reached to both your wrists trapping them up behind your head.

“Lights on, wanna see you” he let go of one hand, let you reach for the night stand, fiddle with the switch of his night-light until you managed to get it right. Dim light spread across the room, making your eyes squint a bit as he took you in, sucking on his lips when his eyes fell on your obvious hard nipples under your see-through night tee.

“See, much better. You look beautiful”

You blushed at the sudden soft tone, at the look of complete awe mixed with hunger he gave you.

“Flip.. I… I wanted this…you for so long”

“I know, doll, ain’t blind”

He dived into you, without restraint, mouth squeezing your perked buds through the thin fabric. He sucked at them, moaned into them, wetted the material, rolled his tongue, using teeth and spit as you arched your back, pushed your tits into his hot mouth, moaned high, hands both trapped in one big fist.

God, he was so hard, hard the minute he took you to bed with him. You were doing this to him, taking him out of his mind, out of his life, out of his shitty work, his shitty problems, and all the ugly things, all at once, making him feel good, so good, out of his mind.

“I thought you were…” you said when he let you catch your breath, and you bit your lip at the nerve of it.

He gave you a confused look.

“Blind” you breathed.

And his eyes turned sad and thoughtful, and he kissed your neck, slow and aching.

“Nah…” he sucked at your pulsing spot.

“I knew” another kiss.

“I know it all” another lick “want it all” a moan.

“with you”

Your body was just one tense chord, pleasure striking you, hot white heat between your thighs.

“I want you to keep doing all the pretty little things you do… those things you do for me , ya know, your little flowers and your pretty smiles, hum?”

He cupped your chin, looking at you tenderly, making you smile again, eyes fogged with happy tears as you nodded .

“Let me take these off then” you whispered, eyeing his clothes. God, he was still fully clothed, you couldn’t take it anymore.

He kissed you again, tongue battling with yours as he freed your hands that went tangling in his silky hair immediately, tousling his dark locks. You hummed in satisfaction but found little relief, so your hands fled to his flannel again, tugging it off, pulling angrily at his undershirt, sending it to the floor, not losing a second as your fingers began to unzip his jeans, freeing him of the heavy fabric before taking him in, heavy short breaths escaping your parted lips. You could swear you were drooling, as you flattened your palm on the hard planes of his abdomen, feeling the tremors and the heat of his belly, before traveling to his crotch, sensing his hot heavy cock as it pulsed with need, and you both closed your eyes for a second, reveling in the moment.

He hissed when you experimentally started to stroke him through his boxers, hazy eyes focused on your task as you sat on your knees. You pressed kisses to his stomach, flickered your tongue on his belly button, licking there, hand always working on his length, caressing his balls ghostly as he tried to control his breath, fisted your hair, played with it in his big strong hands, scratched your scalp gently, seeking your attention.

“Phillip…”

“It’s a risky game you playing down there, little bee, isn’t it?”

It was the first time you used his name like that, and you looked up, just to be met with the silver glint of a thin chain around his neck that caught your eyes. Small pretty six branch silver star decorated it.

You’d never seen him wear it, you’d never noticed it, tucked away under his shirts. It was just normal; you’d never seen him without a shirt before tonight, big shy grump that he was.

You couldn’t resist as you jumped up in his arms, pecking at his chain on his skin, peppering small kisses around it, pulling with your teeth on the silver thing, it took his breath away.

“You want me that much?” he let out a hoarse laugh, his hands were everywhere.

“Yeah… yes… I do” you buried your mouth in his chest, sucking at his nipple. Sloppy and wet.

“You don’t know what you doing to me, drooling over me like that” he panted, and his fingers wandered south, seeking your heat through your night shorts. You were embarrassingly wet, and you gasped and whined when he brushed your clit through the fabric.

“Be good to me, lay on your back”, he commanded and you obliged. You reached for your sticky tee to pull it off but he stopped you, hunched it up just under your breasts, and fisted it with one strong hand.

“No. This stays.”

He slapped one breast, making both joggle. You hiccupped again, arched your back. Round dark stains formed on the fabric around your tits, wet from his spit and your sweat and he seemed so satisfied of his doing.

With one swift movement, he yanked your shorts down with your panties, exposing your wet pussy to his prying eyes.

“Spread those pretty legs baby, let me see”

And you did.

“How do you want me?” You smiled to him, dizzy.

“Like that” he glared, ogling you.

And he splayed two fingers down your wet slit, massaging your entrance, pinching at your sensitive pink folds, rolling your clit, toying with it, making you quiver under his touch, whine and moan and drool on his sheets as your eyes rolled shut from the languid pleasure he was giving you.

His cock was painfully hard now, straining in his briefs, wanting relief. He pulled at your hand, brought it to his erection and guided it, slid it up and down. You teased his head, splaying your middle finger on the wet spot that pre cum formed on his slit, rubbing gentle circles that made him shudder.

“Fuck y/n, pull it off ..off.. fuck”

He was losing it, with the way you took his free cock in your small hand, the way you pumped it gently between your fingers, caressed the swollen veins, teased the head some more, cupped his balls, rolled them softly, moaned at just the sight of it… but god, when you sat back up and kissed it, parted those pretty lips of yours and gave it a loud kiss on the head, god, he felt it twitch, spasm, ready to burst.

“I swear to God y/n…” He barely breathed.

You smiled teasingly at him as you let yourself fall back on his pillows, and rolled your hips to remind him of his stilled fingers in your pussy. He decided to punish you a little and pushed two big fingers right in you, making you cry out. He didn’t let you recover as he started pumping them and curling them inside, in and out, fast, rough, punctuated by his ragged breaths and the slapping of skin as he fucked his cock into his fist, eyes glued to your pussy, to the sight of your hole greedily swallowing his fingers to the knuckles.

You reached for your stiff clit that needed attention, chasing an orgasm that started to creep in the pit of your belly, fire licking at your skin. He let you, spurred you on, praised you, and you moaned for him, moaned like a whore, like you never did in bed, with anyone.

“Go on baby, cum for me, cum for me here …let that tight pussy milk my fingers”

Your vision shattered, white pleasure shaking your limbs in erratic spasms as your hips jerked up and your head rolled back. He stilled his fingers, drenched in your cum, pressed them to your sweet spot, collecting some more before bringing them to his mouth, sucking them clean as he watched you coming down from your high.

You were so glad Flip was a natural secluded guy, choosing to live in a quiet sheltered place. You got only tall trees and crickets and squirrels as witnesses of your 3 am hot sex symphony.

“Good?” he asked and you nodded, catching your breath.

“Good. Now, doll, what is that you’re staring at?” he asked, voice deep, deep, as he played with his cock, teasing you.

“Your cock, sir. I’m staring at your cock” you purred.

Damn, you wanted to kill him?

“Let me hear that again” he said in his threatening tone, the one that made your insides melt again, begging for him.

“You cock, SIR.” you punctuated your last word, making his cock jump in his hand, and he squeezed the base, preventing himself from coming there and then as he decided to play with you a little longer, make you wait for it.

“Ahuh? Like what you see?” he tapped the head on your flushed pussy folds, started to gather your wetness, teasing you.

You squirmed “Yes, sir, I do”

“Want to take it?” he reached to one perked nipple, twisted it.

“Mghm.. Yeah” you pushed you hips into his cock, trying to get the tip in you, in vain. “Yeah, please, give it to me, I want your big cock, sir”. You were desperate.

“Want that fat cock?, huh, doll face?”

“Oh yeah, want it, need it, please put it in me” you mewled.

He didn’t need to hear more, grabbed your hips with two big hands, and pushed in. You both groaned from the intensity of it. The heat of it, the intimacy of it. You both reached for one another, wanting to take one another’s hand, knot your fingers together, connect, connect, connect.

“Fuck y/n… has been a while baby, you’re impossibly tight” he panted in your neck. He was impossibly thick and you were impossibly tight and it was heady, the feeling of his body flush against you, hands entwined, legs entangled, his scent invading your head, his facial hair tickling at your collarbone as he babbled, plush lips kissing every patch of skin available, lost in you, just as lost in you as you were lost in him… You whimpered and tried to push him further, deeper into you, angled your hips so your thighs were squeezing his, heels digging in his flesh, and he moved in and out of you, slow torturous motions, driving you both insane.

“Fuck Phillip, faster please…ah-“

He liked how his name sounded on your lips, and hell if he would deny you anything. He backed up a little bit and nudged his nose with yours, pressed his forehead to yours as you trapped your legs around his waist, giving him better access and you nodded.

He then started a faster rhythm, and you could hear your pussy making those obscene noises from it being fucked so good and fast and deep, balls slapping your ass, as his pubic hair scraped your clit, drowning you in pleasure and anticipation. Your nails scratched the back of his neck, your teeth nibbled at his earlobe.

He tracked your mouth and kissed you hard and rough, his silver chain batting at his chest as his hips went wild and your moans high, loud, vulgar. You didn’t care.

“Gonna fuck you so good baby doll, gonna fill you up so good, stretch that tight pussy so good” he breathed in your mouth, and you felt your second orgasm building so fast through your veins. God, you liked his cock, you liked how he moved his hips. He knew exactly what to do with you, he was one talented man, but his voice, it was just on another level, you could cum only from him talking to you like that.

“Please Phillip, just talk to me and I’ll cum”

“Ahuh? Really baby? God you killing me you know? You’re so good to me, look at yourself, taking my cock so nice, huh, Look at your pretty tits bouncing from taking my cock, pussy sucking cum outta that cock, fuck!” he rolled his hips in tight hard circles, and that was it. you spasmed under him, gasped in his mouth and he swallowed your cries in a searing kiss, as your pussy gushed around his cock, milked it, clenched around it.

“Did so good baby, yeah just like that”

He fucked you through your climax, so close now, knew it was coming, so fast and hard as his balls tightened. He pulled your legs up, hooked them on his shoulders, balanced his weight on his knees, and watched as his cock slid in and out your cunt, drenched in your cum and sweat.

He was so beautiful like that, you thought in your haze, face focused, those brows pinched together, again, but for completely different reasons this time. Locks of hair beating on his face, chain beating up his flushed chest, so beautiful as he pounded you, rammed into you, big hands manhandling you, so masculine and strong. Definition of sex.

His hips jerked, cock twitched in your pussy and he pulled out. He wanted you to see his load of cum as it burst out of his slit, jets of thick white ropes painting your belly and tits. His cock twitched and jolted again, leaking some more, until it was all over your body, hot and slick on your gleaming skin.

You splayed your fingers on your body, collected it and spread it some more on your skin, humming and buzzing in pure bliss as you watched your man recover from his high, staring at you, shaking his head in disbelief and amazement.

“Fuck baby that was… So hot” he huffed, incredulous, and you both laughed.

“Come here big man” you opened your arms for him and smiled, all teeth. He threw his big self on you, still laughing as you combed his hair with your fingers, and kissed him soft and sweet behind his ear.

“Can we go grab a bite now?” he asked after he took extra care cleaning you both up. He extended his hand, and you took it, beaming at him.

“You mean breakfast?”

“Don’t tell me…” Flip reached for his alarm clock , whistled long and incredulous when he saw the time. 5:45 am, no fucking way.

The first bird started its song outside, mocking him, and you laughed.

“What should I do with you now? keeping me awake all night huh?” He spanked your ass, playful as he grabbed for his first cigarette of the day and you rolled your eyes at him.

“Won’t be the last night, I tell you” You bit your lip as you took his hand, leading him to his kitchen.

“Ahuh, you smartass” but he smiled, kissed you again, knowing exactly that it wouldn’t.