#or i will turn your scalp into a lovely stew!

[kelsey-thenotaman]

trust.. the process..

(ALSO creds to @rainpalm for the reference image i luv u <33)

[lawshambless]

Jealous || Zoro x Reader

Helloo!! Haven’t written a fanfic in such a long time but I’m currently on a one piece binge and Zoro has me in my feels eep

I really want to get back into writing so if you have any requests please send them through!!

warnings: nothing really, a tad bit of jealously from zoro

word count: 1.3k

Zoro knew that he had absolutely nothing to worry about. You were his and he was yours.

He wasn’t oblivious to the way you looked at him, everyone could see it - you gazed at him like he was the one who hung up the damn moon, eyes twinkling with soft smiles and blushes. There was never anything but pure adoration lacing your expression.

Zoro was no different - he couldn’t fight his lovestruck grin or the way his cheeks flushed whenever you were close. He would stare at you longingly even when you were just across the room.

It was clear to anyone - you were both stupidly, beautifully in love.

But right now, as Zoro silently stewed watching you chat with some random guy from another crew, oblivious to the way they kept eyeing you, Zoro could not control the jealously that was gnawing at his insides. He couldn’t suppress his scowl as you carelessly laughed and joked with another man, a bitter taste settling on his tongue.

Usually at gatherings like these, Zoro made sure he was near you. If he couldn’t be pressed against your side, he would be touching you in some other way; a leg wrapped around yours, an arm lazily slung across the back of your chair, his fingers gently playing with your hair, or a finger hooked around one of your own. The man was hopelessly lovesick and needed to have you close.

But tonight, you had been pulled away to the opposite end of the room and Zoro was forced to watch you from afar. He was visibly growing impatient, his scowl deepening by the minute as he waited for an opportunity to slide himself right next to you, where he belonged.

In the past, Zoro would have rudely interrupted the conversation, grabbing your wrist to whisk you away. But now, he was a changed man - he knew he had to suppress his caveman tendencies and wait until your conversation reached a natural lull. It definitely didn’t have anything to do with him not wanting to be on the receiving end of your scolding. Definitely not.

After what felt like an eternity of waiting, Zoro’s moment finally arrived. The guy noticed your drink was empty and quickly offered to get you a refill. You politely agreed and thanked him, bidding him farewell momentarily.

You knew Zoro had been watching the two of you and you found his impatience incredibly amusing. So when you felt his strong arms wrap around your waist and his fingers subtly slip under your shirt to graze against your skin, you couldn’t suppress your giggles. You subconsciously leant against Zoro’s chest, feeling your eyes slip close as your very clingy boyfriend buried his nose in the crook of your neck. He left small kisses on your shoulder, finding solace in finally being close to you. You laughed lightly when Zoro's body heaved against you as gently sighed into your skin and you couldn't resist pressing a chaste kiss to the side of his head. God, you just adored him.

“Honestly, I’m surprised it took you this long.” You teased, bringing a hand up to card through his soft hair, your fingers gently raking against his scalp. Zoro groaned, playfully nudging your head with his own.

“Shut up.” He muttered pathetically, tightening his grip around your waist. He knew he was being ridiculous, but he just couldn’t help it - he was a selfish man when it came to you.

“You’re so cute when you’re all jealous and brooding.”

“M’not jealous.” Zoro playfully nipped at your shoulder, grinning against your skin when you let out a shriek. Beaming widely, you turned in Zoro’s hold, looping your arms around his neck. Your stomach clenched and you bit down on your lower lip as Zoro slowly slid his hands up the outside of your thighs to rest on your hips, stepping between your legs to bring you impossibly closer. You loved the way he was looking at you right now - like you were the only thing that mattered.

“Whatever you say.” You sung out, unable to suppress the goofy smile on your face as you looked up at your adorable, dumb, jealous boyfriend. Zoro groaned, rolling his eyes and tilting his head back dramatically feigning annoyance, but you caught the glint in his eye.

“M’kay fine. I was.” Before you could grin smugly at him and begin your teasing, Zoro splayed his fingers across your back and pulled your chests flush together, pressing his forehead against your own. “Not my fault you’re just too damn irresistible."

You blushed profusely as Zoro captured your lips in a kiss. He nipped on your bottom lip, smirking when you groaned, your body all but melting in his embrace. Zoro’s hand cupped your jaw, his thumb gently tracing the column of neck as your lips moved lazily in sync. You tangled your fingers through the hair on the nape of his neck, loving the way you felt his lips tug into a grin.

“Too. Damn. Irresistible.” he repeated lowly, a smirk on his face as he captured your lips in kiss after kiss. Zoro kissed you again and again, enthralled by the way you completely surrendered to him; you were putty in his fingertips.

“Come sit with me?” Zoro requested quietly as he gently kissed your cheek. Pulling back, you looked at him pointedly, raising your eyebrows.

“Zoro, I was talking with that guy, I don’t want to be rude-”

“Please?” He interrupted you. His voice was gentle and pleading, but it was the look on his face that made you cave. So vulnerable and open to your love, completely different from the stoic man you met a year ago.

“Alright, you buffoon.” You grumbled, feigning exasperation but inside you were melting. Especially when he shot you a boyish grin and grabbed your hand eagerly to intertwine your fingers. You inwardly swooned as he led you to a couch tucked away in the corner of the room, beaming at you over his shoulder.

Zoro sat first before pulling you close to his side, tucking you under his arm and lifting your legs to drape across his thigh. Sighing contently, you leant your head against Zoro's shoulder transfixed on the way his fingers delicately traced up and down your spine, lulling you into a perfect state of tranquility despite the chaos ensuing around you.

“Much better.” Zoro triumphantly grinned at you, smacking an obnoxious kiss to your forehead. You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t wipe the smile off your face.

“You’re so annoying. You’re lucky I love you.” Zoro could see the adoration in your eyes as you stared up at him; the pink blush that dusted your cheeks and the gentle smile that was reserved for him and only him on your lips was a dead giveaway. You leaned up and gently kissed him again, letting your lips linger for a moment before pulling away. Despite your joking tone, Zoro felt his heart thump painfully in his chest at your words.

“I know you do.” Zoro tried to act cocky, smirking smugly down at you but you were used to his antics by now. Rolling your eyes you kissed him once more, running your hands up his firm chest to rest on his shoulders. Pulling away you jutted out your bottom lip playfully and looked up at him with pleading eyes and Zoro couldn’t resist. He brushed his thumb across your pink cheeks and lightly traced your bottom lip.

The guy you were once talking to and his own jealously was a distant memory right now - all Zoro wanted to remember was the way you were looking at him, right now in his arms where you belonged.

“Love you so much darlin'.” He finally whispered, looking down at you with so much love you felt as though you were going to implode.

“I know you do.” You retorted cheekily. Cocking an eyebrow, Zoro hastily began digging his fingers into your hips relishing in your playful shrieks of laughter.

He was yours and you were his.

[sanjifucker42069]

An Honest Mistake

Sanji x Reader

I am such a slut for character A catches character B partially or fully unclothed by accident.

Also I don't hate Zoro, I just wanted to write him in a way that was concurrent with Sanji's little bitch attitude. This is 100% written with anime Sanji in mind, love that pathetic wet cat of a man

Bro this turned into something...Reader is MEAN in this lmao, but tbh I really don't blame her.

Warnings: fem!reader, walking in on accident, mean!reader, sub!sanji, bro I would call this dubcon...Sanji reciprocates tho, unprotected p in v (bro, safe sex)

Word Count: 2,600-ish

The sun was high in the sky, the birds were singing, and the Going Merry was moving languidly through the sea. What a perfect day.

Sanji had to piss. The blonde pacing back and forth before the bathroom door.

"Zoro, fuck this I'm coming in."  Sanji threatened, banging repeatedly on the door.

The mosshead snapped back at him through the thick wood, voice hindered by the barrier. "Wanna see my dick that bad, shitty waiter?" 

Sanji bristled with anger, kicking the door. If he was lucky, Zoro would startle, slip in the shower, and break his neck. While the idea was lovely, he wouldn't let that asshole have the last word. "No one wants to see that carrot stick excuse for a dick. I have to piss. I'll be back in five minutes, if you aren't done, I don't care, I'm coming in."

He stalked off before the swordsman could snark back. Sanji felt antsy, he had to piss bad. Curse that green-haired bastard, of course he'd be taking the world's longest shower. He could probably fucking drain all of the East Blue with how long he's taking, Sanji thought bitterly.

What Sanji failed to notice in his stewing, was how Zoro had promptly finished his shower, muttering as he left the bathroom, towel low on his hip.

-------

You practically moaned with relief as the hot water cascaded down your naked body. After an early morning of small repairs to the ship, you were sweaty and sore. You smiled in relief, massaging shampoo into your scalp. Gods this was perfection. It seemed showering was the only time you got by yourself on this ship. You washed your body, happily lathering yourself in a particularly pleasant soap you'd picked up at the last island. You began humming to yourself, really working the lather in.

After truly savouring the experience, you were done. You turned the water off, shivering from the lack of hot water. You pulled the flimsy curtain back, stretching out to grab your towel. You didn't even know why you bothered with the curtain, it was practically transparent. The towel rod was just out of reach. Fuck, who decided to put the towel rack so far out of the way anyway? 

BANG! 

You froze in fear. An angry voice ringing through the door. Was that Sanji? What the fuck?

------

When Sanji circled back, he could still hear the water running. He growled in anger. Now Zoro was just taking the piss. He rapped at the door as a courtesy. No answer. Oh now this asshole was just mocking him. 

He heard the water shut off. He kicked the door, trying to provoke a response. When no answer rewarded him, he got serious. Fine, he smirked, formulating a plan. Sanji would teach him to stop being such an asshole. He'd drag the swordsman out of that bathroom himself. 

Steeling his resolve, he flung the door open, stalking into the bathroom, steam caressing his face. He began lecturing, pointing for emphasis.

"Now listen here you bastard, I told you I'd come in here and now I'm gonna kick you out my-"

That was not Zoro.

Sanji froze as he took in your nude body, soaking wet. He could see your heaving breasts, nipples hard from the cold air. He felt his heart stop. You squealed, slapping a hand over your privates before he could see, catching only a glimpse of the patch of hair covering you. The action pushed your breasts together. Sanji wanted to move, really he did, but he felt frozen by the view.  With your other hand you desperately tried to cover your body with the shower curtain. Realistically, it did nothing. Sanji's mouth going dry at the sight. He tried to tear his eyes away from your nude form, but it was mesmerising him. You said something, but Sanji couldn't hear you over the sound of his heart pumping, blood rushing to his cock. 

"Can you at least close the fucking door you creep?"

Oh. Fuck. The door was still open. Dumbly, Sanji turned around and shut the door. You groaned. Sanji throbbed.

"I was kind of hoping you'd LEAVE."

That seemed to snap him out of it. 

"I am so sorry." He apologised loudly, he heard you scoff behind him. "No, really, I'm sorry!"

"If you're so sorry, get the fuck out." You spat. He felt his cock throb at your harsh tone.

"I can't." He hated how small his voice sounded. "I can't move right now."

You growled. As if he could feel the vibrations himself, Sanji bit back a moan. "Fine! I'm going to grab my towel. If you peek, I will fucking kill you."

He heard shuffling behind him. He stiffened. Eyes forward, eyes forward, he repeated like a mantra. His eyes traced the grain of the word. Anything to take his mind off the fact that you were naked, dripping wet, and within arm's reach. His eyes spied your clothing to his right, just folded on the toilet seat, waiting to be changed into. He gulped.

"Fine." You huffed. "I'm decent. Mind telling me why the fuck you burst in here?" 

"Uh, I- Well-" Sanji stuttered. He heard you tsk at him. 

"Look at me when I'm talking to you Sanji."

Sanji froze. "I-I can't do that (name)."

"I don't care how fucking hard you are you pervert. Look at me when you're speaking to me."

Sanji whimpered. Absolutely mortified, he clasped his hands together, covering his erection from your view. Even now he was throbbing from the humiliation. With a whine, he turned to face you.

Oh. You looked pissed. Breathtakingly gorgeous, but pissed. He tried desperately to keep his eyes on your face. You quirked a brow at him, arms crossed over your chest, both to keep your towel close to you, and to express your disappointment. Sanji shuddered.

"I'll ask you again. Why did you think it was acceptable to burst in on a woman bathing?"

He cringed. "I- You see- Zoro."

"Oh you were planning to catch Zoro showering, I see now." You snarked. Gods, did you have any idea how hot you were when you were mean? Sanji took a deep breath.

"I had to go. Zoro had been in the shower for ages. When I came back and the shower was still going...I thought it was still him."

"You must have had to go bad. Poor baby." You mused. "Go on then."

"What?!" 

"Go on, if you have to piss so bad, go now. The toilet's free after all."

Sanji flushed a dark red. "I-I can't."

"Guess you didn't have to go so bad then?"

Sanji felt tears prick his eyes. He understood you were upset, but this was just too much. And yet.... that perverted part of his brain was screaming out at the treatment, begging you for something, anything.

"I can't!" He whined dropped his eyes to the floor, voice becoming a whisper. "I'm too hard."

He heard you sigh. There was no way Sanji could ever meet your eyes now. "You're lucky you're cute."

Sanji short circuited.

"What?"

You laughed, he dared to look at you, seeing you regarding him with lidded eyes and a lopsided grin. "I said you're lucky you're cute. If you were anyone else I'd have kicked your ass."

"You're not mad?"

"Honey." You stalled for emphasis, grin unwavering. "I am fucking furious. However, I believe you. It seems like something you'd do. Alright...Show me then."

Sanji flushed, his ears burning from embarrassment. You clicked your tongue. "You saw mine, only fair I see yours."

He quickly looked at you again, thinking of how he could get out of it. Your grin was still there, but there really was a softness apparent. Wait? Were you enjoying this? You winked at him. 

Oh. Oh he got it now.

Sanji nodded. Removing his hands. You whistled lowly. He still felt embarrassed, but there was that lingering reminder that you were enjoying this just as he was. His hand fiddled with the fastening, the drag of the zipper leaving him hissing. He pushed his trousers to pool at his ankles. Sanji faltered, but one look into how hungrily your eyes devoured him, he continued. His cock was evident through his underwear, the hard bulge standing proudly. He blushed.

Hooking his thumbs into his waistband, dragging the underwear down slowly, just in case he needed to back out quickly. His cock caught on the fabric, but with a bit of resistance the fabric slipped, tucking under his balls. His cock slapped lewdly against his stomach, the noise reverberating through the small room. Sanji cringed at the sound. But you, you honest to gods moaned. He tampered down the humiliation, further pushing the underwear down to meet his pants.

It took buckets of courage, but he flicked his eyes up to meet yours, gasping at what he saw. You were biting your lip, staring at his cock hungrily. 

"Want me to help you Sanji?"

Sanji didn't think he could respond faster, whining out a hurried "Please." 

"Get on the toilet seat then."

Sanji looked at you confused. You rolled your eyes. 

"I just had a hot shower, I'm not standing up to fuck you. Sit down please."

Sanji squeaked at your vulgarity, moving quickly to get in position. He kicked himself out of the pooled fabric. He moved your clothing to rest on the bathroom cabinet. 

The toilet lid was cold. Incredibly cold on his balls, and he shivered. You laughed sincerely. 

"Your jacket and shirt, Sanji."

Oh! Right. He'd forgotten about that. At a speed that honestly made you giggle, he divulged his jacket. Fingers nimbly undoing his shirt. As he reached for his tie, you stopped him. 

"Uh uh. That stays on." Sanji whimpered. 

Once he was naked, save for his shoes, socks, and tie, you whistled appreciatively. He felt mortified at the realisation his shoes were still on, somehow making him feel more naked. He met your lust-filled eyes.

"Well don't you look good enough to eat handsome. Hope you don't mind if I take a seat?"

You dropped the towel, momentarily stunning the man. Sanji's eyes darted around, evident he was trying to commit you to memory. You laughed. Once you reached him, your leant down, gripping his knees with your hands. Sanji's eyes scrunched shut at the feeling of you touching him, his cock jumping appreciatively. Perversely, you spread Sanji's thighs, relishing in his undignified squeal. Sanji opened his eyes, seeing you spit in your hand, wicked eyes meeting his. 

Sanji let out a cry of relief when your hand wrapped around his cock, spreading thick precum down his shaft. You squeezed him, grinning when he whined. You pumped him a few times before removing your hand, leaving the blonde to whimper and plead. He shut up when you hovered over his lap, fingers playing with his tie.

"Here we go. Time to reward you for being such a good boy."

You lined him up with your entrance, his tip just touching. He stopped you.

"W-wait! What about you?"

You laughed, eyes sparkling. "Sanji I am soaked. You don't realise just how sexy you look right now."

With a moan you sunk down on the man. His girth stretched you deliciously. Unceremoniously, you bottomed out. Sanji whined, trying desperately to keep his hips still. After a few seconds of adjusting you began a hurried pace. Sanji would have doubled over from the speed were you not holding him up. His eyes rolled back. Gods, the way your tits dragged along his chest, or the way your cunt squeezed him deliciously. Fuck, he was delirious with pleasure. 

He tried to keep quiet, really he did. But the way you were fucking him, clearly in charge, was killing him. Moans tumbled from his mouth. You laughed, pulling him into a wet kiss. You swallowed his moans, picking up your pace. The wet slapping that reverberated throughout the bathroom should embarrass the both of you, and yet you two were too lost in pleasure to care. You groaned into his mouth, retreating you tongue to suck his bottom lip into your mouth.

One hand snuck up to grab his tie, fisting it in your hand and pulling it tight. Sanji broke your kiss to whine keenly, before diving back in. You pulled back, leaning down to suck at his neck. Sanji squealed, hips stuttering. 

Oh. He was close.

Your grip on his tie never faulted, instead you pulled harder, yanking him so your lips met his ear.

"Cum for me pretty boy, cum like the dirty pervert you are."

Sanji's hands clamped on your hips so hard it left marks. He began rutting up into you ruthlessly, pride swelling in him at the delicious moan you made. You whined, kissing him below the ear.

"Fuck I'm so close. C'mon baby, cum in me, want it bad."

Sanji's vision exploded into white, his voice raising embarrassingly high as he came. Watching the way his face scrunched up sent you over the edge, and he felt you clench around him like you'd never let him go. The two of you rode through your orgasms, kissing each other hungrily.

The two of you came down from your highs, panting wildly, and staring into each other's eyes.

You caught your breath, as Sanji caught his. Sanji was flushed, sweat coating him. You on the other hand were blushing a bright red, shyness setting in.

"Was that okay?" You asked. Sanji laughed, crushing you against him, burying his face in your chest. You laughed.

"Perfect." He mumbled from his hiding place. Sanji stared up at you. "Sorry for bursting in on you."

You smiled down at him, expression filled with love. "Nah, m'glad it was you. Sorry for using your humiliation kink against you."

Sanji whined. "I do not have a humiliation kink."

"With what I just saw? I beg to differ." You played with his tie, eyes soft. "Love you, you big softie."

"And I love you, my sexy dominatrix." 

You laughed, pulling the blonde in for another kiss. "Really do love you. Please don't think I hate you, or that I meant that stuff...well, maybe I meant it a little. I...you're capable of being treated softly Sanji, and I do intend to do just that. Even if you do make me want to throttle you sometimes.."

Fuck he was grateful he had burst in on you, if he could get you treating him like that one minute, and this soft the next.

With a combined groan you pulled yourself off him. Sanji cringing at his soft cock dragging through your walls. You began cleaning him up with your towel, cleaning yourself as you went. Sanji raised a brow. 

"Gotta wash it anyway. Now get dressed and get out. I'll get dressed and leave later. Don't want anyone to be suspicious." You paused. "Well, anyone who didn't hear you."

Sanji laughed. Fuck, he guessed he really did love you. You gestured with your hands for him to shoo, swatting lightly at his ass he gathered his clothes. Perhaps he wouldn't knock next time either. He stiffened, causing you to regard him with a raised brow.

"You okay sweetheart?"

"I still have to piss."

[biowhore]

These Hands

Gale x gn!reader, Gale x gn!Tav

Content/Tags: Soft, slow, NSFW, service top Tav/reader, oral, penetration, short, one-shot

Context: Between the ending of Act 2 and the beginning of Act 3, on the road to Baldur's Gate. Light spoilers for the end of Act 2, Gales overall story and a non-spoilery reference to the Act 2 romance scene.

Word count: 2.3k

“You should be with me in this… Let me-“ With one last kiss to his palm, you bring his hand to your chest, resting just over your heart. “I’m already here with you.” Your hips still with your next words, “I love you. Let me show you.”

Fic List AO3

After the battle with Ketheric Thorm the group has finally made its way on the road to Baldur’s Gate. The days have been long, and with many still recovering from the battle, everyone has decided to take a well-earned day of rest before continuing the last leg of the journey to the city.

Gale had unsurprisingly and generously produced a cozy space for you both to laze the day away in. His space is now closer to a library than a tent, with bookshelves lining a spun illusion of a tower room, plush carpets laid out on every inch of the floor, and a quiet fire burning in a hearth on one wall.

You grinned at him when first stepping inside, “Your home? In Waterdeep?” You teased him.

“I didn’t show you before, so now felt as good a time as any. Nothing in all the realms is more relaxing than my library,” he said with a decidedly pretentious tone.

With a knowing grin, you held up your hands in acquiescence and headed for the pile of pillows tucked between two of the bookshelves. Who were you to argue with a wizard about his tower?

Now, you’ve stirred from a long nap nestled into Gale’s side on the pillows as he reads a large tome picked up from somewhere on the journey. Probably the Sharran temple.

“Mmm… this was a great idea, I must admit.” You mumble into his shoulder as you wake.

Gale winds his arm around your hip, tucking you even closer. “That implies you had doubts about our afternoon of languor, and I must say I’m a bit offended. I have great ideas. Particularly when it comes to you.”

You let out a groggy snort as you stretch your free arm across his chest, continuing your ascent back to the waking world.

He turns his head away from his book to nuzzle your hair, “Go back to sleep,” he mumbles into your scalp. “You took some hard hits during the battle with Thorm. Or are you hungry? I can whip up the stew you like. Or could I interest you in a book from my vast collection? I have one in mind I think you’ll find fascinating. Or-“

You cut him off when you start quietly chuckling into his shoulder. This man nearly met his own end and yet he seeks to serve you.

“I’ll advise you it is unwise to laugh at a man’s stew.” He says with a grin.

You lift your head to meet his gaze, a soft smile on your lips, and wiggle out of his hold to straddle his middle. You gently remove that hefty tome of his and set it aside. Your hand shifts up his chest to lightly, absently trace the lines of his orb sigil along his neck.

“I only realized that I’d like to do something for you,” you say softly.

Gale’s grin falters momentarily, “I could not ask more of you, who have already given me everything.”

Your heart soars at his words, but you know Gale. You know just how deserving he is of everything you have to offer, yet he would not ask for it. He would not ask for anything for fear of not being worthy of it, despite all you’ve shared together. He must be shown how deserving he is, you decide. Slowly, perhaps he will come to see that he can receive the same love and care that he graces you with.

His hands reach for you after you’ve paused too long in your contemplating, but you catch his wrists. Closing your eyes, you plant a soft kiss at his right wrist, listening to his small, somewhat awed sigh at the touch. Your plan takes form in your mind, and you drop his left hand to begin work on his right. Beginning at his wrist, your thumbs move in small circles, massaging the muscle and small joints. As you move up toward to his elbow and back down to the wrist, squeezing lightly to continue massaging, Gale lets out another sigh. Your lips twitch at his easily coaxed reactions. He clearly enjoys this attention - why not let himself ask for more? You move to his hand, methodically rubbing down the length of each finger. You get a little lost in your task, enjoying the feel of his skin as you finish with the right and move to the left. Gale’s life as a prodigy shows in his hands. Not soft, as one might imagine for a wizard, but slightly rough and dry from the constant turning of pages, of wielding a staff, of pulling from the Weave. These hands have worshiped your skin, have clinched victories, have created wonders. They are precious. Glancing up at him, he has a bemused expression but attempts to hide it with that ever-present grin. You bring both hands up to your lips to kiss his knuckles. A few small scars decorate the tops of his hands, and you take a moment to give each one their own attentions.

“Hmm…” you sigh with your lips brushing over his fingers. “These hands have done so much.”

“These hands can do more,” he says with a lift of his brows.

You chuckle, giving an index finger a little nip. “Oh yes, I’m acquainted with their skills.” You eye him mischievously, licking the tip of that same finger with your tongue. A tease. “I would know what these hands desire.”

“They want for nothing where you are concerned. How can they grant your desires? Now, there is the better question.” He replies.

Not good enough. You hold his gaze again, trying to let him see your openness, your earnestness to give him something of yourself that he deserves. Something he didn’t have to earn by being anything other than himself. You slide your tongue around that finger, bringing it into your mouth, sucking lightly from knuckle to tip.

“Nothing?” You whisper, “Nothing at all?”

His eyes are locked with yours, and you sense him tense beneath you slightly. The jovial mask of Gale of Waterdeep slips a little; in his eyes you see that yearning you suspected was there all along. They search your face, looking for deception, for conditional affection, perhaps even outright lies. But they will find none, and you will prove it to him over and over and over again. You press and encouraging kiss to his palms, catching the movement of his throat as he swallows nervously.

“You.” He says lowly. “Always you.”

Reverently placing his hands down, you lean in, taking his face between your palms. “You have me. Wholly.” You breathe onto his lips. The kiss is a brush of skin at first, then confident as he attempts to take the lead, dancing that talented tongue with yours to drive you mad. You nip at his lower lip to take back control, slowing the pace. Softly sucking on his lip as you pull back, you give him your eyes full of that openness to reassure him, as your hands move lower.

Slowly you release the buckle of his tunic, pushing the fabric up over his torso, planting treasuring kisses along his chest as you head down to his trousers. His hands make a gentle protest in your hair, but you place them back at his sides, a quiet question in your eyes as you continue. You can see the uncertainty in his gaze, the hesitation to bask in your attention, and the mix of excitement and curiosity for what you will do next. Which will win out?

He gives a soft, tentative smile as your signal to continue. You unfasten the ties for his trousers with an easy smile, tugging them down just enough, and do the same for his underwear. The moment is too precious to interrupt with disrobing completely. You are singularly focused on showing this man, in some small way, just how much you care for him.

His cock bobs, half-hard, as you reveal it. You take him in hand, pausing again with that question in your eyes as you bend down. His chest rises and falls in anticipation as he gives you a slight nod, reaching out a hand to thread through your hair loosely. Starting at the base, you give him a long, thorough lick, keeping his gaze all the while. The throaty noise Gale releases in response is delicious in your ears – you want more. His cock stiffens fully in your hand now, and you put your lips around the tip, circling and sucking. The hand in your hair twitches. More. You hear a hiss as you swallow him fully, pulling back up to flick your tongue at the sensitive underside of his head, then pushing back down, sucking hard this time. That hiss turns into a huff as your pace quickens, squeezing the base of him with your fingers. More. You want even more. Even though this is about Gale, you might be a little selfish. You want to see the faces he’s making, how his chest is heaving, how his arms are flexing to restrain himself, the shape his mouth makes with each sound. With a few last licks and sucks, you pull off, too eager to make those visions a reality. You sit up and lick your lips, watching his face as he pants and reaches for you.

You shake your head, backing off to impatiently remove your underthings. Crawling back to straddle him, you take that hand that reached out up to your mouth to kiss his wrist. You position yourself and begin to sink down slowly, almost teasingly onto his cock. His breath hitches with each rise and fall of your hips as you take him inside you. This - this is what you wanted. His rapturous expression as he fits inside you, as you squeeze him, as you bite the meat of his thumb in your own ecstasy. He is yours, and you will worship him as he deserves. Fully seated, you begin to slowly rock your hips. This isn’t a race, isn’t lewd, isn’t about your pleasure. It is intimate, and full of your will to prove him worthy of you, worthy of his own life. You kiss each knuckle of his fingers as you continue that slow, sensual rocking. His eyes are heavy-lidded, jaw slack, chest rising and falling with his panting breath as he takes in the sight of you. You are both mostly clothed, and yet it is somehow all the more passionate for it.

“I…”, he breathes, then clears his throat nervously. “I won’t last much longer with you like this.”

“Then let go,” you say softly. “This isn’t about me.”

His expression remains conflicted, flitting between pleasure and confusion of your focused attention. “You should be with me in this… Let me-“

With one last kiss to his palm, you bring his hand to your chest, resting just over your heart. “I’m already here with you.” Your hips still with your next words, “I love you. Let me show you.”

His breath shudders as your hips restart their languid rhythm. Your hand rests over his on your chest, his other hand grasping your hip as you rock, lift up slightly, and sink back down into another rocking motion. All slow, liquid movements. Your gazes are locked, your chests lifting with the same breaths, your mouths softly open with the same tender sounds of desire. The hand at your hip squeezes, and you feel his hips start to meet yours in kind. A long groan escapes him as he quickly thrusts up into you.

“Yes,” you breathe. You lean forward as his eyes fall shut, taking in his face as he comes. His cheeks flush, his brows furrow, his breath rushes out in quick pants; then all slows and relaxes into bliss. Your rhythm doesn’t stop, riding him through the high and leading him back down again. The light sheen of sweat on his brow earns a kiss from you, and you rest your head there, patiently waiting for him to return to you. His breath slows, and his eyes blink open sluggishly. That soft, wicked grin of his returns, but you notice the lingering astonishment behind his eyes, as if he still can’t quite believe you’re real despite everything.

“For once I think I’ve rendered you speechless.”

A light chuckle escapes him as he catches his breath, “Very nearly.” He swallows, “That was…”

You interrupt his search for words with a quiet kiss. You’d rather leave the moment as it is. It needs no description, only the understanding that you did it for him because you love him. You pull away with a tender caress of his cheek, sitting back and pulling his tunic back down, his trousers back up as you lift off of him. You sense him watching you, still likely contemplating if you are amongst the illusions of this room. Quietly you re-dress in your underthings and bestow more kisses on his hands as you rejoin him among the pillows on your knees. “I recall mention of stew, but what about a cup of tea first?”

“That sounds lovely.” He says with a smile. Before he can even twitch a muscle, you’ve lifted up again and are strolling toward the very real small table near the hearth housing a teapot with ready-made tea the Wizard of Waterdeep keeps magically warmed with an environmental spell. In a few moments, you’re striding back with two cups, warmed to the perfect temperature and ready to sip. You place Gale’s cup atop the tome he was perusing earlier, earning you a slightly scandalized look as he swipes the cup up, taking a sip. You chuckle to yourself as you re-take your place at his side on the pillows. As he sets his cup down – not on a book this time – you snatch his hands again.

Placing one at your cheek and one to your lips you whisper, “I can’t get enough of these hands.”

---

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it.

[red-riding-wood]

Made For You

"I've been loved before, but right now in this moment, I feel more and more like I was made for you."

A oneshot based off the song Halley's Comet by Billie Eillish. Was inspired to write this back in February of 2023 thanks to @cillmequick's House Party Event. This has been stewing in my brain for nearly a YEAR and I'm finally writing it! Thank you for the muse and for introducing me to this song, Alex! <3

Pairing: Robert Capa x Reader

Fandom: Sunshine (2007)

Warnings: angst, lots of angst, some fluff?, childhood friends to lovers trope

WC: ~2620

Time always ran different here, beneath the blanket of shattered stars and hollow black sky.

You’d lost track of the hours you’d spent, lost in them, eyes tracing each constellation but mostly lingering in the gaps between them, the blackness that stretched endlessly into the sky. That spanned between you and the other half of your soul, the boy you’d loved and the man you’d lost.

Sixteen months ago, you’d said goodbye as he boarded his plane. Sixteen months ago, you’d watched the shuttle launch on national television, feeling as though a piece of you had been stripped, raw and bleeding, from your chest.

“Someday…” he’d said, when you were barely old enough to understand the concepts of space and time. “… I’ll be up there, and you’ll be down here, and I’ll bring you back one of those stars.”

You’d scoffed, and playfully hit him on the arm. “And just how are you gonna do that?” you’d said.

“I don’t know.” He’d smiled. “But I’ll find a way.”

Sixteen months ago, he’d been sent on a mission to renew the dying sun that plunged the world into a winter so cold, the green of summer turned to a white death, and the waters of the Caribbean nearly froze over.

Shards of ice prickled at the back of your hair, the slight gaps of flushed skin where your scarf and toque left you bare, crystals of snow kissing your cheeks and the cold seeping in past the dampness of your scalp and the down of your parka, but as you shut your eyes, you imagined the snow to be blades of grass. And your fingers, to be digging into the earth instead of the fleece of your mittens.

“You see that star, right next to the Big Dipper?” he said, pointing up at the diamonds in the sky. Propped up on one elbow, the warmth of his arm brushed yours in the cool air of the spring night, the sleeve of his shirt tickling your shoulder, his lashes limned like chalk outlines by the soft sheen of the moon.

You opened your eyes, the low rumble of his voice having practically lulled you to sleep. You didn’t get much sleep in those days, when he was in university obtaining his astrophysics degree and you were working early shifts at your dead-end job, when the innocence of childhood was lost to the bitter realities of the world but you had no idea just how empty you’d one day find yourself to be. You still saw glimpses of this innocence on his face, in the grin that stretched his lips across freckled cheeks and the glint of awe in bright blue eyes. You had no idea how lucky you were just to be able to reach out and touch him, to bear witness to these traces of happiness that were tangible and not hidden behind a screen.

You spent almost every night with him beneath the stars. Dreaming of greater things, of the day when you’d both break free of your cages and return to your innocence, when you’d become greater than your past and he’d change the world. When he’d bring you your star and you’d display it in your glass heart.

“Mhm.” Your eyes followed the tip of his finger to a star that gleamed particularly bright.

“That star died seven-thousand years ago,” he told you. “It’s so far away, we just can’t see it yet.”

You scrunched your face and narrowed your eyes, a smile quirking your lip. “Then how come it’s so bright?” you asked.

His grin softened into an almost sad smile, his hand lowering to the earth and his head turning on his shoulder to lock bright eyes with yours. Your breath hitched in your chest, and for one moment so fleeting you could’ve imagined it, you thought his gaze darted to the parting of your lips.

“Light does not always equate to life,” he told you. And each day onward, you would ponder the mysterious woe laced in a silk tone.

Your warm palm cupped your face, mitten cast aside, the brush of your cold fingers laying a kiss to your tear-streaked lips. Muffling the choked sobs that rose from a chest void of hope and full of shattered dreams and shattered glass.

Here you lay, in your cage, your tomb. Not knowing if you’d ever see him again, not knowing if you’d have the chance to tell him that you’d broken your promise.

“What is it?” His soft voice was laden with worry as you buried your face in the warmth of his chest, and his arms wrapped tentatively around your back.

“It was all a lie,” you sobbed weakly, his shirt damp with your tears. “He broke up with me.”

“Oh,” he said, his thumb tracing small circles along your spine.

You sank into his chest, weighing heavy against him, knees shaking beneath you. He kept you standing, allowing your tired body some respite. Thinking that when you were done crying, he might be able to tell you a story that would tempt you to sleep and you wouldn’t feel the crash of pain against your ribs anymore.

“I’m worthless,” you whispered. “He said so himself, he never wanted me…”

“What?” His reaction was so sudden, so sharp, you nearly flinched, sobs stilling as they rose to your chest. Damp threads of hair clung to his shirt, splintering the blurry visage of his freckled cheeks and dark, messy hair as he pushed you softly back to look him in bright, blue eyes. His palm cupped your jaw, thumbing at your cheekbone as he said,

“You’re not worthless. You’re – “

“No. No.” Shaking your head, your eyes gleamed with pain as you began to plead with your friend. “Promise me, Robbie, that you’ll never fall in love with me, and I promise the same. I hate this… this feeling in my chest, like I can’t breathe, like…” You chuffed out a nervous laugh. “… I don’t know. I just don’t wanna feel this again. I don’t wanna lose you, too.”

Robert had stared back at you, silent for a while, the bright of his eyes fading ever-so-slightly. You wondered, for a moment, what he’d been about to say before you'd cut him off, until he pulled you to his chest and murmured in your ear,

“I promise.”

And each day onward, he would keep his promise, watching through high school as you would try to date dumb boys and lend a shoulder to cry on when you’d denounce each one, and after graduation came and went and he’d break up with his own sweetheart, he’d tell you it was because he wanted to focus on his studies.    

How had you been so blind, you thought to yourself. How had you not realised that each relationship you’d sabotaged hadn’t been because of your trust issues, or your self-esteem. It had been because the only guy you’d ever wanted had been right there, letting you sob into his shirt and stare up at the stars with you and tell you about all the things you’d both achieve when you were older.

And now that you were older and wiser, you cursed your foolish heart that bled like the stars across the hollowness of the black sky. Blinking away tears that clung, cold, to your flushed cheeks, you tried to chase away the sobs that echoed through the abyss that stretched from one rib to another.

What a fool you were, to fall in love with nothing but stardust. 

You reached a hand up to the stars as if you could pull them down from the sky, let them spill over you in thousands of glittering lights, make a halo of them until they burned away the snow and brought forth a blue-eyed angel from the white fire.

His transmission came to you when the darkness was just beginning to peel away from the dying light over the horizon, when what was left of the sun began to usurp the night, snaking its tendrils of rose-gold through the black canvas sky.

You swore that his hair had grown longer since the last time he’d sent a message, darkly framing the sides of his pale neck. Those blue eyes stared back at you from the artificial light of your phone, stirring something within the hollowness of your chest. Something warm, like hope.

“I… don’t think there’s really any easy way to say this,” he said. Your hope seemed to sink to your stomach.

Robert cupped his hands over his mouth, as if in prayer, and those piercing blue eyes stared back at you for what must have been an eternity, something cruel and malignant weaving tightly in your gut. You longed for that gaze to rest on you again, to be able to reach out and run your fingers through his messy brown locks, to wipe away the tear that beaded on his lower lash. He scarcely cried, always so stoic. That was how you knew that something was truly, dreadfully wrong.

That you’d realised too little, too late, that you were made for him, and him for you.

“There are only a few of us left,” he said, clearing his throat as his hands came down from his chapped lips. “Some miscalculations were made, and at this point, we only have enough oxygen to deliver the payload. It takes exactly eight minutes for light to travel from the sun to the earth, and so… if one day you’re watching the stars and you see the sun rise with a little extra brightness, you’ll know we made it.” He swallowed again, Adam’s apple bobbing along his throat. “But you’ll know that I’m…” His words were breaking now, just like the sobs that wracked your chest.

“…  I wish there was an easier way to say this, dear God…” his voice tapered into a mere whisper, and he ran a hand over his face. Blue irises were rimmed by red, fatigue and sadness showing through the cracks. “There’s no easy way to say this to you, of all people.”

Your heart stopped in your chest. You sucked in a breath of frozen air, tickling your burning lungs.

“You know that I’ll be gone,” he said at last. “Only stardust.” His lip quirked into a sad, almost ironic smile, and he said, “I did this for you, Y/N. So that someday, those things we talked about under the stars… someday you’d be able to achieve those things, in a world that isn’t dying.”

He paused again, his emotion clawing its way thick into his throat with the way his words came out so strangulated. “I wanted you to know, I’m sorry for breaking our promise… I’m sorry for falling in love with you, Y/N. But up here… with the stars and the blackness and this… impossibly bleak dread, this knowing for once that anything I do or say won’t matter because everything will be gone, including you… ” He shook his head, inhaling sharply, and your breath caught in your chest. “… I loved you since we were kids, and I never told you and I wish I had. Believe me, I wish I had.”

You wanted to reach out and comfort him, run a finger along his freckled cheek, to pull him into your arms as he had you countless times. You wanted to tell him it was okay, that you’d broken your promise, too, and it was all your fault, really, for not realising sooner that you were made for him. That he shouldn’t blame himself for any of it because it was you who should’ve said something, you who should’ve kissed him that night he boarded his plane.

“So, I guess I’ll be seeing you in a few years,” he said, swallowing hard against his throat as baby blue eyes looked at you with some unexplainable emptiness that you were unable to identify. It was the same look he’d given you so many times before, and yet, despite knowing him better than you knew yourself, you still couldn’t quite put your finger on what the mysterious emotion or reason behind it was.

“Soon,” you corrected him, fighting back tears. Sniffling, from the cold or your own emotions you could tell not. “I’ll be seeing you soon, okay?” You squeezed his arm, if only to ground yourself, to remind yourself in the years to come that he was tangible, that he existed not only in your mind.

He nodded, smile playing sadly at his mouth. “Soon,” he repeated.

You had drawn so close to him that his familiar scent engulfed you, took you away from the bustle of the airport and drowned out all the noise. Your tongue darted to wet your lips as you glanced down at his, a few threads of some strange yearning tugging at the empty of your chest in that moment. You were so close, yet, not enough. This feeling, of needing to be closer, of needing to express your affection in more than words and friendly touch, was foreign to you, and you weren’t sure what to do with it.

For one moment, you thought that you might’ve kissed him.

Cheeks flushing in embarrassment, you chastised yourself. The last thing he needed was for you to complicate things on the last day you’d see each other for so long, and so you pushed the childish notion from your brain and you smiled past your anguish and you bid him farewell.

And each day onward, you felt as though you had left things incomplete, this emptiness spanning wider between each rib, like a black hole that swept away all joy and feeling and semblance of being human.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered into your balled fist, fingers trembling from the cold. You blinked away your tears so you could see him better for the last time, capture his image in your mind before your angel burned his wings for flying too close to the sun.

That sad, ironic smile tugged at the corner of his lip again, and he said, “I always promised I’d bring you a star.”

Your shaking hand tucked your phone back in your pocket as the video ended, and you didn’t even silence your cries as you wept to the heavens, wanting them to hear of your anguish and your loss.

And slowly, after what must have been hours or perhaps minutes, in this plane of altered reality where time ran differently beneath your blanket of stars, your sobs came weaker from your chest, and a warm glow painted the backs of your dark eyelids. The harsh cold had frozen your lashes together, and you blinked, pulling them back to witness the sun’s conquest over the night, the tendrils of pink and orange turning to a fierce gold that you hadn’t seen in years.

You stood, slipping your mitten back over your damp, shaking hand, and trudged, weary and sleepless, through the snow. Your eyes burned, squinting against the swell of the sun, unaccustomed to the brilliance of its lost light. Your heart still clenched, bleeding, shatters of glass falling to the vacuous pit between your ribs, but you couldn’t help but stop for a moment and just look.

Warmth caressed your face, chasing away the bite of the cold, reminding you of spring, of slushy snowball fights with Robert and picking flowers by the local stream.

“Light does not always equate to life,” he'd told you, all those years ago as you'd laid beneath the stars.

And with this pain searing white-hot in your soul and your chest torn empty, and the burning warmth of his confessed love shattering your heart to cold glass, you finally understood.

But despite your pain, it was beautiful.

MASTERLIST • REQUEST

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[ghostheartfelt]

*:･｡☆ tags: damsel in distress!reader, reader will have a father daughter relationship with dutch, slowburn romance, no use of y/n, reader is nicknamed "Miracle" once she settles in with the gang. THIS IS SET BEFORE THE FLEE OF BLACKWATER.

*:･｡☆ warnings: mentions of kidnapping/attempts of kidnapping, blood and gore (mostly js people gettin shot n shit 🙏🏼 it's rdr afterall.) period typical undertones of sexism. canon typical violence. mentions of animal abuse/neglect

〔☆〕 desc: during a little break at the saloon, you're interrupted by an O'Driscoll who presses a gun to your back and forces you out of the saloon for a kidnapping. the Van Der Linde group comes to your rescue.

.. ☆ next part | masterlist (tbe)

—✩ A WOLF’S BANE P. ⅰ ✩—

word count — 2.3k

a/n: hey! this is part one of my arthur morgan x fem!reader slowburn series. i know it starts off a little funky, but i promise you’re in for a treat!! feedback/ideas are greatly appreciated! 🤭🪭 this part is mostly focused on the reader developing relationships with the other members of the gang. (p.s i promise reader isn’t a mary sue 😭 this is just for build up!)

Your hands stay busy loading and spinning the barrel of your duel Widowmakers. They were beautifully customized, and you just purchased a brand new cylinder from the gunsmith. There were elk carvings on the wood handle—your holsters having the same stitching as they rest on your waist under your coat—and freshly polished metals.

You were quietly listening in on the discussions that swarmed at every angle in the Saloon. You’d traveled from Strawberry to Valentine to receive your prescription from Doctor Calloway.

Smithfield has tried a fair amount to ask you out for a dinner, or a horseback ride to Saint Denis, and as much as you loved horseback riding, you declined kindly.

He mailed you a letter asking that you come to his office to obtain it. You caught a stagecoach and paid five dollars for the ride, then took yourself to the saloon first for a quick lamb heart stew, which was something you always made sure to grab upon visiting Valentine, making you a familiar customer with the owner, Mr. Smithfield.

As you stood and adjusted your skirt while stuffing your revolver into its holster that stayed hidden under your coat, a barrel of a gun pressed against your back. Your eyes shot open and you refused to turn your head to see who your threat was.

The man stunk of alcohol, cigarettes, and pure grime, and the scent only grew stronger as you felt his face press against your hair to whisper in your ear.

“Act natural, pretty thing.”

His body closed in against your back with his hip bones digging into your waist. He wasn’t very tall, nor muscular, perhaps about five foot six.

“Do you always greet a pretty woman like this?” You hiss quietly as he twists the gun into your back, guiding you out. He makes sure to snatche your purse from off the table you were seated at—which you didn’t mind too much since you were struggling financially with only about thirty dollars to your name—you didn’t even get to pay your tab off. You hoped Smithfield would understand.

“Shut up and move, girl.” He rejoined.

Undoubtedly, your heart raced in your chest as you both stepped out of the Saloon. There’s another stagecoach with a few other men seated, causing your eyes to widen. This is a kidnapping, not a robbery, you thought, and that was when sweat began to head down from your scalp.

“She’s a good one, Welts!” one snorted. He had crooked and several missing teeth, a lazy eye, and his brown hair was greasy, and he just looked downright disgusting.

“O’Driscoll will be real happy!”

That was when you froze in your place as you were turned around and patted down for any extra goods; the male in front of you had managed to find a pearl necklace from the depths of your dress pocket, and you scrambled to try and grab it from him.

“Please, don’t take that, take anything else.” You were surprised to find yourself pleading to this man. To an O’Driscoll.

Welt’s head tilted and he let out a loud laugh before he took his revolver, slamming the barrel and cylinder rough against your cheekbone, immediate pain and heat surged as it quickly began to swell, and your body twists, landing on the ground with your palms flat in the dirt below you.

You reach one of your hands—that had grains of tiny rocks stuck in your bleeding skin—up to touch your cheek, a quick feeling of regret causing you to yank your head away from the pain.

“You’re a scum!” you try to turn your head, yet he grabs a full fist of your hair and unsheathes his knife, cutting off a thick chunk of your locks. You gasped weakly.

The men above you bursted into laughter while instead tears stung your eyes. “Speak when spoken to, woman,” he grimaced. You feel for the hair he sliced, and your lip quivers. These were definitely Colm O’Driscoll’s men.

Welts gripped your upper arm, and pulled you onto your feet. Accidentally, you rip your dress from your feet getting caught in the fabric as you struggle to stand with the man swinging you around like a lasso.

You feel his revolver get pinned into your back once again as he taps the barrel against you, gesturing you to walk towards the coach. You hesitated, which he didn’t take kindly. You heard the hammer click, and that’s when you caught yourself walking.

“Hello, gentlemen!” an exuberant voice joins in, and you turn your head to look at the man. He was neatly shaven, besides just a bit of clean stubble along his chin. His hair seemed slicked back at the top, even with a black hat, and he was in a long-sleeved white and blue striped shirt, a black vest, and black slacks.

His boots were black with brown spurs. He had his hand on his belt, though not over his holsters that you think were home to dual revolvers. You were just about tired of seeing men with guns.

Guns. You thought. I’m as dumb as a rat—you shimmy your arm down to press against your waist, feeling for your Widowmakers. You felt the hardness with your wrist, playing it calm, and cool. Welts was just as dumb, if not more—he hasn’t even realized you were armed, not that you knew how to use them, anyway. Your hand drags away. Most likely, you wouldn’t be able to beat the man in a sharpshoot.

“Now, a little birdy told me you were being not so nice to this innocent woman, is that true?” The black-haired male, being passive aggressive, sends you kind eyes that leave you feeling skeptical.

You notice his friends.

One was in a low ponytail, and had a sombrero on his head, and the other had olive skin and a hat with a small feather in it’s band.

“She’s my wife, she’s drunk, and these men have offered to take us home. Go along with your business.” Welts snarled as he pushed your shins into the step of the stagecoach. Never in a million years would you even think to date or marry an O’Driscoll—especially not him.

His hair was greasy, and there was collected dirt behind his ears. With his gapped teeth, and his uncared for eyebrows. You wanted to murder the ratbag for laying his dirty fingers on you.

“You tellin’ me the little birdy is a liar?” the man asks, his tone lowering.

“Hell is your problem?” Welts’ eyebrows furrowed.

His gun against your back was starting to feel like it was forming a circular mark on your back from the muzzle.

“I surely don’t remember a time where I saw a loyal man pinning a gun to his wife’s back,” another one of the man’s friends appeared. He had darker skin, Native American features, and a braid running down his own back.

His arms were folded against his chest that was covered in a brown long-sleeved tunic.

“Do you know this man, miss?” His eyes drag to yours with a softer expression creasing his features.

Once you open your mouth to speak, you’re silenced with a quick shoulder shove forcing you into the coach.

“She does, now leave us be.” He sat himself down next to you. Your head turns to look at them as your face twists into fear.

There were five men; the black-haired one, the one with the braid, the male with the ponytail, the scarred Scottish man, and another male who was a bit taller and quieter. His hair was more brown, his face was scruffy, and he wore a black gamblers hat.

“Come on now, hold your horses, compadre!” The one with the ponytail waved his hand in the air, though the man standing in the front seat of the stagecoach flicked the reins against the hinds of both of the gray and black horses, causing them to squeal and chase out of Valentine.

Panic surged through you, raising your adrenaline. When you try to crane your head to see if the men decided to leave, your chest is pushed back against the seat by one of Welts’ companions. Suddenly, the one who’d exchanged you the soft look—which you now have come to believe was the leader—yelled out, and all the men followed his command. “Saddle up, boys, we got ourselves a couple’a maggots!”

You heard two, or three, or four, of them whistle a call to their horses and moments later, they were chasing down the stagecoach. You felt a tinge of hope, and trusted that these men would save you.

“Can these sons’a bitches go any faster?!” Welts hands gripped the seat the driver sat on with his head turned over his shoulder.

When the shooting began, you quickly ducked and let out a distressed noise. Bullets flew all around you, and you covered your ears. You looked up, and immediately the driver had a bullet pierce his skull. You screamed, some of the red paste splattering onto your face. The driver fell off the front of the coach, and you gasped as the wheels ran over the body, the lump making you wobble. You lift yourself up, and take a hold of the seats to stabilize yourself.

The horses stressed, unsure what to do, and you looked around frantically. Another one of the men attempted to cross over and take hold of the reins, but he received the same fate, instead his body leaned over yours, and you pushed it off the edge before it toppled on you.

“Girl!” One of the men yelled, catching your attention. “Do ya know how to drive that thing?!” His accent was thick, and his voice was deep with a slight rasp. You’d gotten a more clear look at his face now that it wasn’t half-covered with his hat. “I said, do ya know how to drive it?!” His horse sped up along the side of the coach, and you frantically nodded your head. You used to be a Stagecoach Taxi at fourteen. You just hoped you still had it in you.

You tore the fabric of the hem of your dress some more until the fabric stopped just above your knees, then hopped over before you’re pulled back by the neck; a man’s arm choking you and smashing both sides of your head as he squeezed his arm making you fall back onto the floor. “Stupid bitch,” the man huffed and grunted, shooting off a few rounds.

“Arthur, Arthur, no!” the leader yelled from behind. “You’ll risk shootin’ her! Put that gun down!”

He was right; the coach was teetering from side to side, and would be sure to tumble off the edge of a cliff if it were to get close enough.

They’d be sure to go off-road with the horses only knowing to go in one direction at the speed they were currently.

These horses were abused, whip welts covering both their hinds and backs, it was disgusting.

You sputtered out a few coughs as the man cut off your entire circulation, your fingers to pry at his arms and your nails scratch at his skin.

He drops you and you slump onto the floor. You hit your head on some metal, yet quickly recover. While the man is distracted, you throw your head at his pants and bite on his groin through the slacks, immediately, he lets out a yowl and accidentally pulls the trigger of his Litchfield Rifle as he falls off the carriage, which ricochets off a steel base, and strikes your shoulder.

A cry leaves your throat and you slap your hand over the wound. Blood seeps through the cloth of your ruffled top, but you swing yourself back over and take hold of the reins.

You feel your head pounding, but you pull back the reins and attempt to slow the horses down, though they don’t abide. The horses are panicked, unsure how to react.

“Don’t stop the coach!” the man with the feather in his hat, shooting over his shoulder.

”Well, what the hell do I do then?!” Your eyebrows furrow. “There’s more! They just keep comin’!” you turn your head at his words, and your eyes widen to see more O’Driscoll men trailing behind on coaches and horses.

“Jump on my horse!” The man with the striped shirt yells in your direction, and you look at him as if he’s crazy. “I’ll grab you, don’t worry about falling, but hurry it up!” His voice booms, going rasp.

“Now! Now!” He pulls back the reins of his horse, causing it to halt, and with a running start, you jump off the coach and onto his horse, his arm pulling you up as you almost fall off the horse’s hind to sit upright.

The horses to the coach attempt to stop at the edge of the cliff they ran too, though the coach pushes them over. You gasp, and turn your head as your hands grip the man’s jacket that was in front of you.

“Sorry for the inconvenience, sweetheart,” he clears his throat, and turns his horse around. His friends caught up, and their horses skidded to a stop.

“Dutch! What the hell was that for?” The male, who had directed you to not stop the stagecoach, his face was twisted with fury.

“Do you trust me, or not, son?” The man, who now is identified as Dutch, questions him, then elbows you lightly. “John Marston, he’s the hothead if you couldn’t tell, ain’t that right, boys?” He let out a humorous laugh. “Damn straight.” The one with the sombrero howls.

You had to keep yourself from passing out, which failed miserably. “You alright back there, miss?” He nudged your body again. Your eyes began to shut on you, and you slumped against the man’s back, then began to slide off the horse and onto the ground.

“Shit, shit!” Dutch took quick notice of your wounds. “Ain’t any of you tell me she was shot!” He wheezed, rushing off his horse. Everything faded to black.

[sopiao]

i’ve been obsessed with Soap bringing Ghost over for the holidays when he found out he’s spending it alone. And he meets his family who is so excited to have him over and takes him in with open arms.

Especially his mom and younger sister, who’s close in age with Soap. But really though, I feel like Soap would be the only boy with 4 sisters😭😭

JUST HEAR ME OUT. PLSSS

The first time Ghost comes over after constant reminders and hinting, that later became begging, Soap was able to get him to come over for Thanksgiving and Christmas.

Soap was super giddy and couldn’t wait for him to come and meet his family. The MacTavish family is a very head strong, loving, and stubborn family. No wonder that’s how Soap turned out to be. And they were more than happy to take him in.

It took some getting used to, and it all happened so fast. His mother and younger sisters were always so sweet and caring to Simon. If he even comes into the living room or kitchen for a glass of water, they’d immediately ask if he needed anything and end up leaving with a plate of food, a slice of cake, and a juice bag.

Being around the family, it never made him feel so relaxed and cared for. The whole demeanor and intent the family brought was so soft and loving while still being loud and aggressive in a way.

—

Knocking on Soap’s bedroom door and entering with a plate of cut fruit and water.

“What are you doing here?” Soap asked in the common annoyed sibling tone. Making you scoff and roll your eyes.

“Rude. Mom told me to bring this to ya’ two but now I don’ think I wanna” You place the plate on the spot next to Simon on Soap’s bed and handing him a fork for the fruit.

“Heeeeyyy” Your older brother whines as you leave the room.

—

Occasionally— more like all the time— they’d ask Simon for help to put up decorations, lights, the tree, banners, and the heavy lifting. Your younger sisters always gushing and wanting to be around him. He’s actually really great help with keeping them in one spot, rather than them just running around while everyone is trying to get work done.

—

Simon got such puppy treatment it was almost ridiculous.

“You need to stretch more, child! You’re muscles are so tense!” You’re father tutted and clicked his tongue as he tried to undo all the knots in his back. You were giving him a mini manicure, just simple nail care.

Trimming his nails, filing it down, cutting his cuticles, nail and cuticle oil, and a layer of clear nail polish. Massaging his hands with oil to try and relax his rough, scarred hands.

Your mother coming by and placing a plate of short bread on the table.

—

Suddenly his clothes are all so soft and smell so good, and hey, even all the holes and scratches are patched up with.. embroidered flowers. Even his initials are embroidered on the rim.

—

Walking into the living room and seeing his younger sister massaging Simon’s scalp as he sits on the floor in front of the couch watching TV, Soap just stands there staring.

“What are ya’ doing?” He asks, arms crossed.

“He couldn’t sleep. This always helped ya’” You shrugged, continuing on, Simon starting to feel more lethargic and sleepy as you worked your magic.

“That is a war criminal”.

“A war criminal that can’t sleep”.

—

Even when Soap is doing laundry, Simon helped out since he feels that he needs to at least try to pull his weight and help out. It’s the least he can do to try and pay back their hospitality for letting him stay. They’re watching TV in the living room as they do.

Every so often Soap’s father would come in with a spoon full of meat stew or soup for Simon for him to taste test it and see if it’s good. Anxious to see if he needs to add or cut back on anything.

—

“Aye, you’re so skinny! Here, child. Eat. Eat more” Your mother insists as she adds more food to Simon’s plate. You even separated some of the best parts from each dish for him to have.

“Ma, he’s fine. A man can only eat so much” Your father grunts as he sits down, he’s such a burly man so of course your mother would want him to eat more.

“Have you killed people before” Your younger sister blurts out from beside Simon.

“I- Uh..”.

“Don’t ask questions like that!” Soap scolds her as she runs off giggling.

—

Since his visit was sort of last minute, they were stressing what to get him for Christmas when the time came around. But the best gift of all will always be something made with thought and love.

After some hard effort and a ton of yarn. You, your mother, and father finished a knitted patch blanket for him. They picked out specific colors and tones to make it super colorful without being an eyesore. Something that looks extra home made. You even got your brother to help out.

Simon wasn’t really expecting a gift at all. So when he opened the bag to see the blanket wrapped in ribbon, he genuinely felt himself tear up. He kept it on the entire day and happily brought it home to sleep with every night.

[fjorests-of-wildemount]

Widogast's W-revenge

Rated M or E (spicy content ahead)

Spoilers for The Mighty Nein Reunited Parts 1 and 2

Read on AO3!

All's fair in love and sibling warfare. AKA it's Beau's turn for an earful.

Essek's fingers tighten deliciously in Caleb’s hair, tugging at the scalp and sending a thrill down his spine. Essek has a fist stuffed in his own mouth to muffle his moans, but he doesn't seem to be able to keep his hips still under Caleb’s ministrations. Caleb moans in response and swallows around the hard, silken length heavy on his tongue.

"Oh, Caleb," Essek gasps, right hand wrenching free of his sharp-toothed grasp to clutch at Caleb’s hair with alongside his left. Caleb grasps his slim waist and presses his lover's cock as deep as he can. He's choking slightly, resisting a gag as the head touches the back of his throat. Spots swim in front of his vision but Essek is writhing on the bed and whining through his nose. He's close, and Caleb is determined.

He activates the Ring of Telepathy and thinks, somehow breathlessly, Come for me, dearest.

Essek groans, arching against the mattress, but just before Caleb gets the first satisfying taste of a job well done, the godsforsaken Sending Stone on his bedside table flares to life.

"Hey man, I know it's after working hours but Yasha made a killer mushroom stew–"

The rest of Beau's message is drowned out by Essek’s strained sound of pleasure as he bursts over the back of Caleb's tongue. Caleb struggles to catch up before he gags in earnest, and manages to swallow Essek’s release before the Stone stops glowing.

Later he'll swear he doesn't know what possesses him in this moment, but he glances up at Essek, prone and panting in a combination of exasperation and post-orgasmic bliss, and makes a quick decision.

The Stone is slightly warm to his touch as he swallows audibly and holds it up to speak. "Ah–" he begins, voice rough and well-used. He swallows again and catches his breath. "You have, ah, caught me at a bad time." Essek looks scandalized. Caleb winks. "I had my mouth full when you called, but I think I got the gist of your message. Dinner sounds delicious but I'm afraid I've already eaten."

Essek groans again, in disbelief this time, burying his face in Caleb’s pillows. Caleb grins.

"..... gross, dude, I don't need to know your sex life but WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU'VE ALREADY EATEN, CALEB???"

Caleb tosses the still-squawking Stone into the hall for the cats to chase and shuts the door. Essek has recovered, seemingly, draped across Caleb’s sheets in all his naked glory wearing nothing but an imperious expression of disapproval.

"Caleb Widogast," he admonishes as Caleb climbs in beside him. "I thought you had more respect for my privacy . . ."

"I only told her I'd been well-fed this evening and had no plans to leave," Caleb murmurs, teasing, into the soft skin of Essek’s throat. Essek melts almost instantly, sighing in contentment and pulling Caleb on top of him. Caleb plants a lazy kiss directly on his lips.

"Incorrigible," Essek says, but it's muffled against Caleb’s mouth. Caleb pulls back and grins.

"Ja, you like it." Essek hmms noncommittally. "Now, where were we?"

[evesaintyves]

hi y'all i finished this lil multichapter fic

perimeter walks

15k | M | Lupin/Tonks | canon compliant | complete | a 9-chapter vignette series, set during Deathly Hallows, about the Lupin family's last days in hiding at Lupin's cottage before the end of the war | cw for character death, sex, violence, childbirth |image by me

excerpt under the cut

Remus forgot his gloves, so by the time he was done reweaving the spiderweb of wards between the skeleton-hands of the trees and the slouching chain-link fence and the spongy rotted-out eaves of the cottage, the joints of his wand hand were so stiff he struggled with the buttons on his old corduroy coat when he got back in the house. "C'mere," Dora said, better today and sprawled over half the sofa with a bowl of chicken stew balanced on her belly. She had a long red scratch down her forearm, weeping the tiniest droplet of blood at its end. She was always scratched or bruised somewhere; it didn't even worry him anymore. He went to her with half his buttons undone and she undid the rest with a smirky curve on her lips. A little dotted line of stew drips were drying down the front of her shirt. The way he loved her in that moment was like sinking into a hot bath: capillaries dilating, his heartbeat slowing to a walk, the muscles in his neck and stomach—always knotted tight with worry these days—starting to unclench themselves. He bent at the waist to press his nose into the clean green-apple scent of her hair. It was still the pale baby-pink she'd turned it days ago, when they'd reassembled the chipped and rickety old crib Arthur had brought over, and debated what colour to paint it. She had oddly forceful opinions about colours: she could discern between shades that looked identical to him, and could put a name to every subtly-different hue of pink: dusty-rose, cerise, taffy . "The baby likes my chicken stew, does it?" Remus murmured to her scalp. He'd almost said he - Molly was certain it was going to be a boy, and the idea had stuck in Remus's mind for reasons he couldn't quite articulate. Tonks tilted her head back and softly nipped the tip of his nose with her teeth. "Well, it hasn't tried to send it back yet." "Mm. You've got a scratch on your arm." She frowned and twisted her wrist around to look. "Huh." "You don't know how you got it?" She rolled her eyes. "Pfft. I never know." She handed Remus her half-empty bowl and he took it to the kitchen and scraped it into the sink. 

if you enjoy this story please check out @broomsticks' piece, Stay, a Remadora drabble which I consider a companion to this work ❤️

[mindsmade]

[ wash ] sender helps receiver wash their hair from the priestess to sylvan, do they both have very close to shaved heads? maybe but also mind your business! I need this!

meme

It's not unlike them to return bloody from their field trips — their attempts at getting him to feed properly, while keeping in check the voracious hunger that would tip him over the edge without supervision. He'd still rather not do any of this. Foregoing to hunt at the expense of his strength and vitality still seems like the only right choice to him.

Because it's exhausting, fighting his nature in the throes of the hunt — to take a nibble ( one man who was due a reaping ), when there's a whole buffet out there ( a city full of innocents a mile or two away ).

It must be exhausting for the priestess, too, this never-ending shepherding of the monster stowed away in the man she loves. She doesn't need to say the words for him to understand, to feel the affection she has for him. It's all right there, threaded into the fine line she walks between respecting his boundaries, his morals, and encouraging him to consider the adjacent shades of grey.

Would you rather starve before your son's eyes, than take the life of one that's killed for less than sustenance?

She nows exactly how to get through to him. His abstinence from proper nourishment, in hindsight, feels lazy: it was the easiest way to avoid the onerous battle with himself — day in, day out.

The guilt and self-condemnation never fails to catch up with him after these outings of theirs, though. He still prefers the diseased source's he's been drawing from so far; those that had just passed, or would soon enough. It made him sick, but at least he wouldn't starve.

It's all too easy to sink into these ruminations while washing off. The thoughts stick with him as he transfers from the shower into the bath, though. He intends to soak for a good while, and stew in his doubt.

Two minutes pass, and the door behind him opens. His head lolls back, because he knows who it is: the priestess, seeking to cushion the blows he's dealing himself — at least to some extent. She's not the type to sugarcoat or tell a white lie for another's benefit, not even his. She mitigates the pain in other ways.

From his upside-down perspective, his cranium leaning against the edge of the tub, he watches her pop open a bottle of shampoo, imbued with rosemary oil, as he recalls it.

Correctly, as it turns out. Once she's worked up a lather in the short-yet-too-long beginnings of his curls, the scent hits him, almost as soothingly as the ministrations across his scalp. She sits behind the edge he's leaning against, balancing on a low stool. He usually places a clean set of clothes on there while showering; she must've done away with it for now.

❛  Thank you,  ❜ Sylvan murmurs at length, his eyes shut. ❛  You're spoiling me.  ❜ You're too good for me, actually — but he knows she won't have any of that. She, in turn, might know what he actually means all the same.

He decides to breeze past it before she can latch onto it. His eyes crack open, a languid smile stretching just far enough to reach the corners of his eyes. ❛  Won't you join me in here? Gets awful lonely in this big tub.  ❜

[loliwrites]

hi idk if you’ve done this but can you write an angry sex fic with a&a? like they’ve been mad at teach other over something and they just take the anger out on each other or something like that? ty and have a lovely day :)

Oooooh Nony 😮‍💨 I'm not sure we've ever explored this aspect between them before. Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong.

We've certainly gone through scenarios where Addi's being a brat and Alex has had enough of the brattiness and puts her in line. But this isn't even that scenario. This is I'm mad at you, you're annoying me or pissing me off. Almost like a "fuck me like you hate me" scenario... even though they obviously don't hate each other.

Maybe it's something that started off as small and stupid... like Alex had been foregoing using the dishwasher or laundry hamper. Dishes were piling up in the sink because Addi's silently putting her foot down, and she refused to do laundry for clothes that weren't in the hamper so he's quickly running out of clean things to wear. By the point she realizes this is becoming a habit, she'd already been stewing about it for a few days. On the night of the outburst, she physically watches Alex stack his plate in the sink and because of how full it is, he's having to wiggle things around to tetris another thing in there. But even that doesn't stir him into thinking hm, maybe I should do these.

At first Addi doesn't say anything. She wants to give him ample opportunity to take action, but as soon as he turns on his heels and starts heading back in the direction of his office, she knows she can't take it any longer.

"Are you fucking kidding me?! You don't do dishes now? That's what I'm for?!"

Alex pauses and looks at her, then at the sink, and back at her. "I'll do them later. I have to do some work,"

"When is 'later' because those have been sitting there for four days,"

He takes a few steps toward her, a small smile creeping across his face. "Alright, slugger,"

"I mean it, Alex. I'm not your dutiful housewife that's going to follow you around, cleaning up after you."

Alex smirked and reached for Addi's wrist but she pulled it away at the last moment. And the look she saw in his eyes made it known that he was getting some pleasure out of this.

With his hold on her momentarily thwarted, he lunged forward a little more and grabbed a fistful of her hair close to the scalp. He tugged back with just enough force to bring her head backwards while he simultaneously pushed her into his body. "You may not be a dutiful housewife, but you certainly behave like an obedient, little girl,"

She pushed on his chest, trying to create some space between them, but Alex was always going to be a lot stronger than her, and kept her close enough that she could feel the throbbing in his pants. "Stop, I'm pissed off at you,"

"Yeah?" He cocked his head to the side, "show me."

Though she was still angry, there was also the undeniable feeling that the best way to get her anger out would be to get fucked three ways to Sunday but she didn't want to give him that satisfaction so easily. So she wrestled, and wriggled, and tried to free herself from his grip, but the thrashing about only made him hold on tighter and chuckle.

"That's not the way. Someone's going to have to teach you some manners,"

"Fuck you," she spat. Because fuck him, but also, fuck him.

Before she knew it, she was being pushed to her knees. With one hand still tangled in her hair, Alex held her in place with her cheek pressed against his thigh as he used his other hand to unbuckle his belt and push his pants and underwear down to his knees.

"Do you want to try that again?" He smiled, gripping onto the base of his length. He dragged the head over her lips and tapped them to see if he could get them to open.

But Addi shook her head, "fuck. You."

And perhaps like she knew he would, Alex used the opportunity of her being sassy to force his length into her mouth. He went as far as her mouth would allow on the first thrust forward and only stopped because she choked and pressed her hands on his hips.

"If you're so angry, show me. Fuck me like you hate me,"

Addi furrowed her eyebrows and dug her fingernails into Alex's skin. Her fervor to take him back into her mouth only made him chuckle. He thrust his hips forward and pressed on the back of her head until he was satisfied that her own actions were significant enough.

"There ya go. I knew we could put this mouth to better use,"

But Addi had an ace up her sleeve. She dragged her tongue along the underside of his shaft and removed him from her mouth just long enough to angle her head to the side. She stroked him quickly and gently sucked one of his balls into her mouth, keeping her eyes locked on his face for his expression when she rolled her tongue over it. And then did the same to the other.

Alex gave a breathless smile, his jaw hung slack. He rocked his head backward, his eyes closed, and wholly focused on the pleasure she was giving him. And just like she knew it would, it served as enough of a distraction that his hand inadvertently untangled from her hair. The moment she figured she was free enough to make a run for it, she released him entirely and pushed back on her toes to get herself up off her knees.

Unsteadiness, and the soreness that had taken route in her knees from being on the hardwood floor made her slower than she might've been in another scenario, and she'd only gotten a few running steps away before Alex's arm wrapped around her abdomen, picked her up as she kicked and thrashed, and carried her back into the kitchen.

"You're being a little devil today," he growled and bent her over the kitchen island. His hand pressed flat to her back to keep her chest pinned to the marble countertop while his other hand shimmied her out of her sweatpants.

"No I'm not!" She fought back, trying to get away from him. But when it didn't work and she felt him tugging her underwear to the side to expose her to him, she screamed something barbaric.

"Yes you are. Gonna force me to fuck it out of you, Jesus Christ,"

"Wash your goddamn..." the curse died in her throat and turned into an airy groan as Alex pushed his length into her. She let out a sharp cry when he nudged up against her cervix and her hands closed around nothing on the counter. It wasn't that Alex was pounding into her with reckless abandon. No, it was far worse than that. He was going slow. Being patient enough to make sure she felt every last centimeter of him, from base to tip, before slamming himself back inside of her roughly. She knew he could feel her muscles giving up around him each time he buried himself back in, balls deep.

Addi turned her head so her cheek was planted against the counter and she let out another moan when her legs began to tremble.

"You're gonna come already," he growled and took another handful of her hair in her hand and used it as leverage to pull her up until her back was pressed against his chest. He kept one hand encircled around her waist and moved the other to her neck. With a firm hold on the sides and a gentle squeeze, he bit into her earlobe. "You don't get to come yet. I'm not done with you,"

[1nksta1neddesk]

A Court of Readers and Dreamers

Chapter 7: Beat of a Heart

Word count: 3638

Alis was brushing my hair after I had soaked in a bath until my skin had pruned. Occasional tremors would shake my shoulders, even as I melted under Alis’ thin fingers at my scalp. Alis’ had brought me a cup of thick hot chocolate that made my stomach turn at the thought of drinking, so I sat now with a tall glass of water as the other maids filtered out of the room to go help with dinner.

“I think if I never have to see a naga again I can count that as a win in this life.” I broke the silence in the room, hearing a small laughing sigh come from Alis as her fingers twisted my hair into a delicate braid.

“Maybe if one didn’t go looking for trouble, it wouldn’t find you. Don’t think I didn’t hear about what you took with you into those woods,” A playful pull on my hair as she continued, “Stupid, mortal girl, trying to trap the Suriel.”

I grinned as the tension against my scalp loosened, “I hope you fae are open to correct yourselves- I did catch the Suriel, and had a rather pleasant talk with them.” I picked at the dirt that was caught under my thumbnail as my hair tightened again and Alis was there, pulling my head back until our eyes met. Maybe the adrenaline of fighting for my life had made me delirious; at least that's what Alis’ face said as she looked into my twinkling eyes and the mischievous grin across my face.

“I hope whatever answers you got were enough to satisfy you , girl, if the Suriel hadn’t been in a benevolent mood you would have been its next meal, and not to mention the naga that nearly did make you its next meal.” She had stepped away from me, observing the work she had done with the twisting braid that draped between my shoulder blades. I stood, making to look at myself in the mirror, but Alis was redirecting me towards the bed, to the light evening dress she had laid out for me

I shot her a long glance, she shrugged and grabbed a light tunic and loose-fitting pants that she had hidden somewhere behind the bed.

“I thought we already agreed no dresses.” I had been keeping consistent with the ask of no dresses, even in my nightclothes I refused to wear a nightgown. Her expression said all I needed to know as I dressed, her hands coming to help me fasten the laces of the tunic despite my protests.

The shreds of the light blue tunic were still bunched in the corner of the room where I had thrown them the moment I entered the chamber, and I felt slightly guilty for the ruin of such fine clothes. I made sure to ignore the pool of green fabric that tangled with the shreds, the high lord’s tunic that he had shucked from his own back for my modesty.

Alis ushered me towards the door, even with my protests of wanting dinner in my room, and continued to guide me down the hall and stairs to the dining room. I was still grumbling as she opened the door to the dining room and nudged me to go in.

Tamlin was sitting at his usual spot at the head of the table and had apparently not used the time since returning to the house to get a new tunic. Lucien sat to Tamlin’s right, again his normal spot, and watched me with a whirring eye as I pulled out a chair next to him. I nodded a silent hello to both of them as I sat, and started to pile my plate with stew-soaked breads and glistening fruits.

“A rather exciting afternoon for both of you, or so I’ve heard,” Tamlin grunted his noncommittal agreement at the same time I did, swirling his ever-present wine glass as he stared past Lucien and directly at me.

“Well, you still look lovely- despite your hellish afternoon” I almost choked on a chunk of bread at that, the filthy liar.

“I guess when all you do is stare at yourself in the mirror I would seem rather lovely, wouldn’t I?” The joke was easy, this type of communication was always easy for me.

A barked laugh from Lucien as Tamlin let out a light chuckle. Good, it was good that they were laughing and not interrogating me about my time with the Suriel. I think my thoughts had jinxed me as Lucien turned to fully face me.

“Speaking of your afternoon, I heard from a little birdy that our human guest went to the western woods to snare a new beast to answer their questions.” I looked back down at my plate to ignore the burning stare of Lucien. He went to say something else but Tamlin spoke first

“You do know we would answer any of your questions? We would never willingly lie to you, nor have we.” willingly because with Amarantha’s curse, they could mention nothing of it. Still, I nodded my head, placating as I plucked up a cube of watermelon. The sweetness distracted me for a moment before I rinsed it away with the cold glass of water that had become my staple for dinners.

Lucien let the silence sit for a beat before he spoke, “Did the Suriel tell you what you wanted to know?” Another nod from me, slower this time.

“Enough, though the naga interrupted before I could finish our conversation.” I saw Tamlin look to Lucien as the emissary quirked an eyebrow.

“Conversation? You had a conversation with the Suriel.” Disbelief etched every word as he spoke. I hummed as I ate a bit of chicken, truly I was starving as I hadn’t eaten all but a small breakfast and the cheese I had nibbled on in the woods. That seemed to tell them both to drop it as we all ate, Lucien dismissing himself before dessert could be served, claiming a headache.

That left me with Tamlin, awkward silence surrounding both of us as I ate a slice of honeyed cheesecake. He took occasional draws from his wine while he ate a small pastry. I would have laughed if only for the absurdity of a high lord eating a pastry with a knife and fork, but I instead decided to take the moment to try and be friends with him.

“So, you know my hobby, what about yourself? What types of hobbies do fae lords partake in?” I raised an eyebrow, trying to lighten the dense mood.

He looked at me, and I was afraid for a moment he wouldn’t answer and make it even more awkward, but he did speak after a moment of studying me. “I am quite skilled with a fiddle, took it up during my time as a soldier.” I tried my best to ignore the disappointment that the information he was giving was already known to me.

“Well, perhaps Mr. Soldier can treat me to a song one day.” I smiled at him as I continued, neatening up my plate so it was easier for the staff to take away, “I also love music, though I cannot play in any capacity.”

I tried to laugh at myself as I made for the door, but his words caught me like a snare, “I could teach you one day, if you are interested.” It was a tentative offer and I fully turned to him, bowing slightly at the waist.

“I would be flattered, Tamlin” I walked out of the dining room and went to hide in the library for the remaining hours of the day. I tried to ignore the smile that pulled at my lips and the matching grin on Tamlin’s face.

_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_

I had been asleep, only a few moments of numb blackness before I woke up. A book was sprawled open over the quilt I had dragged over me, I must have fallen asleep while reading. I was still foggy with sleep, confused why I was awake when I heard the shouts coming from the floor below followed by a scream.

The scream was of a dying animal, guttural and coated in agony I had only heard when I missed the killing shot. I was out of my room and down the hall before I could think, slamming into the sides of the walls as I turned around them, nearly jumping the whole flight of stairs as I came into the main hall. Another scream before the doors in front of me were kicked open.

Kicked as Tamlin came in with that blue-skinned faerie who was stripped with deep rivers of blood running down his back. I didn’t slow my running, running to the table at the center of the foyer - Tamlin was already yelling at Lucien to clear the table but I was there first, arms sweeping across it. A vase shattered on the tiles as the book I had left the night before went along with it.

Tamlin set the faerie, still screaming and thrashing about, onto the table. I beheld the splintered stumps where the wings had been sawed and torn off, and had to fight the burning of bile rising to my throat. Lucien was there, across the table from me, and Tamlin was talking to him, telling him where the faerie had been found. The words were lost to me though, the ringing screams of the faerie blending with the pounding of blood in my ears as I still stared.

“My wings,” the words were broken, choked out in writing pain as the pure black eyes stared at nothing, unfocused at everything besides- “she took my wings”.

I was there, at his side as he gripped the edge of the table, and was pushing back the solid form of black that was his hair. It was as soothing as I could be as I mumbled sounds of comfort. Tamlin was eyeing me as hot water and rags appeared next to white bandages. I glared up at him as I matched his eye contact, but I was the one to break it as the faerie wailed out again, thrashing about as Tamlin soaked one of those rags in water.

“She took my wings-” His veins stood in bold gold against blue skin as his long fingers tightened on the table, “She took my wings” I wondered if she had Rhys do the mangling to the poor summer faerie, a reminder of what she could have done.

The thought washed from my head as Tamlin told the faerie to keep still, slowly bringing a steaming rag to the spouting wounds. “N-n-No” The single syllable word broke as the faerie twisted, but I was pushing his shoulders to the table. I held him down on the table with all my strength as Lucien still stood, staring.

The skin under my fingers slipped and I had to look back down, readjusting my grip on wet-velvet skin before I looked back up at Lucien, asking for help to hold faerie down. The color was gone from Lucien’s face as he was cemented to the spot.

“Lucien,” A command from Tamlin, low and simple as steady hands wiped around the stumps first- avoiding the raw white tangles of nerves I saw peaking through gushing blood. But there was no response from Lucien outside as he moved only to wretch into a plant at the edge of the hallway. Before either I or Tam could say something, he was out of the room, sprinting from the bloodied faerie as I had from the naga.

The faerie went to twist again in my hands, but I pushed down, bearing all of my weight onto the thin arms. My shoulders shook as I bent down to Faerie’s ear.

“Keep still” It was my only demand, a plea as the faerie kept thrashing.

“She took my wings- she took them” Broken, everything in him was broken the moment his wings had been taken.

“I know- I know, it'll be okay” I choked on my words before I swallowed, “You will get them back.” Those eyes had moved to me, the pain in the pure black evident enough that I wanted to sob with him. I tried to soothe him as much as I could, moving my fingers ever so slightly against the blue skin while keeping him down.

The rag touched the wound and the shriek that came from the faerie was unearthly. My bones groaned at the sound as the faerie tried to raise itself from the table, to get away from the rag. I held him still as Tamlin looked at me after he wiped as much blood as he could away.

“They aren’t clotting,” he said it under his breath, defeated as he could do nothing to prevent the death that was permeating the hall. The blood that was still gushing from the wounds had pooled on the floor, and my knees became sticky with it as I readjusted my position.

I was kneeling next to the faerie, laying my head on the table to look into those eyes. My hands had moved, no longer pinning the faerie but stroking his cheek with one hand. With the other I held one of those long-fingered hands, rubbing soft circles into his fingers. I tried to distract him as he kept sobbing, tears now pooling under him.

“She took them-”

“I know, I know” I spoke softly, easy as his breathing grew wheezy.

“She took my wings”

I shushed him, still looking into his eyes as I reassured him.“You’ll get them back- I promise.”

“You swear?” Those delicate blue hands squeezed mine as some light twinkled in his eyes. Tears welled in my eyes as I lied to him.

“On everything I am, I swear- When you wake up you will have your wings back” He smiled, weak and pained as his eyes fluttered closed. Wet tears collected against the wood and my skin as I kept holding his hand, petting the starless sky that pooled around him.

I looked up only for a moment as I felt the movement of Tamlin. He was taking the other hand that had fallen limp on the other side of the table into his own. A prayer- he had started reciting the same prayer that I had said over Andras.

I spoke it alongside him, whispered as I held the faerie, hoping my hands were soft to guide him to the promised land. If Tamlin heard or saw my mouth moving he did not falter in his words until he sent off the soul with his final words. “Go, and enter eternity”

A breath- the dying faeries- sighed out, and the hand I held stopped squeezing back even as I continued to stroke at his hair, his skin. A dying butterfly- that is what it reminded me of, soft and wicked to rip the wings from it, watch it suffer only to die in pain.

I heard the other hand softly thud against the table as Tamlin let go, stepping away from the body, but I kept kneeling, holding his hand as it cooled in my grip. My legs had gone numb and my own fingers were cramping from the cold of the body when Tamlin set a warm hand on my back.

His eyes hadn’t left me since the faerie’s last breath, I had felt them against my skin in the minutes after. I knew he had questions, knew I would have to answer them but now- but just for now I wanted to soothe the pains of the sacrificial faerie.

“He’s gone. Let him go” Tamlin’s words shook me only slightly from my stupor, and I looked up at him with a blotchy face I knew had to be repulsive to him as I gripped onto his offered hand. Tamlin helped pull me to my feet, my eyes swimming with white orbs as I stood.

My bare feet moved slightly, congealing blood clinging to my skin as I stepped away, Tamlin guiding me. I wished I knew the faerie’s name , a soft mourning thought that echoed through me as Tamlin guided me to the stairs. I stopped though, turning to him.

Blood still stained his tunic from where had carried the faerie in, and his face seemed much older than the 20-something face I had grown used to. He looked weathered, dropping his youth and I could see the 500 years of politics and brutality weighing down his soul. Something inside me softened as I brushed hand down his arm.

“I’ll wait for you,” a pause where I looked toward the splayed body on the table, and I considered if I should learn to paint like Feyre had and show the masses the cruel beauty I had witnessed, “Go bury him”

“I was going to walk you to your room first but-” His eyes still stayed on me as he pulled back, I saw where he wanted to argue and leave me to my room and maybe he sensed that I would not back down here “I will be back soon, I promise.”

I didn’t want him back soon, not when a life had just been lost for nothing more than posturing and tantalizing threats. I was silent, though, as he gathered the body in his arms and made his way to the still-open doors and I sat down slowly on the stairs. The marble was cold under me as I watched his figure retreat away from the manor’s doors. He turned at some point and disappeared from my vision, but I was staring blankly into the sky.

I watched small tufts of clouds blur the stars like pieces of stray cotton. I longed to disappear into those stars and clouds, to alleviate the dense emotions thrumming through me as I brought blood-soaked knees to my chest. Tears fell into them, but I stayed silent and resisted the loud screaming sobs I wished to unleash. I couldn’t let it out though, not as I knew invisible eyes and ears observed me as the scent of blood was replaced with a fragrant cleaner.

I do not know how much time passed where I stared into those star-flecked clouds before I saw him again. A small shadowed figure on the horizon, barely distinguishable from the swaying grasses, slowly grew back into the High Lord. I watched him, and I knew he saw me there on the stairs still as he came back into the foyer.

The shattered glass had disappeared and all but a trace smell of iron was left of the blood as he passed through the threshold and approached me. I stood before he could offer his hand, and instead offered mine to him. Tamlin hesitated for a moment before he took it. He was still the one to guide me to my room but in that moment I felt a small bridge being formed, an understanding between the two of us as I only led as we ascended the stairs.

The door to my chambers was approaching far too quickly, and I had already grown dependent on the warmth I leached from his hand. I felt as though I would freeze on the spot if the connection was broken, and I understood the comfort Feyre had first sought from him. Then my hand was dropped from his grasp and I didn’t freeze, instead just idling in front of my door.

I was reluctant to break what we had formed, break the silence, but I wasn’t the one to break it as Tamlin spoke.

“Why?” It was his only word before I furrowed my brows, confused. “Why, after Andras?”

I cringed, too tired to hide it as I looked at him fully, blood-stained as I was. “No one deserves to die alone, and when I go, I want someone to be there and stay a little while after, so I pay others the same respect” True, it was always true, I had hated the thought of slipping away alone, had always stayed with the animals I killed for a few moments after their last breath before I processed them. But that was too much to give to Tamlin so I would make this an exchange; A question for a question.

“Did you get to bury Andras?” I was afraid the answer would be no, that I had murdered and left a body to rot but a small nod from Tamlin eased some of the weight from my chest. Before I could say more, to say good night or something of the like, Tamlin was already down the hall, to wherever his bedroom lay I presumed.

Maybe I was as much of a coward as he was when I didn’t go after him. I eased my way into my room, peeling the bloody cloth from me before entering the bathroom.

I rinsed the blood from my skin under the faucet before I let the water collect to form a bath. I only filled it partly, only wanting to scrub the night away from my skin as I found a washcloth and a new bar of soap that had been left for me. No more than 15 minutes had elapsed by the time I left the bathroom to find a new set of sleepwear, a pair of cerulean shorts and a loose top, laid on the bed.

I was quick to change and even quicker to burrow myself under the quilt I had abandoned earlier that night. There was no warmth left in the fabric as I wrapped it around me, trying to stave off the icy feeling of my blood as I found sleep.

[joheunsaram]

platonically cuddling (ksj)

checkout the platonic collection masterlist

summary- All Seokjin want after a long day is your ‘anime titties’.

word count- 1.1k

pairing- fwb!Seokjin x Reader

rating- PG-15

genre- fwb2lovers, idiots in love, fluff

warnings- nothing but soft soft soft fluff

a.n.- I just had an image of seokjin burying his face in some boobs and this is the result lol

Unedited cause I was in my feels.

As always reblogs, asks, and feedback appreciated 💌

-

You hummed to yourself as you chopped vegetables in the kitchen, the knife easily slicing through the carrot in your hand. Next to you the stone pot preheated on the stove, getting ready for the stew you were planning to make. It had been a while since you had properly cooked, but with exams piling up you needed an hour to turn off the stress so you didn’t lose your sanity.

However, your brain refused to turn off as you went through your notes in your head, trying to remember all the neurotransmitters and their detailed effects, even though you had relentlessly studied them since undergrad. Your humming slowly turned into a recitation of your notes as you went on autopilot, taking out the sauces from the fridge. That is, until the beep of your front door brought you back to your surroundings just in time to watch your best friend walk in, dressed in a full suit. As soon as he saw you in the kitchen, he was rushing to you, turning you around and wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Anime titties,” he sighed, burying his face in your chest, his nose nestling in the cleavage afforded by your tank top, his smile painted on your skin. He seemed so content that you almost felt bad for smacking the top of his head. Almost.

“I have a name!” you huffed, failing to push him away when he clung on tighter, now stubbornly rubbing his face against your chest, cheekily biting over the fabric.

“Mmm… love when you don’t wear a bra,” he moaned happily before reaching over to turn off the stove and ignoring your protests as he picked you up and carried you to bed. Laying you down, he didn’t even discard his jacket before he was on top of you, face once again resting on your sternum as he pulled your hand to place it on his head, coaxing you to scratch the scalp like you usually did.

You shook your head at his antics, surprised that it hadn’t escalated to more than just cuddling. He usually couldn’t keep his hands off of you, so this sudden affection was confusing. Regardless, your fingers ran through his hair, nails scraping gently at his scalp as he rumbled in satisfaction like a giant cat, making you grin.

“How was the interview?” you asked, continuing your movements, waiting for his answer. He laid there for a while, nuzzling into you before he moved further up your body, head now in the crook of your neck, his body cushioning you to the mattress. You held him, hands roaming across the large expanse of his back, making him hum contendly.

“It was okay,” he replied, tired voice reverberating through you, his breath prickling your skin. He moved up then, supporting his weight on his elbows on your sides as he looked down at you with a smile that puffed up his cheeks. He kept staring at you as if he was trying to memorize your face before he chuckled to himself, leaning down to meet your lips, pulling them between his gently, instilling you with warmth.

When he had had his fill of your lips, he moved to the side of you, using your arm as a pillow and turning you to the side as well so you were facing him and he was once again facing your chest. “Let’s nap,” he suggested, wrapping his arm and leg around you, pulling you impossibly close.

“Jinnie, your suit will get ruined,” you chastised, but you were too content to untangle yourself from him, your earlier stress melting away at his little whine. He sat up though, carelessly discarding his clothing till he was just in his boxers, and you couldn’t help but notice the aggravated skin of his chest, indicating the stress he always tended to hide so well.

Ignoring his grabby hands, you reached for the cooling gel in your drawer, smiling as he relaxed on the bed before letting your fingers gently massage the cream on to the rash on his pecs. He closed his eyes, relishing the feeling as he thought about the interview he had just been to. It had gone perfectly. They seemed to love him; commending his research and laughing at his jokes. His resume was impressive as well and he was positive that he had the position in the bag.

It wouldn’t be a bad job. The university was nice, high in ranking for the chemistry department, but it was three hours away, and somehow on the way back from the interview to your home it dawned on him how long the journey was. He didn’t want to be away from you, relegating your meetings to busy weekends. He hadn’t been away from you for too long ever  since you were kids and he didn’t think his heart could take the distance. However, every other interview he had been on had been subpar, making him brace for a rejection. Would it be wise to give up potentially the only offer he might get for you?

“It will be okay,” you consoled, unaware of the battle in his head, massaging his shoulders as you leaned over him, trying to reduce the tension in his stiff body and melt the frown on his face. “There will be other interviews. You’ll knock their socks off, Dr. Kim.”

He opened his eyes at that, looking at you with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, before he was leaning up and kissing you. You felt your heartbeat rise. Seokjin hadn’t kissed you like this before, it was almost full of yearning, in a way that terrified you a little, left you breathless.

“You okay?” you asked, unable to control the concern lacing your tone as you looked down at him, lightly stroking his cheek, and he just nodded, pecking your lips once again before pulling you down on top of him, holding you tight.

“Better than okay,” he sighed, turning on his side and cuddling you to him once again. “Let’s nap.”

He held you as the two of you drifted off, inhaling your shampoo and letting your words of encouragement ring in his head. Decision made, he kissed the top of your head, feeling more relaxed than he had all day.

There will be other interviews. Hopefully ones a lot closer to you.

-

taglist: @kithtaehyung, @missgeniality @cheesecakes-randomshitz, @aroseforyoongi, @awhnamjoon, @codeinebelle , @sugakookitty , @ressjeon , @lavienjin @abyssaeri @raplinesmoon​ @jcsmae​

check out the platonic collection masterlist

I hope you enjoyed this! For more fics of mine check out my masterlist

[leggerefiore]

Stress

words: 878

Summary: Ingo comes home from work upset. You try to figure out why that is.

Pairing: Ingo/Reader

Ingo had come home earlier than expected. You were still preparing dinner when you heard the door open and your husband step in. His coat was shrugged off and hung up on the coat rack while his shoes were removed. He walked in, going right past you without a single word, and crashed onto the couch. Turning the stew low to simmer, you carefully placed the lid on it and moved to go check on the twin. His hat was laid on the coffee table while he lied with his stomach pressed to the cushions. Ingo's face was turned away from you so that you could not observe his expression (not that it would have helped much, admittedly).

Sitting down near his head, you threaded your fingers through his hair softly. He hummed from the contact and shifted a little. “Ingo, love, what's wrong?” you asked gently. It was rare to see him act like this, usually much better at hiding his feelings. The easiest assumption was something at work had stressed him out, but you wondered just what it was. “Hey… Lie your head in my lap, let me help you,” you demanded of him. He was silent for a moment while making no moves. When suddenly, he moved and pressed his head on your lap. Ingo had shifted to his other side, so now you could see his expression properly. His eyes were shut and mouth stuck in his usual frown.

Your fingers massaged his scalp while he lay there comfortably. Watching his shoulders drop, a tension in his body seemed to lighten slightly. Ingo was so strange at times. He was probably so used to having Emmet read his every emotion without so much as a work needed to be spoken. While you had certainly got better, you were not quite at the level of 'identical twin who has spent their entire life at your side' just yet. This was a case where you needed him to tell you. “… Ingo?” you tried again. He hummed. Lifting himself from your lap, he sat up. His soft, pale eyes stared at you while he coughed awkwardly. You giggled at his nervous actions and hugged him. The warmth of his body soaked into your bones, while your ear listened to the slow beating of his heart.

His arms came around you, and he pressed a soft kiss to your head. “I apologise for worrying you, my dear,” he spoke calmly, “I simply upset from something foolish.” You needed to know now. Pulling away from his chest, you cupped his cheeks. Such a handsome man would be cursed to frown, wouldn't he? Heavy, dark circles hung under his eyes in contrast to his pale skin. Had he been sleeping properly? What could have been bothering him so badly? How had you failed to notice? “What's wrong, Ingo? I'm your spouse… I only want to help you,” you tried to convince him.

He took a deep breath. It seemed he was in contemplation over whether he should tell you about what was bothering him. Hands grasped yours and removed them from his cheeks. Thumbs rubbed into them as he closed his eyes. “I admit this is ridiculous and something I should be more mature over, but…” another breath was taken as he spoke, “I saw this family at the station. The mother and father on either side of their son, holding his hands. He must have been no older than seven… They all appeared so happy.”

“Ingo…” you whispered, seeing tears welling in his eyes as he averted his gaze from you.

“All I could think is here I am as a thirty-two-year-old with no child…” he admitted, teeth pressing together alongside his brows, “Ah, I'm awful, darling… Why do I feel like this?” You leaned forward to press a kiss to his cheek. Nuzzling your nose against his, you pulled him close. Ingo cried for a few moments into your shoulder, hiccuping and sobbing. Had this been bothering him that much? Why hadn't he spoken about it sooner? You both had been dating for three years and married for two. If he had wanted to start a family, you would have had no reservations.

“It's okay, babe,” you rubbed his back and reassured him, “Do you want to start a family?” The question froze him. You could still feel the tears wetly staining your shirt, but his sounds stopped.

“… I do… Terribly, I do,” he whispered into your shoulder, “I want nothing more than to be a father…”

Poor Ingo… Had he assumed you did not? You were not opposed to it at all. Squeezing him to you, you heard him groan a little from the pressure. It was hard to believe that some people accepted his work act for how he truly was. He may have kept the Gear Station in line with his loud, booming voice and authoritative nature, but at home he wanted nothing more than to relax and loved. A hard shell to expose its gooey interior. Brushing your fingers through his hair one last time, you pressed another kiss to his ear.

“You know…” you spoke softly, “I'd love to have a kid.”

You didn't miss how a bright crimson overtook his pale complexion.

[fandom-puff]

Smut-tember day 8- Switching Roles with Alfie Solomons

Pairing: Alfie Solomons x reader

Warnings: smut; role reversal, Dom/sub dynamic, praise, Dom!reader (at least, reader is trying to Dom alfie, who is playing along bc it’s cute and hot) slight ‘sir’ kink

I’m shite at Dom!reader so hope this is ok lolz

Gif creds to owner

“So you wanna be in charge, is that right?” Alfie smirked, rubbing his beard as you watched you squirm in your seat, playing with your dinner rather than actually eating it.

“Just for tonight,” you murmured, already feeling your face flame with bashfulness.

“Just for tonight, eh?” Alfie grinned, delighting in your shyness. “I’ll think about it. Now eat your stew, yeah?”

***

Moaning softly, you scrabbled at Alfie’s hair, nails scratching his scalp slightly as his lips pressed hungrily to yours. “Alf- Sir…” you whined, trying to push yourself up, already feeling his hardness against your tummy.

“Not ‘sir’ tonight, love,” he replied, pulling away from you just enough to look you in the eye. “You’re in charge tonight, Princess. Think you can manage that for me?”

“Y-yes, S-Alfie,” you squeaked.

“Go on then, love. I’m at your mercy,” he grinned.

“How do I do it?” You murmured after a while, a little unsure with your movements.

“I’ll tell you what. You can be in charge of when I come, okay, love?” He suggested, and you nodded. You had been subjected to Alfie holding off your orgasm many a time, so you knew the drill. “Think you can manage that?”

You nodded quickly, before clearing your throat. “Yeah. Now… get on the bed, Alfie. And take off your clothes, but leave your underwear on,”

Alfie smiled fondly and nodded, doing as he was told for you, wanting to build up your confidence. When he was sat on the edge of the bed, you stood between his legs, staring down at him. Usually the only time you got to look down at him was when you were riding him….

“Good. Now, if you want to stop, you say ‘red’, yeah? And ‘yellow’ if it’s getting a bit much. And ‘green’ when you wanna get going,” you instructed, reminding Alfie of the colour-coded safeword system that he had begun anyway.

“Yes, ma’am,” he murmured, nodding encouragingly.

“And what colour are you now, Alfie?” You asked, stroking his cheek tentatively.

“Oh, I’m very much green, love,” you arched your eyebrow. “I mean ma’am,” he quickly corrected, although his lip twitched in a slight smile.

“Watch yourself,” you said sternly. “Now, lie back,” you said as you began to undress, down to your posh silky slip that he had bought for you a few weeks ago, a little more daring than your other ones. Alfie looked you up and down, dying to grope at your hips, your ass, your tits, but he wanted to let you have your moment. You smirked, eyeing up his bulge, cupping your hand over it, bending over just enough to show off your cleavage. “This for me?” You breathed, squeezing him gently through his boxers.

“Oh, yeah. All for you. You’ve no idea how much you turn me on,”

“Oh, I’m getting a pretty good idea. Bet if I just left you here like this you’d come in your underwear like a randy teenager,” you smirked, palming him firmly now. Alfie swallowed a little groan, watching your hand rasp over the straining fabric. “Here. I’ll save you the embarrassment of messing up your boxers…” you murmured, slipping his boxers down, tugging them off his legs and tossing them aside. “There,” you said. “Much better, yeah? Look how hard your cock is, Alf… and you’re leaking already, all for me,” you cooed, pride flaring in your chest as his cock twitched heavily against his belly. “I’m gonna ride you, Alfie, and you’re not gonna come until after I do; you aren’t gonna come until I say so,”

“Anything you say,” he said, gazing up at you as you straddled him, and he was unable to bite back his groan as you seated yourself on his cock, your eyes fluttering slightly. As you rocked your hips, you slid up and down on Alfie’s thick length, arching your back as his shaft massaged your innermost pleasure points.

“S-so good f’me, Alf,” you moaned, your head tipping back as you rode him. “Make me feel so good…”

As you took your pleasure on his cock, Alfie could see that you were slipping into your more submissive mindset, sounds tumbling from your lips in a jumble of praise and curses and moans and whimpers. He grunted, grasping your buttocks, suddenly flipping you onto your back, his broad chest looming over you as you gasped in surprise, eyes completely darkened.

“What’re you doing?” You demanded, trying to sound stern, but the words came as a whine.

“You’ve done so well for me tonight, pet. So good for your first try,” he cooed, thrusting his hips the way he knew you liked, grunting as you pushed your breasts up towards him. “But let me take over for you now, darlin’, let me show you how it’s done,”

Tags: @liliputbahn @lilymurphy03 @imareallygrumpyme @acciosiriusblack @shelundeadxxxx @peakyswritings @lazyotakujen @rogertaylorismycar @inkyblinders @elenavampire21

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

One Night🌙11

Warnings: noncon sexual acts and rape, angry Andy, hormones, awkward dinner, y’all know what it be.

This is dark!Andy Barber and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: One night changes your entire life.

for @kittykatlow​‘s 200 Follower Celebration

Note: Okay, here’s an update.

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You wore a black dress, barely loose enough to fit over your bump as the hem floated high in the front. Your forehead beaded with sweat as you took out the heavy glass pan from the oven and puffed. You set it down and removed the lid as steam clouded out. You heard your father’s voice from the living room and Andy’s baritone response.

The night was smooth so far. Your father was particularly impressed by the autographed baseballs on the mantle but never outspoken, the conversation didn’t stray much from sports or cars. Your mother’s posture and expression betrayed her discomfort but she masked it with a cordial tone. You were thankful for it as you didn’t need to deal with her attitude and Andy’s at once. You were too hormonal and tired for that.

You began to take down plates from the cupboard and your mother’s voice sounded from behind you. She neared and reached up next to you as she grabbed the next plate before you could. She stacked the four of them neatly and grasped them in her knobby hands.

“You’re too pregnant for that,” she said, “you grab the silverware.”

You gave a small smile and turned to open the drawer as she left you. You took out the utensils and followed her into the dining room. You set the table and she returned to the kitchen. You came after her and she used a dishcloth to lift the hot pan.

“Get the door, will ya?” she said as she angled around carefully.

She passed you as you held open the swinging door and she set the pan down on the mat in the middle of the table. She inhaled deeply and glanced over at you. 

“Stuffed peppers?” she asked.

“Your recipe,” you said, “I’ve been craving them.”

“Next time, let me make them,” she smiled, “you still don’t know the special ingredient.”

“I’ll figure it out one day,” you rubbed your lower back.

“Sit,” she pulled out a chair, “I’ll go get the men.”

You neared her and leaned on the back of the chair, “mom,” you said quietly.

“I’m trying,” she said grimly, “I’m just… not happy yet.”

You nodded and hung your head, “yeah, you don’t have to be, but thank you.”

“I don’t like that man,” she hissed, “a wife in the hospital and he’s knocking up a stranger--”

“Mom,” you warned her, “please.”

“I know, I know,” she shook her head, “but you’re my daughter and he’s… I don��t know, who knows what really happened to the wife.”

You gave her a look and she pursed her lips. She retreated and you sat down heavily and cupped your cheeks. All you had to do was get through dinner. Then you could say you were tired and hide in your room.

You heard her voice in the next room and the impending footsteps before they appeared in the doorway. Your mother and father sat across from you and Andy took the seat to your right. You waited awkwardly and he cleared his throat.

“Well, sweetheart, aren’t you going to serve the guests?” he intoned.

“I can do it,” your mother offered, “don’t make her work any harder than she needs to. Not in her condition.”

You were slightly taken aback by her effort but you didn’t miss how the corner of her lip twitched as she eyed Andy. She didn’t like and didn’t trust him. You couldn’t say you did either and almost for the first time in your life, you felt a kindred connection to your mother.

She stood and scooped a pepper carefully onto each plate with a generous spoonful of sauce from the bottom of the dish. She set them back carefully before each diner and returned to her chair and sat. She smiled, a forced smile, and shifted her chair closer.

“So, you have some time but… once the baby’s here, I’m sure you’ll be back to work,” you mother began, your father always content to hide in his food, “me and your dad talked, we could watch the kid once and a while--”

“She’s not going back to work,” Andy interjected, “especially not at the diner.”

“Oh,” your mother’s lips pressed together in a firm line, “she isn’t?”

“Maybe after a year?” you began as you glance at Andy, “once I get the hand of things--”

“No,” Andy said, “you’re staying home with her.”

“I guess we haven’t decided,” you offered calmly, embarrassed by Andy’s attitude, “as you said, we still have time and we’re figuring stuff out.”

“Once the kiddo’s in school, you’ll have the time to get a job,” your dad offered, “that’s what your ma did. She kept on a few hours here and there when you were real small but once you hit kindergarten, she was back to full shifts.”

“We’ll talk,” Andy threw a hand up and grabbed his fork with his other, “it’s really not your business. It’s ours.”

“Andy,” you chided, “they’re just curious--”

“And where were they for the last couple months?” he snarled, “they weren’t so curious then.”

“Alright, calm down,” you hissed, “sorry, mom, dad--”

“Don’t apologise for me,” he snipped, “they should be apologising to you. That’s why I welcomed them into my home.”

“What?” you gulped, “Andy, they don’t need to--”

“No, no, my child is gonna have at least one set of grandparents and if it’s going to be them, they’re going to respect you and me,” Andy insisted, “so they can apologise or they can leave without dessert.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you uttered.

“Don’t you tell me how to act,” he cut into the pepper, “so…” he looked across the table at your parents, “she made this delicious meal and I think she deserves at least a little appreciation from the two of you.”

You dad looked angry for once in his life as your mother’s lips curled in mortification. You gave them both a shameful look and shook your head just slightly. You mouthed an apology as Andy huffed and tapped impatiently on the table.

“We’re sorry, honey,” your mother began, “we overreacted. Just like I said earlier, I was surprised.”

“Sorry,” your dad forced out as he glared at Andy, “you know I always love and support you, no matter what.”

“Thank you,” you said softly, “now,” you touched Andy’s arm gently, “we can move on. It’s all good.”

“Mhmm,” he grumbled as he leaned forward to take a bike, “we can… but this doesn’t happen again.”

You wanted to shrink down and hide under the table. The tension that rose was palpable and threatened to choke you. You had false hope in the beginning that this might feel normal, that you might end the night with a new standing between you and your mother. 

You knew then that Andy’s goal had never been to bring you back together, it was only to gain another degree of control. He made it clear that no one could help you, not even your own parents.

🌙

You were almost thankful for the sink full of dishes. It kept you distracted and gave you a reason not to sit and stew with Andy. Your parents left shortly after you cut the cherry pie and you cleaned up as they bid their farewells. You were completely humiliated by Andy’s hubristic demands but you didn’t dare argue with him. Especially not in front of guests.

You scrubbed the dishes as your stomach pressed to the wet counter and placed each in the drying rack. Andy came in as you pulled the drain and you took the dish cloth from its hook.

“Here, I’ll dry,” he offered.

You stared at him and wiped the water from your hands and gave him the cloth. He went to the rack and opened a cupboard. You took out a container and began to pack up the leftovers from the pan and wrapped the top of the pie. The silence made every clink and clank louder as you moved around the kitchen.

You shut the fridge and sensed him behind you. You flinched as his hands settled on your hip and you gripped pressed your palm against the cool metal. He pulled you back against him and slid his hands around your bump as he hummed.

“Did I tell you this dress looks wonderful?” his fingers brushed the dishwater along the front.

“Andy,” you grasped his wrists, “what are you doing?”

He rocked you as one hand grazed beneath your bump and his fingers dangled over your vee. He bent and inhaled the scent of your scalp. You went rigid as he wiggled against your back, his arousal twitching tellingly.

“Andy, please--”

“Can’t knock you up a second time,” he purred.

“I… no, please, I’m tired--”

“Come on, honey, that night… wasn’t that amazing?” He turned you to face the island and you caught yourself against the edge, “that was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

“It was a mistake, alright? Look at us now--”

“Look at us, hmmm?” he pushed his hand down and cupped your cunt through your dress. You gasped and squeezed his wrist, “I lay in my bed thinking of you all night… and you’re just across the hall. Why are we playing this game still?”

“Get off of me, please,” you begged, “Andy--”

He pressed his fingers to your pants and pushed the cotton against your folds. You bit your lip as he found your clit and the chafing formed a pressure beneath his touch. You shook your head and leaned back into him, trying to shove him away.

“Let me go…” you breathed.

“Doesn’t that feel good?” he urged, “I can feel you getting wet already. You’re lying to yourself.” He pulled your panties aside and dipped two fingers between your lips, “why do you gotta be so damn stubborn?”

You sucked in air and tensed as he played with your bud so that your thighs quivered. You tucked your chin in and bit down as you tried not to let out a moan. Your nails sank into sleeve but he kept on. You felt how powerful he truly was, his chest pressed against you as his arm remained immoveable.

He bent you slightly as he snaked his hand further and poked a finger inside of you. You squeaked and he added another, curling them as he began to rock his hand. He buried his face into your neck and his hot breath permeated your skin.

“Mmm, isn’t that nice, honey? I just wanna help you relax?” his teeth grazed your neck, “I can be nice, you see?”

Those words turned your blood to ice. You closed your eyes as you returned to those hours ago when his fist crashed into the wall. When his voice was rigid and unloving, when you were certain he would do worse than just yell. Now he was all over you, coaxing you as if it never happened, as if there hadn’t been months of this precarious tug-of-war.

“Andy, really, I’m tired,” you pleaded, “that night… I told you--”

Your voice caught in your throat as he thrust his fingers deeper and moved his hand faster. The pressure throbbed inside of you, pulsing through your veins and you kept your hand tight on the counter as you gripped his arm with the other. Your ankles threatened to bend as you shuddered and came in a sudden rush.

“Tired?” he mocked as he led you through your climax, “I’ll do all the work, honey.”

You shook your head and whined through your teeth. He kept on until you were weak and clinging to his hand. He slowly drew his fingers out of you and slid his arm out from around you. You slumped against the counter as he let you go, the subtle tinkle of his belt gleaned in your ear.

You turned to him as his belt hung open and he caught you by surprise. He wrapped one arm around your back, his other hand across your ass as he lifted you with a grunt. You threw your hands back to keep from falling across the island as he put you down on the marble. You tried to slide forward as his hands grasped your hips and held you in place.

His blue eyes burned and dilated. He reached under your skirt and pulled your panties down. You whimpered as he tugged them down. He quickly pushed your legs apart and moved between them, your knees wide around his thighs. He grabbed your chin and tilted your head back, his lips covering yours hungrily.

You clawed at the front of his shirt as his other hand danced along your pelvis. His fingers crawled down your thigh and she shifted as he fumbled blindly with the front of his pants. You pushed against his shoulders as the panic erupted from your stomach and swelled in your throat.

He brought you closer to the edge and pulled his hand back to grip himself. You opened one eye as you tried to peek down but couldn’t see beneath your bump. He leaned on you until you fell over the marble and bent over you as he slipped his tip along your cunt. His lips strayed to your cheek and down to your throat.

“Andy,” you begged one last time as he pressed against your entrance.

He purred against your neck as his hand slid past your shoulder and stretched over your tit. He pushed into you slowly and you gulped as tears pricked in your eyes. You bent your legs so your heels pressed to the side of the counter and gritted your teeth as he got deeper. 

As he bottomed out, he rasped against your skin. He stood up straight and dragged your ass over the edge of the counter. He puffed his chest as he thrust into you and his eyes rolled back. He growled as he did it again and your walls clenched around him. Your reached down and pressed on his open pants with your fingertips, trying to push him away pathetically.

“Andy,” you whimpered as he hooked his arm around your thigh, “Andy--”

His other hand flipped up your skirt and he stretched his hand over your round stomach as he rocked into you. You shook your head and covered your face with one hand as you gripped the edge of the marble with your other. Your breaths grew shallow as you fought your own body and the pleasure blooming around his intrusion.

He sped up as the wet noise filled the kitchen and you bit the heel of your hand to keep from crying out. Another orgasm flowed over you and knotted your muscles around him. His groans and grunts grew louder as his flesh slapped against yours, his fingers drawing circles on your stomach.

“Oh fuck,” Andy hissed and jerked his hips harshly.

He sank into you as deep as he could go and wiggled his hips as he flooded you. He twitched as he leaned his head back and sighed, his fingers tight on your thighs as they painfully poked your tender flesh. You moaned and trembled as you felt his release hot inside of you. 

He stilled and let your legs splay around him. You stared at the ceiling in shock as he shuddered. You propped yourself up on your elbows and looked between your legs as his cum dripped out around him. You pulled off of him and shoved him away. He seemed to awaken from a trance as you did and his lashes fluttered.

You dropped down carefully to your feet and stormed away. He called your name but the vomit was already halfway up your esophagus. You weren’t going to make it upstairs. You closed yourself in the half-bath under the stairs and wretched into the sink. You held yourself up weakly until the violent ripples quelled. You looked at yourself in the mirror and winced. 

One night cost you the rest of your life. One night meant your body, your soul, your days were his. One night would be countless nights, your fate decided in a single careless act.