#rattling rattling RATTLING like a wild animal in a cage! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sweetheartharpy · 2 months ago

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Kindness to Nurglings

Nurgle x F! Reader fic. 3,050 words, estimated read 15min.

Content warnings: NSFT. Graphic discussion of disease, decay, parasites, fungi, rot, etc; -- You know, all that stuff Nurgle is known for. Minor mind control/ perception alteration. Tentacles. It's just good and gross all around. Dead Dove Do Not Eat.

"Plot": You, the Reader, found a strange beast, all sickly and desperately in need of care. You do your best to take care of it, and, when its mightier friends come, your kindness is... Repaid? by the Lord of Decay himself.

Now available on AO3!

It was a strange little creature, scampering there out in the near-dark twilight fields. At first, you'd mistaken it for a dog— A mangy one, for sure, but a dog nonetheless. It had the joyful spiritedness of an animal that refused to believe anything was wrong with it, and so, with a combination of the gentlest-bristled broom you had and an old kennel, you herded it to a relative safety.

Only when you had it in the light in your house could you see it was no dog, no breed you knew of, at least— Or it had been so horrifically injured that it wasn't recognizeable thereby. Something animal in you screeched to run from it, but you battered that silent with better human nature, and decided on a bit more safety than before. Donning a thick coat and leather gardening gloves and an old mask you had lying about, you wedged a shallow bowl into its cage and poured it some water from a bottle, tks-tks and ps-ps —ing to get its boisterous attention and splashing the clean water. If it was rabid, you knew there was nothing you could do about it, and it was best to call wildlife control and have it taken care of a different way— But you'd nursed some sick creatures to health before, and if it drank, it could surely be saved.

You were delighted to see it bop over in an uneven hobble, noticing one of its legs shorter than the other three; When it unfurled a long, white-slimed tongue from its squashed-in maw and lapped up the clean water thirstily, you hesitantly moved a glove near the cage. Unlike anything wild, it perked up and tried to rub its… Face? Against the leather, much like an affecitonate cat might; Heartened, you pushed leather to bars, and felt the pressure of its slimy, pustulent skin against your hand. It was cooing, or perhaps purring; What had been the phlegmy, rattling breaths of its standard existence deepened and grew more expressive, earned a more pleased vibrato to them, and, still gloved, you scratched up where its ears might once have been, now reduced to crusty, waxy holes.

When you pulled your hand away, it stood on its hind legs, the hips squelching in a rather off-putting manner as it did so. And… It straightened in a distinctly humanoid stance. Between that and the skin, you wondered if this was some sort of Xeno child, or a Warp-touched… Something. You couldn't wrap your head around it— Something about it danced at the edge of recollection, the barest hint of the uncanny, and as it seemed to smile through a faceful of pus-streaming sores, you wondered what you'd gotten yourself into.

xxx~~~xxx

You'd named it Boops. Whatever Boops was, no amount of washing, soap, mite treatments, or antibacterial soaps seemed to help. You'd tried to give it some of your dog's old oral antibiotics, but it'd had such a violent reaction and wailed so piteously that you had no choice but to avoid it. Boops was, despite the… Frankly disgusting nature of itself, in remarkably good shape. They'd run about and smear their mess on things with a radiant joy that was quite charming, and honestly, you'd gotten used to the smell after some days and just confined them to a guest room to reduce the cleaning needed.

And so much cleaning! It seemed Boops was a veritable font of pus, seeping lymph, phlegm, bile, and clotting blood. Whatever they had was… Well, you hoped not contagious. If you were this way, you'd surely be rushed to the hospital. And after these days of no improvement, that's where you'd decided to take Boops: The veterinarian.

As you scooted them into a carrier, they started tugging with excitement at your sleeve, and pointing behind you— Those digits were surprisingly flexible, to point. Almost raccoonlike— Could this be a raccoon?— But you looked where Boops pointed, and gasped.

Shambling from the forest where Boops themselves had arrived was a whole horde of other Boops-es, laughing and rushing towards town. Following them were flies large as a goat, which swept in towards you. Boops howled something in its tongue, and the flies diverted away— And the howl brought other attention.

Men, or things like men, in armour at once chitinous, keratinous, and ceramite-like, trudged in steady line through the trees. Their weapons were huge; Their stench was nearly unbearable. Boops yowl-chittered something, and this time, it was more like words. One of the massive men turned your way, marched to you. You grabbed Boops out of the carrier in your bare arms and ran, ran to town.

The thudding of hulking steps behind you grew near far quicker than you could run, and before you knew it, there was a hand on your shirt. You twisted and fought, tearing your shirt down the back on the rusted, diseased metal of the armour the man-thing wore, but then it grabbed your arm in a grip strong enough you felt your bones creak.

You howled. It hurt. The machine-man tugged. You tugged back, still carrying Boops like a football, like a baby, tucked to your chest.

Boops scampered up the man's arm and perched gaily upon his shoulder, and hopped up and down in place, chittering. The man loosened his grip a little, and the small beast rubbed its face on the helmet before it, just how it had rubbed its face upon your hand some days ago.

And the man lifted you, and carried you away.

xxx~~~xxx

He walked for some time, and you had stopped fighting. Wherever it was that he and Boops had come from, you were growing afraid of both for it; Back this way, the plants had withered and blackened, fungations sapping the life from old, once-mighty trees, molds drizzling down from the bushes in mockeries of berries. The animals that you could identify were, at times, writhing in feverish spasms, and at other times wandering with zombielike aimlessness, wandering out, away, from the direction you headed, the infective epicentre.

There, a roiling morass of tentacles and entrails in a robe spoke with the armoured man who had carted you all this way, spoke the same tongue as Boops seemed to, and you wept as you were handed off to this one, instead.

xxx~~~xxx

Little bumps had formed across your body, warm but neither tender nor painful; You could have mistaken them for shaving-bumps, but for the fact you'd not shaved.

When you exited the swirling greenish portal the man made of undulating disconnected meat had opened on your apparent behalf, these odd bumps had become raised, reddened ulcers, and had begun to grow sore. You coughed wetly, and a similar cough echoed behind you— Boops' cough. The little beastie had come with you, and now reached up on tip-toes to hold your hand, pull you deeper into this horrible world.

The ground was spongy like half-putrefied flesh, covered in massive tubes of slime-molds that looked disconcertingly like blood-vessels, throbbing and pumping and shuddering. The air was humid, thick, stagnant and filled with so much stench it made you vomit, and then vomit again, and keep retching until your belly ached and you could barely breathe. Boops held back your hair, and then, once you'd shakily returned to your feet, rolled in the mess before standing up and running off.

A copse of perfect trees stood tall, vibrantly green and absolutely untouched by the decay all around; You saw them through the haze of spores and stench, and ran to them like a lifeline.

When you burst through, you wished, immediately, you hadn't.

A corpulent mound of pure, slime-slick decay, of bulbous poxy sores, of open, writhing guts, of wounds infected and purulent, of wriggling and teeming parasites, reclined lazily upon a throne of bones cemented with adipocere and fungus. He turned his head, jowls wobbling with a bloated sort of fullness, and grinned wide, revealing row after row of sharp, carnivorous teeth.

"My dear!" He cried, and stretched out his arms, moribund body creaking, skin peeling, sores weeping at the motion. "Oh, my dear, by baby here has been telling me SO much of you! I must say, I really love the fact you tried to give him baths. That's HILARIOUS."

He gestured his arms down to Boops, who ran up and nestled into the yeasty folds of his creator's belly, smearing vomit on the flesh that seemed to disintegrate into black sludge at the slightest touch.

"You even named him. Boops! That's such a cute name! Honestly, like your own little rotten child," He laughed, and picked up the little creature, placing the small thing upon his prodigious belly. It chewed into a pustule and made a nest of it, looking down at you with unabashed delight.

You took a step back, mouth agape, not even sure what to make of the scene before you.

"Now, don't be shy!" The mound of putrescence before you laughed, and in a dizzying moment of vertigo, you were at his feet. You knelt forward as your stomach siezed, and demanded you vomit the nothing in it, or, barring that, vomit up the organ itself.

"Oh look, they even know to kneel!" He laughed, and leaned forward, creeks of black rot and bile pouring down, squeezed from his flesh. He touched, and the sores on your body blossomed into agony and consumption, vibrant red and weeping blood. You screamed, the pain and fear finally coming to vocalization, and this caused the impossible being of decay before you to frown. Boops chittered.

"Oh, they haven't? My, my! Such a strong will, indeed. This far without even accepting my blessing? Just a little kindness, hmm? Oh, we can't lose that, no no!" He grabbed you up in his hands, and more sores began to grow, fungi spreading from opened skin, burrowing and wriggling into nerves and muscles in a torrent of agony.

Something in you whispered to let Papa take care of you, and he'd take all that pain away. You, dazed and beyond overwhelmed, accepted.

The pain lifted. Subsided. Washed away into waves of… Well, not pleasure, but contentment, for now. It was far, far better than the agonies that had preceeded it just moments before.

"Isn't that better?" The great monstrosity above you cooed, and rested you on his belly, near to Boops. He looked down at you, and hummed, and waved fingers as if plucking invisible threads from you; Fungi unburrowed, sores shrunk, and others festered and blackened. The crusty eschars on you looked, to your addled, but… Still fairly happy, mind, like a leopard's spots, and you touched the black lesions with reverence. They sent tingles of pleasure up your spine, like a particularly good back-rub.

You remembered, then, the thing had asked a question, and looked up, opening dry, cracking lips to answer in the affirmative; How long had it been since you'd drunk anything?

Gazing upon his face, his gums puffy and red, teeth snaggled and yellowed, horns branching like tangled tree-limbs from his mighty head, you found an odd affection for the thing that had, clearly, done something to you. You ran a finger across the dried crisp of some peeling skin, and smiled a thin crescent.

"Ohhh, flatterer. You know, it's been a long, long time since there's been a human so dead set on healing a Nurgling! You're really a rare breed," You heard him say, and felt him laugh, fetid breaths causing his belly to bounce with you on top of it. It was not unlike the wavered undulations of a bouncy-castle, and you found yourself smiling wider, lips cracking until they bled, at the memory. You licked them, tasted your own blood upon them.

"Nurgling?" You echoed, and found yourself tilting your head up his way. He quirked an eyebrow and then laughed again.

"A barbaric world, then! Undiscovered little thing. Yes, Nurgling, one of my many children, pretty one." He caressed your cheek with a mighty, clawed hand, leaving a greasy smear in its wake, just like the grease that was seeping into your clothes from below. "And that makes me, to you, Nurgle. Papa, or Grandfather, sometimes. You really don't know me, hm? Ah, that's alright. Better, maybe."

You tried his name, and felt his bloated body shiver with delight. You smiled, and felt his hand sink into your clothes, which spooled apart into dusty decay and left you naked as the day you came into the world atop his belly. It was a bit embarassing, to be stared at by someone you'd only just met, so quickly you squeezed your legs shut and covered your chest as well as you could— Only for two fingers to grab your hand, try to reveal your modesty gently.

"Don't be that way," the horned beast cooed, and heat, feverish and yet wonderful, rose in your face, bloomed over ears and chest in a deep blush. "Don't be that way, little dear. You did so like Boops, wouldn't you like to have some Boops-es of your own?"

The thought gave you brief pause, but when he put it that way, you found, though you might not have before, that was rather appealing. You were certain that even just minutes ago, the thought of it would have been horrifying beyond imagining, but now? Now the longer you thought about it, the more you found you wanted it— The more you found yourself wanting it. Slick of your own joined the grease on his belly, and that toothy maw grinned to feel it.

"There's a good pretty one," he purred, and grunted as he heaved something up, something else out of the way, and a different stench filled the air.

You found yourself sliding down his belly, eased by the copious and unidentifiable fluids seeping from his flesh, until you came to a rest on a thigh, and found protruding from beneath his fat, bloated folds a cock as long as a pine tree, and with girth to match, bulbous and scarred, seeping unholy colours and dripping with chunks of waxy-yellow. You stared up at him and asked him how, exactly, this was intended to fit in you, if you were supposed to give him more Nurglings; He laughed, and shook his whole body with the heaving, thunderous jiggles of the laughter, and told you not to worry.

So you didn't; You reached where you could, and pulled the remarkably-sinuous organ towards yourself, feeling it ripple and move in a way no human's could. If anything, it seemed prehensile, and as you wrapped your arms around it to set on the task of providing what pleasure you could to your lord, it wound back around you and writhed, as if it was trying to frot you, and not the other way round.

Deep rumbles of enjoyment slid from the Chaos god's phlegmy throat, and, bolstered by that, you set to using not just your arms and chest, but thighs and feet and mouth as well, clambering upon the organ in its entirety and squeezing and wriggling with as much sensuality as you could manage.

This was taken quite well, and the cock wound back around you, pressing a tip wide as a soda-can to your lips; Dutifully, you opened, and licked and suckled and kissed upon the rotten-smelling tip, providing a scant cleanliness to the waxy-smeared, puffy urethra-lips and digging out only-Papa-knew-what from the hole. Your hands squeezed and danced across the cockskin, tracing hearts and rubbing the slipping skin wholesale, while you pressed your belly and ground your holes against a bump so nicely formed for you from the twisting, tentacle-like organ.

Perhaps pseudopod would be more accurate; Even as you writhed upon the larger source-shaft, you felt little pappilae, little cillia, of smaller cocks bud out and protrude. Most of them stayed small, rubbing across you in delightful dances, caressing each lesion like so many tongues, lapping at nipples, tangling up in your fingers; But some decided to grow larger, and grow into you.

You found your cunt pushed against by a similar tentacle, followed shortly by your ass; The waxy slime across the whole of his cock was plenty lubrication, and he slid in easily, starting small, growing larger. A cadre of little tentacle-dicks assaulted your clit, teased your trimmed vulva, tickled and danced across your perineum, eventually ensconcing you like underwear in a horde of trembling pleasures. The cocklets in your pussy and asshole began to grow, both rougher and larger, and worked on properly thrusting into you.

You gasped and moaned, and humped into the mass of cockflesh that had wrapped you up as surely as you held it; soon you had no room to move, caught like an insect to a sundew, and simply thrust your hips back against the tentacles that ploughed into you. Your cries raised into the muggy, musky heavens, and Nurgle groaned a little, shifting to rest you back into his hand, gently rock push back-and-forth with the pleasure your own writhing body gave him.

It didn't take too long before his many, many cockheads went from weeping a greenish-clear to a whitish-green, and he growled a possessive little rumble down your way. "Mnh!— Have another— Blessing—!" He grunted, and the slow seep of off-coloured cum became a surge. The thousands of tiny pseudopodal cocklets seeped semen out like a massive stamen, while the can-thick tentacles ravaging your cunt and asshole paused, shifted in as deep as they could go, and spewed forth an unholy torrent of thick, rotten cum into your helpless body. You felt your belly bloat up, and your eyes rolled back as you came, harder than you ever had in your prior life.

He pulled back, and the many little dicks receeded into his own primary organ; the ones nestled in your holes were the last to go, slipping away with sloppy pops that left you shuddering with aftershocks of your own orgasm. You clung to his cock, sliding slowly down, before you plopped into his bloated palm and were deposited rather gently onto the soft grassy ground by his throne.

"Grow and multiply, now," he panted, huffing miasma out into the air. "Go, now, and be a proud Mama."

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delopsia · 1 year ago

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Stellar Ride | Rhett Abbott x Reader

Word Count: 8,000 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, PBR!Rhett. Mentions of Rhett blowing up in the media, crowds, Maria flirting with Rhett in front of the Reader, Archie is a gem. Praise, grinding, mentions of past injury, unprotected sex, a dash of jealousy, post-coital snuggles. Please comfort and reassure your cowboy during sex. Brief Summary: When new fans and a childhood crush come seeking the hand of your cowboy, you take great pleasure in knowing that this cowboy is yours. Not Maria's. Not his fans. No, just yours.

The roar of the crowd is louder than the drum of your heart. Thrashing against your chest like a caged animal. The buzz of adrenaline jittering through your veins. Rattling what remains of your already shot nerves. That blinding jumbotron flashes a familiar name and face. But it's not what you can focus on.

And even the screams of a name you know too well aren't enough to rise above the deafening ring in your ears. A constant tone that makes your world blurry. Tunnel vision locked onto a mop of black hair lingering by the chutes. Beyond the sections reserved for fans, but not in the staff area. A familiar sight that has your heart beating harder. As frustrated as the bull thrashing in the chute.

Is that...

Thump.

...it can't be.

But then that head turns to speak to a friend. And the screams of Rhett Abbott's name floods your ears. No longer muffled. So loud that you jolt in your seat.

Maria fucking Olivares.

Two thousand pounds of pure muscle bursts out of the chute. Twisting counterclockwise. The big right hand of your beloved cowboy held high in the air. Muscles flexing as he clings to that thin piece of rope. Seconds spinning across the jumbotron screen.

Numbers that you can't bear to spare a glance at. You don't know if it's you shouting his name or if it's the fan next to you. Her shrill voice overriding all else.

The crowd shoots to their feet as the buzzer sounds. Blocks you from catching sight of him falling off the bull — always the scariest part. The familiar voice of the announcer blares across the speakers as if the victory is his own, crying your husband's name as loud as he can.

He's made it.

Rhett's going to the finals again.

...if he doesn't get disqualified for darting toward the fence.

On a one-way track to the stands, he hops up and swings his dirt-covered legs over the barricade, hat blowing off his head. Spurs jingle as his boots hit the ground. Darting through the collection of squealing girls that have congregated in front of you. A big, loopy grin sprawls across his scruffy face. Arms opening wide.

That's the last thing you see before a hundred sixty something pounds of adrenaline and excitement slams into you. Knocking you off your feet. His grimy nose burying into the crook of your neck, sweat dripping from the curls at the nape of his neck. Yelling something that you can only interpret as a "we made it!"

And you just know he's getting red dirt all over your new white t-shirt, but you're wrapping your arms around him anyway. Hanging on tight as he spins you in a circle, uncaring of the unfamiliar faces that crowd around you.

"My ring," he's already muttering into your ear, "where's..."

So impatient.

Your hand disappears into your pocket, producing a thin, golden band. Dented on the side from the time a bull stepped on his hand, broke it in three different places. That scarred ring finger of his crooks off to the left more than it should, but the ring slips over it regardless, hugging him just right.

"Can't go a second without it, can ya?" You're teasing, nose wrinkling as he leans in to steal a kiss. All sweat and grime and all the things that shouldn't be on your mouths.

The corners of his lips turn upward, wild blue eyes glittering, "nope."

Cute.

But fuck does he need a shower.

A flash is all it takes to break you out of your own little world. Cameras greedily snapping photos of a moment that wasn't anyone's to save or share. Hands are touching you; someone's behind Rhett, yelling for him to turn around and take a photo with her, the loudest amongst a clatter of voices that rattle around your skull.

It's the worst possible time for Rhett to be drawing away from you. Right at the start of the pushing and shoving, brought on by the rise in security surging into the stadium, frantic to get their photos and videos and everything else they could possibly get out of your cowboy. But he's grabbing hold of your wrist, downright hauling you underneath his sweat-drenched arm, safely tucked into his side as he shoulders through the crowd.

Rhett's head dips down, his hot breath tickling your ear as he whispers into it, "next time 'm makin' them put ya in the damn staff section."

"Don't let the win go to your head, cowboy," you tease him as if you don't know that you'll be in that section next time; at this point, you're surprised it hasn't happened already. These crowds grow with every rodeo, a sea of folks who had never heard of Professional Bullriding until they discovered the handsome mug of a small-town Wabang cowboy.

A familiar face emerges from the crowd, one over his hands cupped around his mouth, shouting as loud as his deep voice can possibly manage, "yer a goddamn fuckin' fool, Abbott!" That other hand waves a cowboy hat high in the air, the dark brown felt dusted in a light coating of dirt.

"I knew you'd catch it," Rhett's smiling, so drunk off the adrenaline that he doesn't seem to care when Archie slams that hat back on his head.

"Y' kiddin' me?" The edge of Archie's lip is rising, fighting a smile that is bound to work its way across his bearded face eventually, "I wrestled a gal fer this piece o'shit!"

You nearly wish that you had been present to see that. Big ol' Archie going toe-to-toe with a fan who had gotten her hands on the most iconic piece of attire your cowboy owns. "And you won," you don't mean for your tone to come off so snappy; the words nearly shoved out of your mouth by the collision of an elbow into your side.

"Damn straight I won," there's that grin, breaking out on its own accord, just as wild as Rhett's, "d' y' know how much them folks would sell that bloomin' hat on eBay fer?"

No, but you're still reeling from the prices that fanmade duplicates have been fetching. Hats crafted to look identical to Rhett's, with their deliberate tears in the felt and scuffs to high hell. Why someone would want to beat their hat to hell and back is anyone's guess.

You wonder if any of them have figured out about the polaroid of you two, taken on your first official date as a couple, delicately stitched into the inside of his hat. His good luck charm, he calls it.

Wading through the swarm is easier said than done; Rhett's squeezing you into his side, strong arm secured around you, and yet you can still feel yourself slipping out from his grasp. Forced away by the bustle of it all, unable to do anything but push forward.

Fuck, it must take an hour to get to the other side. Bursting from the flurry and into a small gap that a pair of grumbling security guards have created for you. Tumbling down the stadium floor, Archie perpetually a step ahead as Rhett leads you through unfamiliar gates and past bullpens. Such sweet, oversized animals these bucking bulls are. Intimidating at first. A massive presence that reminds you of your own mortality could hand your ass to you if they so desired but are almost always just looking for a good head scratch.

You could say the same for Rhett, now that you think about it.

It's so much quieter behind the chutes. Tucked away from the stands, its own private detachment in this oversized arena. Complete with a swarm of security and a thick, black curtain to keep out the occasional nosey fan who has yet to learn the concept of a boundary.

"Ah hell," Archie's arms flail. "That goddamn broad—"

"Hey, you two!"

Ugh.

You wish you didn't, but you recognize that voice all too well. The snappy click click click of Maria's heels across the stadium floor is all it takes to have your skin prickling. Shoulders rising with a tension that they've only just lost. Actively fighting the urge to grab Rhett's hand, drag him out of this damn arena entirely and pray she doesn't follow.

"How'd she get back here?" You're not sure if you're asking Archie or Rhett. But you might as well be speaking to a wall because all you receive are blank stares in return.

"I ain't fuckin' know!" Archie hisses, his thumb jabbing toward Rhett, "Ask this fool. He's the one she's 'ere fer."

But Rhett's got nothing more to offer than a shrug, teeth worrying his bottom lip, "I thought you let her in."

That's all it takes to get Archie's boots clicking across the floor, decidedly exiting this impromptu conversation before Maria can even enter it. Disappearing into the bustle of the rodeo once more, off to help another big-name bull rider get ready for his ride. Something. Anything that doesn't involve standing here and being forced into a conversation with someone you don't know.

"Oh my god, I didn't know you were gonna be here," there's something about Maria's big, overjoyed smile that just makes your stomach twist in ways that it shouldn't.

Did she...did she not notice you standing here at all?

She's here too fast. A freshly manicured hand rising to toy with the ends of her braid, slung over her shoulder, on display for the world to marvel at. Not too close by any means, and yet her sugary perfume still hits you like a brick wall. So up there and in your face all of a sudden that it sends you reeling.

"I uh..." Rhett's boot kicks the ground, like he might be able to scrounge words out of the tile, "Didn't expect to see you out here."

"Well, of course, I had to come and see the legendary Rhett Abbott ride," her tone is so bright that it ought to make the arena lights jealous. "Nobody ever believes me when I tell them we were friends in high school."

You're not sure if you'd count on and off ghosting a man for several years as being friends, but to each their own.

But you've got no time to think about the stories that have been relayed from Rhett's tongue because Maria's already sparking a conversation with him. Chattering away about his recent blow-up in the media, like this is some sort of one-on-one interview. You catch yourself trying to speak, a gentle correction about a detail; it wasn't a lucky fan who got a tour of the Abbott ranch. She broke in while his family was at church.

If Maria hears you, she deliberately ignores you. Her big brown eyes focused solely on Rhett and Rhett alone.

Biting your tongue, you let your attention wander. Better to be distracted than make an ass of yourself. Gaze raking over this side of the arena; the swarm of cowboys tucked off in the corner, stretching as they chat amongst themselves, warming up for their ride. All big names from small towns, with stories so similar to Rhett's.

The only difference is that they didn't get a sudden spike in fame over a video of them coming up to their significant other during a rodeo with their arms full of kittens.

A box of strays that Rhett had found discarded near one of the bullpens. Six kittens in total: three oranges, two calicos, and a tabby. Fussy little things, Rhett's still got a scar on his jaw from the tabby. You'd only intended to keep one, but Rhett's somehow convinced you on two, so the other one won't feel like she's lost her family.

There's movement in the crowd of employees by the announcer's booth. Black shirts emerging from the collection of folks working to keep the event up and running; security.

And there's Archie, meandering along next to them; if he had their matching get-up, he'd blend right in. Head held high, shoulders square as they march right toward you. His beard conceals the cockiness in his grin, but the glint in his eye tells all.

Rhett's hand bumps into your wrist as it slides down, thick fingers interlocking with yours. Maria's still talking, but that warm gaze of his is solely on you. A smile lacing his sweaty face as you lean against him.

Before security can say a damn word, Maria's fishing out a laminated card from her pocket, flashing it alongside her too-white grin. "I'm interning for one of the vets on standby."

...that's how she got in?

A hand settles on your shoulder, Archie's minty breath meeting your nose as he dips between you and Rhett. "I tried."

And again, he's gone. Disappearing just as quickly as he did the first time. Leaving you to bite back your frown as Maria's voice drones on once more, a constant irritant that you can't seem to escape. Strange, because the tone of her voice doesn't bug you at all. It's pleasant, actually.

What's bothering you is the fact that it's coming from her.

Popular belief would accuse you of being insecure. She was Rhett's childhood crush, after all, but it's not that at all.

It's the fact that she deliberately ignores you every time she comes around. Talking to Rhett, and only Rhett, with some starry-eyed twinkle that you can only identify as suggestive. Curious about all the things she may have missed out on when she rejected him all those years ago.

She spoke to you that first time you met her, back at the pit bar. When you'd offered her one of your drinks because they'd just sold out. Hadn't known her from any other person in Wabang, just another twenty-something with a story that you didn't know yet. It's a fuzzy memory, old and warped at the edges, but you remember laughing with her, telling some story about one of the guys in the bar.

And you remember the way you vanished from her radar, the moment a particular cowboy ambled up behind you, kissing your temple as he apologized for being so late.

She ignored your presence at Rhett's last rodeo in Wabang when he won that championship title for the third time in a row. Didn't say a word when you said hello at that dinner the Abbotts threw. Her ears tuned you out when the two of you ran into each other in the Casper airport, but oh, did she perk up when she realized Rhett was behind you.

Just like her face had fallen when the word "honeymoon" had left Rhett's mouth, her nose wrinkling as if that new golden band on his finger would burn her.

Hot breath tickles your ear, the scruff of a cowboy's lower lip tickling the skin there, "'m gonna head out for a shower," he whispers, "maybe I can get us outta here 'n to the hotel early."

"Don't get lost," smiling, despite knowing that you're about to be left with the one woman who refuses to acknowledge your existence for longer than a few seconds.

Rhett's lips press against your cheek, lingering in a sort of fashion that makes you wonder if he's purposely making a show of it. But then his eyebrows are shooting upward, eyes alight with a suddenly recalled thought, "Should I shave?"

It's been a while since you've heard that question.

And by a while, you mean at least a week.

Usually, you'd say yes, but the stubble on his cheek has only recently grown to the point of a gentle give rather than the prickliness that comes after a recent shave. Soft under the pads of your fingers, the right amount of scruffy, but not too much so. Doesn't poke you, even when you fully grasp his jaw, just to feel him wriggle and try to shake your hand away.

"Nah," concluding aloud, letting your arm fall back to its place at your side, "I like this look on you."

"Long as y' don't call me homeless again," those eyes of his roll, and then he's pressing a second kiss to your cheek, "Stay close. I'll come find ya when 'm done."

With that final stolen kiss, he's gone. Spurs jingling with every step he takes, shoulders straining against that old, red plaid shirt that he refuses to get rid of. The same one he's been wearing since you met him. Says it's one of his favorites, but then again, he says that about all of his shirts.

Maria is gone.

You suppose she took off the moment Rhett turned his attention to you because even as you twist your head, you can't seem to spot her. No clicking heels, no sparkling white teeth. Nothing. As if she was never here in the first place.

The sound of your name cuts through the air; Archie, again, waving you down, "y' wanna come see this 'ere bull calf we got?"

How are you meant to say no to such a thing?

"Rhett—"

Your back thumps against the wall. Railing digging into your ass. Jean-clad hips part your thighs. Oversized belt buckle digging into your skin as he rolls into you, a careful drag that sends heat rushing between your legs.

"I know it," speaking between open-mouthed kisses against your neck, the hair on his jaw scratching the sensitive skin there, "I know it."

The elevator shifts, only just beginning its upward climb to the sixth floor.

Greedy hands wander beneath your shirt. Callouses catching on the softness of your curves, burning up your sides like they can't possibly get enough. His mouth frenzied against your neck, poorly concealed bulge grinding deliciously against your core. Whittling away at your resolve until your hands are rising from his shoulders and tangling in his hair.

Tugging at the damp strands, forcing him to tilt his head up to meet your lips. Greedily drinking up the saccharine moan that whispers from the back of his throat. Open mouths lazily tangling in a dance that has your teeth clattering together. Wet, sloppy, his kisses trailing across your cheek, on his way to your ear. Only to be drawn back by his hair once more, keening, defenses melting away like sugar in the rain.

The elevator chimes. A pitchy tune that ends just as your feet hit the ground, doors squealing open to reveal a never-ending hallway. Too pristinely white, adorning frames and decor, nothing but a blur as the two of you stumble down it. Hand in hand, vision tunneled on your door.

You've hardly had time to pluck the key from your pocket. Fumbling with the slick plastic, as hands return to wander your sides once more. Drawing you back into a big, warm chest, Rhett's chin coming to rest on your shoulder. His hips bucking up against your ass, shamelessly distracting.

The simple swell of his cock against you is all it takes to set a shiver into you. Seeping through your skin, past muscle, straight down to your bones. And you can't...fuck, you can't keep hold of this goddamn card—

"Oh, what a coincidence!"

Your hand freezes. Caught halfway between sliding the card through the reader. Neck feels like it's been filled with cement as you turn your head to look down the hallway.

"Maria?" Rhett's chirp is brighter than anything you can produce. His hands slip from your sides in favor of curling an arm around you instead. "What are..."

"I'm in room six o' nine," this hallway may be white, but her teeth are whiter. So blinding that you nearly miss the flashing green light of the card reader. The handle gives way as you twist it, door creaking open on its own.

An eight-floor hotel, and yet you get roomed next to Maria Olivares.

Of fucking course, that's how things would work out.

Rhett's saying something, too polite to leave her hanging, but you hardly hear it. His voice nothing but a familiar hum as your eyes fixate on the edge of that oversized bed with its fluffy sheets and cozy sheets. Still messy from your earlier nap in them, the best mattress you've seen since this whole rodeo circuit started.

Oh, what the hell? It's not like Maria's talking to you anyway.

Stepping out of those big, warm arms, you head into the room. On a one-way route to the bed, succumbing to its siren call with all the grace and beauty of a bull rider being thrown. Face down, with a guttural noise strangled out of you by the painful ache of muscles as they finally, finally relax.

You almost think you can feel it. The way a pair of darkened eyes focus on your ass. Probably the only thing your cowboy can see from his place in the hallway. Stuck entertaining the thoughts and whims of a woman who hasn't spoken to him in at least two years. Can't do a goddamn thing about the way you squirm, raising your ass in the air just for the hell of seeing how far you can push him.

He had you in this position this morning; you wonder if he can still feel the way your hips trembled in his oversized hands as you came around his cock.

Because you can still feel the way his ring dug into your skin. Left an imprint that still brands you, even now. On their own accord, your hand rises. Fingertips delving past your waistband to find that sore indent of flesh.

The tip of Rhett's boot thumps against the wall; a soft thump, thump, thump that has your head tilting to gaze out the door. You can hardly see him, but it's impossible to miss the way his hands have folded themselves at the front of his jeans, politely concealing the way he strains against the fabric.

Riding a bull may be hard, but the look in those wild eyes suggests that standing in that hallway is even harder.

That cowboy's bound to break, eventually.

Maria's voice is nothing but a distant hum as you slip off the bed. Toeing off your shoes, uncaring of where they land. Too focused on hooking your fingers beneath the edges of your pants and nudging the fabric down your legs, falling into a messy pile that you're sure to trip over later.

Fire burns into your bare thighs, set alight by a burning gaze that eats up the way your shirt lifts off your body. Leaving you bare, if only for a second, because your hands are already reaching for the soft, oversized flannel that he once wore earlier in the day. Two sizes larger than what he actually fits because the material hugged his biceps too tightly. His cologne still lingers on it, something torn between apple and wood smoke. Sweet with the slightest nudge of earthiness.

You can almost hear it. The soft crackling of his resolve. Crumbling away like an old bridge, pieces falling faster than you can keep up with.

His voice rumbles. Saying something you don't care to comprehend. Spurrs chiming. Boots thumping closer. Door hinges squeal as it all but slams closed. Kicked. You suppose.

Your socked feet twist beneath you. Turning. Coming nose to nose with him.

God, he's going to eat you alive.

If he doesn't get to you first, that is.

One foot steps forward, slotting your thigh between those long, muscled legs. Palms rising to his chest, pressing. You're hardly expecting him to give as easily as he does. Such a strong presence that you hardly believe he's giving way to the gentle pressure. Your noses nudge together with every hesitant step backward, a silent dance until his back hits the wall.

Bold, one of your hands drop down. The heel of it pressing into a warm heat between his legs. Rhett's lips part with the softest inhale you've ever heard, the back of his head thunking against the drywall.

You wonder if Maria heard that.

"Can't talk all of a sudden?" You hum. So nonchalant and casual that it sounds like a part of normal conversation.

"Y' look—" Cut short by the way you grasp him through his jeans. That pink tongue darts out to wet his lips. "Y' look good in my shirt."

But his eyes suggest that there's much, much more that he'd like to say. So many thoughts and phrases fluttering through that pretty little head that he doesn't know how to get them to his tongue.

Makes it that much easier to lean closer, your lips ghosting against his as you speak, "Is that all, cowboy?"

Rhett's hips buck. Wild. Set off by the thigh that nudges upward against his balls and the heavy underside of his cock. A tremor has long since arose in his hands. Weakly clinging to your hips. Can barely hold on when you lean in and meet his open mouth. Drinking up the soft noise that boils out of his throat, your eyes drifting shut at the soft scratch of his stubble.

Arms curl around your waist. Heavy palm dipping beneath this old flannel of his, pressing into the small of your back. Gingerly drawing you up into his chest, and he's sighing into your mouth like you're a dream come true. God, you could melt.

Your unbusied hand rises, tangling loosely in those dark curls, still wet from his rushed shower. Tugging a little too hard. Yanking his head back, swollen lips parted with a grunt.

"Someone's gotten a lil' feisty tonight," that Adam's apple bobs, the veins in his neck putting on a show for you. Distracting, but nothing quite like the way he peers back at you from beneath half-lidded lashes. "I take it that it ain't 'cause of my stellar ride tonight."

Idly, your teeth sink into your lower lip. "I'm going to take you for a stellar ride if you aren't careful."

For a moment, the room is silent. No voices in the hallway, no clicking of heels out in the hallway. Not even an audible breath.

"...wouldn't mind that," he whispers.

You're not sure if it was you or Rhett who made the first move. But everything is spinning. A blur of color as your feet tangle together. Backing up. Dancing toward the bed. His hands crawling up your back. Your fingers clinging to those long curls. And his mouth is on yours, and his tongue is lapping at your lower lip, and your mouths are parting—

The mattress squeals beneath the weight of your bodies. And maybe it's the bounce that makes it so easy to throw your leg over his hips. Rolling over top of him before you can so much as comprehend what you're doing.

You've no recollection of it, but one of you has undone the buttons of his shirt. Revealing a broad, milky white chest, still marked by your earlier excursions. Bears the wound of a hoof to the ribs from last Sunday. A heart-stopping mottling of purple, blue, and yellow that has yet to fully fade, no matter how many times you've peppered it with kisses.

"I take it y' ain't gon' be easy on me," he says it like it's a hope.

A want.

A need.

"Did you want me to be rough on you, cowboy?" Your smile audible in your words; already know the answer to that question. Distantly, you think you hear his boots being pushed off his feet. Hitting the floor with two dull thunks.

Rhett's hips roll upward, muscles flexing, putting on a rippling show for your eyes only. "A lil bit."

That's all he needs to say. Those three little words setting you into motion. Scooting down his legs, your hands scurrying to pop open that obnoxiously large belt buckle. One of those things that felt like rocket science when you first met him, but now something you can do with your eyes closed.

Well-trained fingers popping it open and nudging it out of the way as you make a move for his button and zipper. Eager. Can't even bring yourself to waste time with fishing him out of his boxers. Instead hooking your hands into his waistband and pulling them down before he can finish pulling those lube packets from his pocket. Sends the little things scattering down his thigh and across the bed.

"Damn," Rhett grunts, fumbling for one that was practically ripped from his hand, "impatient."

Getting the bunched-up fabric past his ankles is the worst part. Stupid cowboy and his stupid long legs. Can't release the breath you're holding until it's finally sliding over his heels, belt clanking against the floor. Finally, finally, finally.

Only now, as you crawl back up his legs, do you remember to open your mouth, "I wouldn't be if you didn't spend the past few minutes entertaining Maria."

"Didn't wanna be rude—oh." Eyelashes flutter. His hips jerking up into your hand, wrapped firmly around his cock. Flushed red at the tip, precum shimmering in the dull light of the bedside lamp.

But it's not enough to wet him. The drag of your hand is rough. Firmly stroking, uncaring of whether he gets that lube open or not. Up and down, entranced by the way he twitches in your grasp. Thighs writhing against the mattress, squeezing together, only to spread apart again. A picture-perfect show of muscle, his heavy breaths like a melody.

"Too dry?" You know the answer to that.

He knows that you know the answer. Yet his hair bounces as he nods his head, the edges of two packets frozen between his teeth. "Uhuh."

But he's still not moving. In no hurry to relieve the discomfort that comes with your too-dry touch. Stomach flexing as he twitches up into it, chasing the touch of your hand, a soft noise emanating from the back of his throat. Rumbles out of his mouth and down between your legs.

"You'd better hurry up then," saying it to yourself more than anything. Can feel the uncomfortable wetness growing, a subtle throb begging you to do something about that. Only spurred on by the way he whines at you, fumbling with the packets.

The edges rip. Clear fluid spills out onto his lips and cheek as he pulls them away. Face wrinkling, pawing at his skin with the back of his hand. It's what he gets for opening things with his teeth.

"How many times are you gonna do that before you learn?" You whisper, the corners of your lips rising as you squeeze one of the packets over his length. Drenching him in a slick wetness that squelches when your hand passes over it.

He'd have something to say if you weren't starting to jerk him in earnest. His knees bumping into you, head tilting back. Can hardly focus on wetting two of his fingers with the other packet, dripping onto his heaving chest and running down his forearm.

"Quit—" his mouth opening and closing like a fish, "'m gonna cum if you keep—mmh, if you keep doin' that."

On its own, your hand freezes at his base.

He told you to stop. He knew you'd stop. And yet he jerks up into your fist anyway, keening high in his throat at the loss. Throbbing, balls flexing against your hand. So, so close, over something so little.

Rhett's shaky hand delves between your legs. Rough fingertips pass between your folds, over your clit. Shamelessly pressing inside without much warning, back into an open, dripping wetness that still aches from earlier in the day.

Your thighs shudder, fighting the urge to clamp together as he passes over a familiar bundle of nerves. Bumping into it on every deep thrust of his fingers. "Baby, you don't have to—"

"I know it," the lazy corner of his mouth lifts as he says it, an unnamed fondness sparkling in his smile, "don't wanna hurt you."

You can't argue. God, you can't argue. Not with him shallowly thrusting in and out of you the way that he does. Knuckles dragging sweetly against your walls, drawing your mouth open with a silent noise.

You've only just begun to adjust to it, but you're already catching him by the wrist, drawing those thick fingers out of yourself. All in exchange for scooting further up his lap, your other hand guiding his flushed length to your entrance. The head of him brushing against your entrance, burning hot.

But you're not sinking down on him yet. Aren't quite sure what's made you freeze. Is it the recollection that Maria is on the other side of this thin wall? Hesitance to take what you want so quickly?

Rhett's hands smooth up your thighs, peering up at you from beneath thick lashes. "Take me," he breathes, voice barely there, "please."

Fuck, you can't say no to that.

A calloused grip squeezes either side of your hips as you begin to sink down on him. Sensitive, sore cunt opening to take that blunt tip for the second time today. An aching stretch that has you holding your breath, caught in the way that he slowly enters you. Such a familiar thing that you've experienced time and time again, yet continues to feel so new.

Rhett's mouth is moving, but not a sound escapes his throat. Voice suddenly lost as you take him in, wound too tight by the feeling of splitting you open. Frankly, you don't think you're much better. Can't even begin to find the words that you wanted to say just moments before.

Your palms settle on his exposed chest, feeling the way his heart knocks back against you. Vicious little thump thump thumps that spur your own heart on, pounding in your ears, so strong that your arms feel like they begin to shake with it.

But then your hips are meeting, and the underside of his length is twitching into a particular little spot, and—

"Fuck, Rhett," you whisper his name like its a praise.

A television blares from the next room over. Maria's. So loud that it's hardly muffled, and yet you can hardly hear it. The droning of a news reporter washed out by the breathy whine of a cowboy. Your cowboy.

Not Maria's. Doesn't belong to the fans who attend every rodeo and buy every object with his name printed on it.

No, just yours.

Those brilliant blue eyes sparkle up at you as you lift yourself up until only his plush head remains inside of you, then sink back down once more. A pair of gasps twist through the air at the way that he fills you, at the way you wrap around him so perfectly.

"Jus' like that," Rhett's words punctuated by his heaving chest, "feels good, feel's so..." He can't finish that thought. Tongue limp in his mouth as you repeat the motion, a little shorter now. Quicker. Too impatient for the slowness that comes with lifting yourself all the way up.

And that's okay because his hips twitch up into you. Meeting you halfway with a lewd smack of skin on skin. Hitting a set of nerves that have your eyes unfocusing, the softest noise rattling out of your chest. Those lazy thrusts have no right to hit what they do. Has your quivering cunt savoring the way that his cock head drags inside of you.

His mouth snaps shut. Eyelashes fluttering shut, weakly muffling a moan that you wish you could have heard. Always has been a sucker for feeling you flutter around him.

"Come on, cowboy," you're gasping, can hardly keep your own eyes open as you reach up, pressing a thumb to his soft lips, "open up."

Hesitant, his mouth opens to wrap around the digit. Sucking gently, his tongue swirling around the tip, moaning into it like it's a damn pacifier. And fuck, it's not what you were going for, but he's whining as your hips meet once more, and the sound is vibrating up your arm, and, and—

Your fingers grip his scruffy jaw. Thumb pinning that wriggling tongue to the bottom of his mouth, forcing it open.

That sound he makes is garbled. The weakest little 'huh?' you've ever heard. Wide eyes peering up at you, gaze torn between confusion and intrigue. Poor cowboy has no idea what you're doing, and yet he seems up to whatever challenge you're about to present to him.

"Wanna hear you," Your sentence punctuated by a jerky snap of his hips up into you. Fuck, fuck fuck, he's hit that spot again. Sends you clenching around him once more.

Rhett sputters. Tongue flexing under your thumb, eyes darting to the wall behind the headboard. His protest doesn't make it past his lips, but you hear him loud and clear.

"It's okay," for a moment, your thumb loosens enough for him to escape if he wants to say something, "I'm the only one who can hear you."

Distantly, it hits you that Maria's probably maxed out her television volume as bait to make Rhett come over and ask her to turn it down.

But Rhett's not talking, and his protest dies there. Big hands running up your sides, palms curling around your breasts like he's been dying to do it all night. Gently holding on as you find your pace, riding this ol' bull rider in earnest now. Punching the breath out of your lungs, the sounds whittling out of your throat covered up by the deep grunts from below you.

"That's it," praising, adding flame to that rising confidence, "such a sweet boy for me."

Your unbusied hand slides across his chest, pinching at a nipple. Pulling on it, rolling the rapidly hardening bud between your fingertips, dusky pink blossoming into a raging red.

There he goes.

Jerking up into you with a garbled cry you haven't heard since you began this rodeo circuit. Baby blue eyes grow foggy, jaw slackening. Such a sight that you can feel yourself grow wetter around him, creating this sickly, loud squelch that bounces off the walls of this hotel room. And he's trying—God, he's trying to return the favor. Weakly catching one of your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, trying his best to roll it back and forth.

Your shaking hand rises, wrapping around his wrist, dragging it away. Still determined to keep your thumb pressed against his short little tongue, forcing those whimpered noises to hit the air.

But then he's trying to do it with his other hand, and you've got no choice but to yank your finger out of his mouth. Your knuckle bumping against his teeth as it flies up to collect his other wrist, pinning them above his head. Forcing you to shift your angle, letting that thick cock of his rub against those nerves with perfect, unrelenting ease.

"Wha...?" Rhett's eyes are wide open again, his head shaking, "But I want—"

His arms strain under your grasp, biceps rippling, and he could easily break out of it if he wanted to, but he doesn't. Stopping his efforts as soon as you don't immediately give way. Yet he's still jerking up into you, meeting your body halfway at the same lazy pace as before.

"What do you want?" Echoing his too-short request despite knowing what he was trying to say. If only to hear that deep voice grumble again.

"Please, I want—" Fighting for control over his speech, head swaying back and forth like he's trying to shake the fog from his thoughts, "wanna touch you."

But you're not letting him go. Collecting both of his wrists into one hand, letting your other one roam through his hair and across his cheek. Stroking that trembling jaw.

There's a glassiness in his eye that wasn't there before. Appearing so suddenly, yet already threatening to spill down his pretty cheeks. "'re you mad?" He croaks, bottom lip wobbling. "Was it—did I...? I didn't mean to..."

All at once, the room freezes. Bodies coming to rest against each other as you let go of his hands in favor of stroking those scruffy cheeks. And yet, his arms lay limp above his head. Unsure.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you whisper, lips brushing against his forehead, "I was just playing with you, sweetie; I'm not upset with you."

It's not much, but it's enough to get him moving. Hesitantly wrapping his arms around you, nuzzling into the hands that cradle his face. Your fingers stroking away the wayward tear that spills over until it's nothing but a damp sheen beneath his eye.

"What's got you thinking I'm mad at you?" Not sure if you should press it or not, but you're asking regardless as you press a kiss to the bridge of his nose. Peppering them across his cheeks in the way that always gets his face scrunching.

His eyes dart toward the wall, then down to the floor, "...Maria."

"Maria?" You echo. That's what has him upset?

"I know y' don't like her and, and I know it didn't feel good havin' her follow us around all night." That pretty mouth is going ninety words a minute, rambling like it'll take the edge off of his nerves. Sweet blue eyes watering the more he talks. "I tried sayin' something to her earlier, but she wouldn't listen, 'n I didn't wanna be an ass..."

"No, no, I'm not upset about that," you're saying it so quietly, nearly covered up by the drone of Maria's television, but raising your voice feels like it'll break another piece of him. "I would've told you if it bothered me."

He's still searching. Scanning for a hint of a lie, a shred of anger that doesn't exist.

He doesn't find it.

For a moment, he's still. Breath caught in his throat. But then he's leaning up, nose bumping into yours as he catches your lips in his own, the both of you sighing into it. Some simple lock that ends as quickly as it started. Sharing a heated breath, as unified as your bodies are.

But there's still a flame kindling behind his eye.

"C'n I flip us over?" His hands draw up your sides, stroking your skin. "Please?"

"Go ahead, cowboy," you've hardly gotten the final word out, and yet he's already moving. Arms firm around your waist as he rolls your bodies over, your back settling into the mattress. Unintentionally jostling his cock inside of you, bumping into something spongey.

Rhett's warm nose buries itself in the space beneath your jaw, hips already beginning to move. Searching for that same pace you'd worked up mere minutes ago. Heavy balls smacking into your ass, your legs split wide to make space for his sweaty body. Slow at first, but then—

"Ah!" Stars sparkle behind your eyelids, mouth agape. "There, there, good boy."

Fuck, fuck, fuck, he's only just started fucking into you, and yet his cock head is already kissing those nerves on each inward pass. Meticulously striking every little spot. Has your cunt growing wet once more. Your blunt nails bite into his flannel-covered bicep, dominant hand venturing down between your legs.

"Feels so good," Rhett's babbling, right into your ear, "fuck, can feel your lil pussy spasmin' 'round me."

The pads of your fingers find your clit. Neglected and swollen, so sensitive that your own touch is almost too much. "Rhett..."

"Uhuh," and then his head is rising, and his mouth is on yours again.

Your lips can hardly stay together. Breaking apart with every shaky thrust, yet always finding each other again. Over and over, gasping into his mouth, swallowing down his pitchy whimpers. Chasing a high that you can feel burning to life between your legs. A dull heat that's already sparking, sending your skin prickling and your head spinning.

"Wanna..." he's muttering against your mouth, searching for words he can't find"Can I—please can I—"

And yet he's cut off by his own cry. A shattered noise brought on by the way your cunt squeezes him, fluttering like a damn butterfly. Your fingers spiral around your clit, chasing a lone flame that blooms into a raging wildfire. God, his rhythm is falling apart, jerky thrusts slamming into you without synchrony.

All of a sudden, Rhett finds his voice, "'M gonna cum."

Fuck, you said this morning that you weren't letting him cum in you again this week. But the thought of the cleanup pales in comparison to the vivid memory of him snuggling into you as he fills your pussy with his cum.

Oh, oh, oh, you want to feel that again.

"Cum in me, angel," your hand flies off his bicep in exchange for tangling in his hair. Holding on tight, like you'll float up to the ceiling and out the window if you don't hang onto him.

The corner of his eye twitches. Keening high in his throat, head dropping down as his hips quicken. Short, rapid little thrusts. Chasing the heat of it all. Pushing your head higher and higher into the clouds. Grunting beneath his breath.

His hips stall.

A sputtered cry falling off his tongue. Head burying into the crook of your neck as his orgasm washes over him. Cock spasming inside of you, twitching, filling your sweet pussy with his cum for the second time today. Painting the inside of you with white. Panting heavy against your skin.

His hips jolt involuntarily

And that's all it takes to push you over the edge. Cumming around his cock with a noise that your ringing ears don't catch. Head tilting back. Cunt clenching around him like a vice. Spurred on by the pitchy, oversensitive whimpers that you draw out of him.

Your head might have fallen off of your shoulders. So light and airy that you think you might feel a cloud brush against your cheek.

Or maybe that's the feathery brush of a cowboy's lips against your cheek. One, two, three, four kisses. Working you down from your high, grunting at the way that you relax around his spent cock.

Unfocused, your eyes open. Blinking back at him. "Some stellar ride, huh?"

The corner of his lip rises with a smile as your arms wrap around his broad shoulders. Chuckling, his head dips down to rest against your chest, soft cock slipping halfway out of you. And you can already feel his cum beginning to spill down your walls, stopped only by that sensitive, plush tip. Even then, you think you can feel it running down your inner thighs.

"We should clean up before we get the bed dirty," you whisper, but just because you should doesn't mean you will.

Rhett's head shakes, dark hair bouncing with it. "No."

"No?" Echoing dumbly. Though you can't say that surprise is your primary emotion.

"Want y' to keep holdin' me," that voice of his is deep, but his smile is light. Sparkling eyes peeking up at you like he thinks it'll get him extra time, "jus' a lil longer."

You've always been a sucker for that soft, cozy gaze.

And maybe you fall asleep because the next time you open your eyes, it feels like forever has passed. Your bones heavy, thighs sore from your borderline workout. Rhett's heavy body still lays on top of you. His fingers walk across your naked skin, transfixed by the way your skin gives to his gentle touch. Lost in his own little world.

Lazy, your fingers comb through his hair. The ring on your finger glints in the light as your nails rake across his scalp in a fashion that always makes him purr.

"Would y' care if I called the front desk 'n changed our room?" His voice rumbles against your collar, its own little earthquake.

"I don't mind," your neck strains as you try to press a kiss to his forehead, his skin still sticky with sweat, "if it makes you feel better, then that's what we'll do."

He hums at that. Doesn't seem to have much more of a response cooked up. But then, the scruff of his jaw brushes against your skin, his mouth opening again, "C'n we take a bubble bath first?"

Your eyes flutter. Supposedly a habit you've picked up from your husband. "Now?"

"Uhuh."

As you clamber off of each other and make for the bathroom, you can't help but catch yourself wondering if any of his big-time fans are aware of his recent bubble bath obsession. Or if Maria and her not-so-subtle fixations know that Rhett is absolutely, one-hundred percent, the little spoon.

Because you sure do.

#rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott #oneshot #OC: Archie Morton #rhett abbott smut #outer range #rhett abbott imagine #rhett abbott x you #x reader

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ladyjang09 · 5 months ago

Text

Lovely Runner fanfic

Preview: Sun Jae's been trying his best to be as pure as oxygen, to treat Im Sol with utmost respect, but with an unexpected request from her, he might as well unleash the beast inside him.

NOTE: You have been warned. Heavy smut ahead!

CHAPTER 1

The bedroom was softly lit, casting a warm, golden glow over the room. Sol stood by the window, her delicate nightgown brushing against her thighs as she looked out into the night. Her heart raced as she heard Sun Jae’s footsteps approaching.

He entered quietly, pausing when he saw her. She turned to face him, her expression a mix of determination and nervousness. “I wondered if we might…”

Sun Jae waited. His heart pounding fiercely. He could tell she didn’t know how to say what she wanted.

“What is it Sol-ah?”, he said huskily, unable to stop himself from caressing the velvety curve of her cheeks. A fissure of sensation rattled through him, as it always did when he touched her. “Say what it is you want.”

“I wondered if we might try something new…”

Sun Jae froze. But the blood, the blood rushed and pounded inside him like an inferno. The chains of civility had never been pulled so tight. Every animal instinct in him rose like those of a lion ready to break out of a cage. His “pure as oxygen” thoughts and self- control vanished into thin air.

She couldn’t be asking…

But she was. Her eyes locked on his. “From behind.”

Im Sol blushed furiously, wondering whether she’d made a mistake. For one agonizing moment he didn’t move, didn’t say a word. Every muscle in his body seemed pulled as tight as a bowstring. The room echoed with a painful silence.

She couldn’t look at him, humiliated by her own boldness. What had she been thinking? What must he think of her wanton request? This had to be the most embarrassing moment of her life. None compared to the humiliating video greetings, her 19-year-old self, made, when she greets Tae Song on his birthday.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, stepping away from him. “Forget what I just said.”

The low sound he made in his throat sent shivers up her spine. It was the sound he made right before…

He seemed to snap. “Like hell,” he said, catching her wrist and pulling her roughly against his chest.

She gasped, the instant bodily connection making every one of her nerve endings crackles with instant awareness. She stared up into his face, finding his expression fiercer than she’d ever seen it before. The tic below his jaw pulsed hard and fast.

Gone was the sweet smile she thoroughly loved, and the soft gazed that only reserved for her. Unconsciously, she tried to pull away, a little frightened by what she might have unknowingly unleashed.

But he wouldn’t let her go. His searing gaze caught her in its fiery gaze trap. “How could I pretend I didn’t hear anything that you said. Not with a request like that.” He scooped her up in his arms and carried her few steps to the bed.

Sol’s heart raced with a nervous thrill. She could feel the tension raging inside him, his desire for her radiating on a level she’d never felt before. He seemed like a man pushed to the edge, hanging only by the last thread of his control. It was wild, dangerous, and exciting-- very exciting.

He set her down on the bed with a surprising gentleness, given the harshness of his movements as he started to strip off his clothes. He hastily unbuttons his shirt, jeans, and then his boxers. Heavens, he was glorious! Every bit as spectacular as his recent magazine cover. A fortress of masculine beauty and strength. Every inch of flesh honed to firm, hard muscle. His shoulders were impossibly broad, his arms thick and defined. His stomach rippled with band upon band of sharply molded steel. How was it that he seemed even bigger and broader without his clothes on?

She didn’t know where she wanted to put her hands first.

But it was the sight of his prominent erection that sent warm tingles of awareness prickling between her legs. The bold evidence of his desire thrilled her. Thick and long, the round head plump and swollen. So brutally- undeniably- masculine. It rose against his stomach, growing under her wanton perusal. The thin skin pulled so tight it seemed to shine like marble.

Now she knew exactly where she wanted her hands.

“Careful, love,” he warned darkly, as she reached for his raging cock, his voice dangerous and seductive at the same time. “Look at me like that and you might get more than you can handle.”

A flush of pleasure surged through for her, realizing her admiration excited him. “Can I touch you?” she blurted, asking what she’d never dared before.

His stomach muscles clenched. Fisting his hands at his side, he nodded. “Yes,” he replied hoarsely.

She rolled on her knees so that she was kneeling before him. Tentatively, she reached out and brushed her fingertips down the hard ridges of his stomach.

Sun Jae hissed, the muscles jumping at the feather- soft touch. She bit her lip to stop the smile, marveling at the ability to invoke such reaction with a simple touch.

Ever so gently Sol ran her fingers along the long length of his manhood. Her lips parted in surprise. The skin was so soft, like velvet. But underneath, the rigid column was as steely as the rest of him.

Im Sol was not as innocent as Sun Jae might think. She and Hyun- joo watched porn way back in college out of curiosity. With newfound confidence, she explored him with her fingers and then, growing bolder, with her hands, circling him, though unable to close around him completely.

He groaned at every touch, seemingly in agony.

She let go, gazing up at him hesitantly. “Am I doing something wrong?”

He shook his head vigorously. She could see the muscles in his neck and shoulders bunch and strain. “God, no, love,” he said tightly. “Keep doing what you’re doing.” He put his hands over hers and showed her how to hold him. He looked into her eyes, letting her see the depth of his desire. “Ah…that’s it, baby, stroke me.”

Holding his gaze, she did. Something passed between them. Something that went beyond the erotic sensuality of the moment, heightening every touch, every movement.

She watched the pleasure roll over his features as she gripped him tight in her hand and pumped. Slow at first, then faster as the passion built on his handsome face.

A strange sense of power surged through her, knowing that she had the ability to do this to him alone. To take him to such amazing heights.

He was hot and throbbing under her palm. She could feel the blood pound and pound, until she felt a powerful pulse. Sun jae tore her hand away with a growl. A pearly drop emerged from the tip. Sol felt the most peculiar urge to bend down and lick it. To taste him fully.

“No more. I need to be inside you.”

His voice was tight and urgent. She’d never seen him like this. Before his passion had been fierce and hot, but always controlled. But now she sensed the control slipping, sensed him warring with something inside him. He was so close to letting go.

Setting aside her modesty, Im Sol slowly lifted her night gown over her head and tossed it to the side. Resisting the urge to cover herself with her arms, she knelt before him naked and ready. “Then take me.”

#lovely runner #ryu sun jae #im sol #lovely runner fic #lovely runner fanfiction

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popjunkie42 · 4 months ago

Text

The Thief and the Rake: Chapter 7

Chapter Seven: The Darkest Little Paradise

Read on AO3

Summary: Feyre can't seem to shake the Viscount at a weekend excursion as she tries out her new plan of befriending the Marquis DesRosiers. But making friends with her employer's enemy has unintended consequences.

Thanks to @witch-and-her-witcher for the beta!

Very excited 👀for the next few chapters👀for no reason👀

I am encouraging you to go join listening stars' patreon as her art is fueling me right now!

Beginning of the chapter after the cut...

Though it was only April, spring had decided to tumble headlong into summer. In the city, humidity hung thick in the air and the heat lay trapped in stone and brick, radiating out to torture its citizens through the day.

The sisters were used to the escape of the forests and green fields and creeks bubbling around the cottage. In this oppressive heat of the city, they spent more time than they should drooping on couches in the northern sitting room, even Nesta’s proper posture eventually melting away.

Of course, there was always a line, between comfort and misery, that money and class took care of.

When the air grew too stuffy in the drawing room, that was the perfect time for a suitor to invite Elain (and, with a tight smile, her sisters of course) for ices and cream at the sweets shop, or a picnic in the small copses of Kensington Park. They could sit with parasols and be ferried about small ponds in grand parks and on private manor grounds. And the one time they visited the Grand Duke, he had a legion of servants with enormous fans, there only to serve at their feet as they took lemonade and sandwiches on the grassy lawn.

But unfortunately for all the ton, a ball was a ball. If there were to be crowds and dancing, there would be bodies and heat no matter how much gold one had to throw at servants and ice cream.

Something tense and wild hung heavy in the air. Something all the fans and cold lemonades couldn’t cut through. Sleepless nights spent tossing and turning in beds, whether they were on fine woven sheets or scratchy cotton. A communal wilting, haunted further by the pesky haze of sleeplessness. An undercurrent of restlessness pulsing beneath every social call. The kind of heat that drove cracks and splinters into all their hardened etiquette, that made Feyre want to strip bare and run into the dark forest, stepping into the first cold pond she could find under the moonlight.

Sweat dripped down Feyre’s brow, her chest, and the dip of her spine.

The heat woke something in her - not quite anger, but boiling under the surface nonetheless. It made Feyre feel like an animal, rattling in a cage, snarling and pacing between lethargy and restlessness. Like the tiger she had seen just days ago at the zoo, powerful, rolling muscle, its eyes half closed, only an annoyed flick of its tail to even acknowledge their presence.

What had happened, she wondered idly, to humankind, that they had arrived here: her in petticoats stuck in a room heavy with the sweat of hundreds, while they piled on wool and linen and powder and pretended they weren’t all dying to wallow in the mud.

Wading through the humid air, Feyre performed her normal ritual in these grand ballrooms filled with people. She walked the edge slowly, softly, averting her eyes from any greetings or attention. Watching, assessing. The doors in and out, the secret rooms and pathways the servants used, the growingly familiar faces she knew to either avoid or to court.

The upper crust of the ton had been invited to a weekend excursion by the palace to Hampton Courts. The luminous, massive manor was decked in golden-yellow brick and boasted enough bedrooms to host a small army of the wealthy aristocracy.

The Archeron’s invitation was entirely thanks to the Grand Duke and his smiling generosity, all directed at blushing Elain.

Feyre had wondered all week what it would be like, sharing a manor with dukes and barons and lords. Would there be secret trysts in the hallways, scandalous stories of women caught in nothing but long nightgowns and dressing robes, rakes climbing into windows?

She imagined Nesta would be barring the door shut with iron.

“Feyre, there you are! I’ve been wanting to introduce you to Miss Smith. She’s been dying to make your acquaintance.”

In the warmth of the ballroom, growing by the moment, Feyre groaned inwardly as she turned to Elain. Elain who could only be described as dewey, flush with a soft pink blush high on her cheeks, a gentle sheen of sweat on her skin that made her positively glow.

Catching her reflection in the ballroom mirrors earlier, Feyre knew she herself looked ragged and rough as she had many a time coming home from hunting - red as a ripe apple, her hair flat and frizzy, beads of sweat on her brow which she mopped off with a handkerchief.

Unaware of her thoughts, Elain smiled up at her with a familiar lady in tow, her golden-blond hair in perfect ringlets, her striking blue eyes bold against her deep aquamarine dress with layers of shimmering beads.

“Ms. Ianthe Smith, this is my youngest sister, Feyre Archeron.” Feyre smiled and did her best to curtsy. She had been practicing since the dinner.

Ms. Smith smiled beautifully down on Feyre, towering over her by a few inches, exuding a clever, regal air. Feyre recognized her as Elain’s companion at the bloodbath of a dinner. “I’ve been so curious about all the Archeron sisters. I just know we’re going to be great friends, Miss Feyre.” Elain beamed as Feyre blinked, grinding her jaw. She didn’t have time, if she was working, to entertain friends.

Elain was quickly distracted by the Duke coming to grab her for a dance, and Feyre found herself alone with her new acquaintance.

The lady smiled, all confidence, her eyes glimmering with hidden wit. She stepped closer, familiar, to take Feyre’s arm. “I must admit, as curious as I’ve been to meet the sister of my new friends, I’ve been curious about your own acquaintances as well.” Feyre was half paying attention, scanning the room for the Marquis.

“Oh?”

“The Viscount Sterling seems to have chosen you as a particular friend.”

Feyre’s lips downturned. “We are not friends.”

“If you say so.” Feyre turned to see the laugh crinkle Ianthe’s glimmering eyes. “You know he usually never comes to these things. And when he does, he’s rarely seen dancing with anyone besides the Grand Duchess or his cousin.”

“Ms. Smith, I can assure you, I hardly know the man. I doubt he could even pick me out of a crowd.”

“Miss Feyre.” A deep voice split the air like two boulders crashing.

The women whipped around, arm in arm, to see the Viscount, looming in black velvet that rippled against the low light, not a hair out of place or hint of sweat on his brow.

“Oh. Hello.” Feyre blushed and only remembered to curtsy when Ianthe dipped low. “My lord.”

Rhysand didn’t glance at her companion. Instead he extended a hand. “A waltz is next. You’ll do me the honor?”

It was hardly a question. Feyre gave Ianthe a tight smile before taking Rhysand's hand and letting him lead her to the dance floor.

“Could you at least try to be polite to me in front of others?” Feyre hissed when they were out of earshot. “I know it pains you, but you did say I have to make a good impression.”

“Why, and avoid that little angry flush you get on your cheeks when you’re vexed? I do enjoy it so. You must allow me my small joys while I suffer through this ball.”

“Small joys at my expense?” He raised a brow at her, as they found their space in between couples and faced one another. He loomed large even in the midst of the crowd. In this baking room he was as cool as a winter night. “And who are you today, my lord? Should I brace myself to be picked apart on the dance floor?”

The vision of him sitting at the right hand of the Grand Duchess, sneering and vicious, had not left her mind. She was glad her voice came out as strong as it did. If that was his true, terrible self, she would have to be even more guarded, even more on edge as she was held under his employ.

He didn’t answer, simply watching her, as couples lined up around them and the first strains of the violin began to play. Instead he noticed her gentle curtsy, the careful placement of her hands.

“Have you been practicing? Or shall I need to drag you along through this one as well?” He emphasized his words by digging his hand into the flesh of her hip, a small smile on his face.

Feyre squirmed out of his grasp. “Always lessons and scoldings with you - don’t people usually come to balls to have fun?”

His smile was fully feline. “And how would we have fun together, Feyre?”

A drop of her cautious nervousness melted at that, turning into a swoop of her stomach. Before she could think on it, a high note rang out, and the quartet burst into song, laughter and conversation bustling around them as the couples began to spin and twirl in each other’s arms. She tried not to think about the corded muscle of his arms under her fingers, his warm, broad hand firm on her back. Violet eyes twinkled as he watched her.

Feyre ignored the new blush on her cheeks, assigning it to the heat and the closeness of the bodies on the dance floor. They whirled around the room, the Viscount pulling her effortlessly across the marble. She told herself she was only dizzy from the spinning.

“I’m not sure I’d enjoy whatever you call fun.”

Rhysand’s answering smile was wide, a crinkling of his eyes. “How interminably incurious of you. But Feyre, I thought you were starting to enjoy my company. Weren’t you desperately scanning the crowd for me just now?”

“I wasn’t looking for you. I was looking for the Marquis.” His hand splayed on her back, fingers pressing against her skin.

“Didn’t we agree it was better if he didn’t know you?”

“We didn’t agree. You told me not to pursue him, and I have ignored you. Besides, he is the one who sought out the introduction. He’s even promised to protect me against your wicked influence.”

“Is that so?” The smile was gone.

“Yes, he was exceedingly kind and gallant. Such a refreshing change from the other members of the aristocracy I’ve had the fortune to associate with.”

It gave her a small thrill, knowing she had the small power to aggravate him as he did to her.

Her head spun at the dance, all dizziness and heat held against the Viscount’s body. He was different from how he was sitting next to the Grand Duchess. Still arrogant, still too clever for his own good, but somehow more teasing, more…open.

“If you’re looking for a giggling companion to agree with your every word, Ms. Smith was asking me about you just now.”

Rhysand frowned. “You and your sisters should be cautious around Ms. Smith.”

Feyre scoffed. “Is there no one present who isn’t part of your web of schemes and betrayals?”

Even if he was lighter here, more flirtatious and roguish, she still knew so little about him. She could not fully trust him, could not let down her guard.

“You know I seek only to educate you, out of a great generosity of spirit.”

Feyre scoffed and he feigned offense. “Then tell me: what are my lessons for tonight? Let’s make the plans. If you tell me up front your expectations I can at least know when I’m failing them spectacularly.”

“You haven’t failed me yet.”

Feyre blinked at his words, her heart beating wildly, as she watched an annoyingly smug look of fondness enter his eyes.

He smirked at her and continued. “Perhaps I’m just engaging in polite conversation. I’ve been curious lately: what exactly do you want, Miss Feyre? What do you need all these ill-gotten funds for?”

She frowned. “Asking questions wasn’t part of our arrangement.”

“What if I wanted to add it?”

“For an extra price?”

“Must everything be a contract between us? Can we not be comrades who share a simple trust in one another from our shared mutual goals?”

“You told me that we weren’t friends.”

His face darkened as she threw his words back at him, his eyes leaving hers and falling to her mouth.

“Fine. What about an exchange? A thought for a thought.”

A dangerous bargain, but tempting, to be able to get him to stop hedging and dancing around their conversation with real answers.

“What is your question?”

The smirks and mirth were gone from his face, replaced by what felt uncomfortably like concern. “Why take such a dangerous job? What do you need the money for?”

Feyre frowned. No one in London could ever know of how her father, a Lord, had to stoop to merchant’s work in their last days in the city, of his debts that she hoped were long forgotten. “There is nothing untoward. I simply want to make sure my sisters have a good season in London.” True enough words for him.

He regarded her in silence.

“Please respect me enough not to lie to me, Feyre. And I won’t insult you by reminding you how dangerous this all is. All for a ‘good season’?”

Her eyes wandered from his face, studying the silver embroidery on his lapel, staying silent.

“You do everything for them. You’re willing to sacrifice much for your sisters.” He said it quietly, closer to her face so she could hear over the din of the dance.

Feyre gave a small shrug in his arms. “We all have our part to play.”

“And your part is to put yourself in the way of the Bow Street Runners and the aristocracy?”

He wasn’t sneering or teasing. There was a hooded look to him, and he searched her face, violet eyes burning. She didn’t understand why it mattered to him.

“Are you starting to regret our arrangement?” she asked with a bite. “I can decide for myself what I am capable of.”

“I’m not. You’re not getting rid of me that easily. I’m just trying to make sure you have the commitment, the right motivation to see this through to the end.”

A million thoughts flitted through her head, none of them seeming quite right.

“They’re my family.”

A small frown tugging at his lips. “And what will you do, if Miss Elain finds her grand match?”

Blue sky and water blurring into one on the horizon. To finally dangle her bare feet in the Mediterranean. Spend long nights in a studio filled with the smell of paints, not a single responsibility on her shoulders. To take a deep breath and feel free for the first time in her entire life.

“Take up needlepoint, I suppose.”

He laughed, warm and rich. His fingers skimmed over her gloved hand and she remembered their first dance, the feeling of his skin on hers. “With these rough, calloused hands? I’ve seen dock workers better suited for such a delicate craft.”

“You needn’t make fun.”

He took her right hand in his and kissed the back, lips grazing velvet, and her cheeks burned. “I wasn’t.”

Couples burst into applause and bows as the song ended. Feyre extracted her hand from his and curtsied, making to go find her sisters again. But Rhysand was at her elbow, guiding her away.

“Perhaps I should keep you close tonight,” he said into her ear.

Feyre scoffed. “Absolutely not. How am I supposed to wheedle information with you breathing down my neck? The Marquis seems to dislike you as much as you dislike him.”

“Hardly. And you haven’t yet grasped a core tenant of the aristocratic male psyche: possession and public acts of gallantry.”

“You mean snarling possessiveness?”

He kissed her hand again. “When the possession is this lovely.”

She scoffed again. “You’re a shameless flirt.”

He beamed, taking her hand upon his arm. “And you are my little spy tonight.” His voice went low. “Perhaps we should meet in the library, later, for updates on your progress?”

Feyre rolled her eyes. “Wouldn’t the two of us meeting alone together be terribly improper?”

His smile was small and wicked. “Terribly.”

Read on AO3

Tag list: @that-little-red-head @damedechance @rosanna-writer @fantasticalnonsense18 @dreamlandreader @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship @annaskareninas @foundress0fnothing @areyoudreaminof @cauldronblssd @starfall-spirit

#acotar #feysand #acotar fanfiction #feysand regency #feysand fanfiction #my writing

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boxfullaturtles · 11 months ago

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Rest for the Weary

A "Made to Suffer and to Love" Vignette

Donatello isn't doing great since his double mutation. He doesn't feel like himself. He feels like a monster.

This was originally conceptualized as a comic. But I don't really have the time to commit to that, and I really wanted to tell this little story. So you get a mini fic instead.

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

His family is laughing.

The sight fills him with a warm relief, the familiarity soothing to the tiny lump of worry that has been sitting in his stomach. He doesn’t know why he was worried, he only knows he was and it was about them. He worries about them so much.

But Leo has an arm draped over Mikey’s shoulders and is leaning over him with a broad grin on his face. And Mikey is battering playfully at him with loud sunshine laughter, shoving playfully at his older brother. Raph is looming over both of them with a grin that says he’s two seconds away from scooping them up into his arms. Splinter is shaking his head with a fond smile and April is encouraging their shenanigans with taunts and laughter. They are washed in sunlight, cast in a warm and golden glow, the perfect picture of family.

Donnie grins as he makes to follow them. He moves to step out of the shade and into the sun, only to be pulled up short by a sharp tug on his arm.

He frowns, turning to see what’s stopped him. There’s a thick, steel manacle clamped around his wrist, the heavy chain attached to it stretched taut. Donnie follows the chain back to a sturdy wall where the chain is mounted and his breath catches.

Why is he chained up?

He turns back to face his family, to reach out to them, but there’s another pull and another rattle of metal. His other arm is in chains now. Donnie thrashes, yanking on the chains, skin chafing beneath the cuffs. There are chains on his ankles and then around his neck and he’s trapped, shackled to a wall and his family is only a few feet away in the sun!

There are heavy black bars between him and his still laughing family.

He’s in a cage.

He’s in a cage and his family is right there!

Donnie calls out to them, but his voice comes out in roar, an animal shriek. There are no words, only noise. He tries again, tries to shout his brothers’ names, but again comes the unearthly, horrifying cries. He sounds like a wild beast, a stranger. No one turns to look at him.

His eyes burn and he heaves against the cuffs, straining his shoulders, pulling with all his might.

His family is farther away. They’re leaving! They’re walking away and they’re leaving him behind! He screams and cries, he begs for them to turn and see him. But they keep walking away into the sunlight and leave Donnie alone in the shadows of the cage. He screams in despair, collapsing to his knees on a floor covered in straw. Tears streak down his face as he howls and sobs. He’s in a cage, chained up like some animal, stripped of everything he owns and left to rot here.

He’s alone. He’s been abandoned. He’s a monster. He can’t blame them. He hurts so much. He...he…

Donatello jerks awake with a mournful wail.

The room is dark and big and his cry echos, bouncing back to him without an answer.

He sniffs at the air, shuffling across his nest and twisting his head around to try and see in the dark. There are the lingering scents of his family, of Raph’s terrarium and of the snapper himself. Mikey’s scent is the most recent and there’s a pile of blankets and a pillow on the couch. But there’s no one there now. Donnie is alone.

The nest of blankets and soft things feels cold and lonely. Donnie presses his big, awkward hands over his snout to try and keep the desperate whine of loneliness and terror inside. He’s shivering, each breath he takes comes in as a shuddering gasp, and despite his size, he’s feeling so very, very small. He’s so caught up in the dregs of the nightmare and awful feelings that he doesn’t notice the light patter of feet on the concrete floor.

“Dee?”

Mikey’s voice startles him and he looks up quickly. Mikey’s hovering a foot away, worry on his face, the light from his phone stinging Donnie’s watering eyes. Donnie swallows the lump in his throat and can’t stop himself from shooting a glance from the empty couch and back to Mikey.

“Ah, sorry, I know you don’t really like having to sleep out here so, uh, I dunno, I got kinda sad and wanted to keep you company,” Mikey shrugs with a small smile, “I just ran to the bathroom real quick, sorry if I woke you up…” He shifts, tilting his head, his expression scrunching up in concern, “...are you okay, Donnie?”

Donnie’s not sure how to articulate with his limited ability to communicate just how much it means to him that Mikey is here. He’s not sure how to explain how the nightmare feels too much like something that can still happen, how waking up alone in the dark is starting to become one of his worst fears. He doesn’t know how to say how much his brothers mean to him.

So he just shuffles over a little in his nest and lifts his arm in a silent invitation.

Mikey’s smile bursts into a megawatt sunbeam.

He tosses his phone onto the couch and dives into Donnie’s nest, squirming around until he’s situated himself snuggling against Donnie’s side. When Mikey beams up at him, Donnie makes a great show of rolling his eyes and huffing before he settles back down.

The blankets feel a lot warmer with Mikey laying next to him.

He closes his eyes and lets his breathing fall into a steady pattern. Mikey’s breathing next to him lulls him back to sleep.

And if Donnie wakes up again from another nightmare, this time he doesn’t wake up alone.

#raph in his terrarium thing on the other side of the couch: i sense a disturbance in the force... (goes back to sleep)#mtsatl fic #sage writes turtles #rottmnt #donnie #mikey

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jumpywhumpywriter · 4 months ago

Text

Vampire vs Werewolf Forced Fight for Human Entertainment part 2

Warnings: violence, blood, pain, forced fight, fantasy whump

He waited several minutes before daring to open his eyes, blinking spots from his vision.

The walls of a metal cage came into focus -- he was trapped. He stared wide-eyed around him to see that there were actually dozens of similar cell-like cages lined up alongside his, all full of captives like himself.

Felix wrapped his arms around himself with a groan, huddling back into the farthest corner of his cell in a vain effort to find comfort. The noise was awful, the sounds of suffering emanating from injured fighters all around, while others endlessly paced the walls of confinement, their restless footsteps grating on the ears.

Felix's wounds throbbed with pain, he hadn't had blood in too long -- his stomach cramped with hunger. His injuries weren't healing fast like usual because of it. He practically jumped out of his skin when a harsh, unfriendly voice sounded off to his right.

"Hey, you there! You're the new vamp, right?" A scruffy man with wild, filthy hair leaned against the shared bars of his cell, licking his lips. He looked more animal than man, covered in dirt and blood with bloodshot eyes.

"Uh, y-yes? C-Can I help you with something?" Felix squeaked, his voice small and scared.

The man's lip curled into a disgusted sneer as his cold gaze swept over Felix. "How on earth did you survive your first fight down here? Most newbies get shredded by us experts. What makes you think you're better than us?!"

"That's not--I didn't mean--!" Felix tripped over himself trying to apologize, he didn't want any enemies in this horrible place. "I got lucky, I guess." And in a way, he had. He wouldn't have lived if mercy hadn't been offered by his opponent, which he was pretty sure was illegal.

The man scoffed. "Ha. What a joke. If you were lucky, you wouldn't have gotten yourself caught and brought here in the first place!"

"I-Is that how you got here too?" Felix asked, fidgeting with the edges of his frayed shirt.

"It's how we all got here. Hunters snatch us up every day to replace the dead fighters. We’re nothin’ but cheap entertainment to them." The man gestured to the rows and rows of cages. Then his mouth twisted into a feral grin. "Don't worry though, you won't have to suffer long. Fresh blood like you is always the main attraction. I hope I get to fight you next, because I will rip you to bloody ribbons." He smashed against the bars of the cage with a loud rattle, making Felix yelp and squash himself even further into the furthest corner away from the frightening man, shrinking in on himself and tucking his legs into his chest.

"Leave him alone, Jax," another voice suddenly snapped from right next to Felix. "You're always a grumpy old prick before mealtimes. Lay off the poor kid."

Felix's head whipped to find a white-haired woman with blue eyes in the next cage on his other side, who was leveling a vicious glare at the one she'd called 'Jax'.

Jax bristled and grumbled something under his breath, but backed off, to Felix's immense relief. "T-Thanks," he stammered gratefully, trying to calm his pounding heart.

"Yeah, don't mind Jax, he's almost always this cranky. Especially when he's hungry." The woman offered him a pleasant smile, completely at odds with her ragged appearance. Her shirt was torn in the middle, revealing a deep purple bruise over her ribs, and on her left leg near the ankle was -- OH. Two distinct puncture wounds, still oozing blood.

Felix paled. "You--You're the--"

"Yes. I am the wolf. Surprised?" The woman finished knowingly. She chuckled with amusement. "You got one heck of a strong bite, vampire."

"I'm sorry--I didn't mean to--"

The werewolf raised a hand to cut him off. "It's all right, you were just fighting for your life, like I was. My name's Tasha, by the way. And you're Felix."

Felix couldn't hide the blatant surprise on his face. "How do you know my name? Do I know you?" His lips twitched into a confused frown.

"Well, sort of. I'm the woman who always went shopping at the thrift store you worked at, I was a regular customer there. I don't expect you to remember me."

But Felix did remember, now that she brought it up. He remembered the bright smile, the chipper face that loved to stop by frequently to browse the store's collection even if the kind lady it belonged to never planned on buying anything. The familiar shock of bright-white hair.

"So you're saying that whole time you were a werewolf?!" He gawked at Tasha incredulously. He'd always noticed she smelled a little different than every other human when she visited the shop, but he never thought much of it. He never expected this.

Tasha rolled her eyes with a laugh. "And that whole time, you were a vampire," she shot back. "I think I figured out your secret pretty early on, if I'm being honest. It wasn't hard to guess with how twitchy your gait always was, as if it were physically painful to move at a human rate of speed to blend in."

Felix's jaw was slack with shock. "So every time you walked into the thrift store, you knew what I was?"

"I had a strong suspicion. It wasn't confirmed until today during our fight."

Felix chewed his lip anxiously before mustering the courage to speak again. "C-Can I ask... why you didn't kill me? I mean, you could have easily won..."

Tasha's blue eyes softened sympathetically. "Because you're a good kid, Felix. I'm sorry that I had to injure you at all, but I needed to make the fight look convincing. And if there's any chance of me escaping this wretched place, those odds are significantly better with an ally. We have to stick together to survive."

It made sense, Felix reasoned. But he couldn't help the doubt wedged firmly in his conscience. He snapped back to the present when Tashe gruffly cleared her throat.

"...But I'm not sure you'll make it out with me alive when I try to escape," she admitted grimly.

"Why's that?" Felix dreaded the answer.

Tasha averted her gaze, a flicker of guilt and shame in her crestfallen expression.

"...The leader of this operation paid me a visit shortly after the fight, gave me an ultimatum," she started slowly, hesitantly, choosing her words with caution. "We have another fight tomorrow, a redo, and this time I'm expected to kill you. The bastard could tell I was holding back during the last round, that I was pulling my punches. If I don't kill you, I get shocked until I go feral and do. She tapped the metal shock collar around her neck Felix hadn't noticed before. "This thing packs a huge punch. Werewolves like me have primal instincts we can't always control. One of those is triggered by intense pain. If it becomes bad enough, the wolf side will become stronger than me, do whatever it takes to escape. I won't recognize you, all I will be focused on is attacking and killing anything in my vicinity." A shudder visibly rippled through her muscles.

"We have to find a way out of here before they put us in the arena again, or we're both screwed, you in particular."

Felix tried not to picture what it would be like to have his jugular ripped out by massive werewolf canines, to be shredded by dagger-like claws. A new kind of fear twisted his gut in knots. "Do you have a plan, then?" He croaked weakly, though his voice came out thin and shaky.

Tasha nodded after a heartbeat of hesitation. "I've been thinking about it ever since they dragged me back to this cage. We're both too injured, we need to heal up before we stand a real chance against the guards holding us here. Mealtime is soon, we should eat and regain our strength, stay submissive. I'd say we stand the best chance of escape if we wait until breakfast-feeding time when we can get the drop on our captors and make a break for it. I've been memorizing every hallway they've taken me through."

"Just how long have you been trapped down here?" Felix asked.

Tasha's expression darkened. "...A few solid months. I'm the current champion of the fighting ring, and I haven't lost yet. Except to you, because I chose to." She suddenly tilted her head to the side, eyes going distant with alertness.

"Meals are coming," she announced. The reaction of the other fighters was instantaneous and overwhelming, a chaotic jumble of sound that made Felix flinch in surprise. The captives were banging on their cages and howling happily as though a decent meal was the most incredible luxury to look forward to. They were acting like a bunch of savage wild dogs foaming at the mouth.

It wasn't long before a door opened, and an armed guard entered rolling a metal food cart in front of him with all different manner of... semi-edible-looking foods. Some of it looked outright revolting, in Felix's opinion. It made him want to gag.

There were slabs of raw meat of all different colors, sizes, and varieties on the cart, and the guard paused at each cage, reading something off a clipboard before selecting a food item and tossing it carelessly into the cells. No plates or utensils were provided.

Soon enough the guard had reached Felix's section of cages, and Felix had to look away to avoid throwing up when Jax was served, as the man lunged and tore into a piece of meat like a rabid animal with a growl. Savage.

Felix jumped when a blood bag hit the ground at his feet, and he stared dismally down at it before reluctantly picking it up. He watched as a large slab of raw meat splattered down in front of Tasha a second later, spraying her with a bit of blood as it landed. Tasha wrinkled her nose, but took it without complaint, taking a bite of the fresh, dripping meat.

"Won't that make you sick?" Felix asked inquisitively. "Since it's raw?"

"Not any more than drinking blood will for a vampire," Tasha answered around a mouthful. "Werewolves have immune systems built for this kind of stuff. I won't get sick from this, just like drinking that blood pouch won't make /you/ sick either."

"Oh..." Felix stared at the pouch in his hand, before hesitantly tearing into it with his fangs. The blood was cold and gross, but it was sweet nectar to his hungry stomach. It would do the trick, even if he was used to pre-heated blood bags back home.

He could already feel his wounds starting to knit themselves back together, repairing his youth. His mind was a fluttering mess of nerves and fear as he finished the meal, dreading what would soon come. Could he and Tasha really pull off an epic escape? Or was it all just a hopeful illusion? An unrealistic desire?

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

Masterlist #2

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump @otterfrost @sausages-things

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denofbloodandlove · 1 year ago

Text

Predator(s) and Prey

**Please note this is a complete work of fiction. There are trigger warnings in this. This particular story is 4 pages it is a bit long. Enjoy** Kate paced back and forth like a caged animal, her eyes constantly darting towards the giant three paneled frames that housed nothing but clear glass. Beyond it: woods. What the fuck had she been thinking when she signed up for this? She knew better! But fuck she needed the money. Kate was beyond broke, so when she read the add that hung in the college square for the thirty somethings that were still lost as fuck in life, she jumped at the chance. The add simply read “You are the prey, we the predator” “Five thousand for the night, per predator. More details when vetted.” Every single slip, every little column of paper stared at her as it swayed in the breeze. Not a single person wanted in on this, but fuck, Kate hadn’t eaten is days, all her money going towards the ridiculously priced art supplies she needed for her one stupid class. Kate had no one, unlike most of the people at the overpriced school, she was alone in this world, struggling to be an artist. “Fuck it Kate do it.” Grabbing her phone, she texted the number that was neatly printed on the little slip of paper. Within seconds she got directions to the place she was now at. All it said was to be there promptly at 4 pm, so she could get ready. Ready apparently meant that she would be pacing in this giant over expensive living room with giant glass panes overlooking the most forbidden forest she had ever seen. But from her artists eye, it was beautiful. Lush green trees grew thick together, so thick that it made the low light look black. Kate could barely see through the branches, different shades of greens worked together creating a green waterfall of beauty. Nerves ate as her, her fingertips in her mouth as she chewed down the quick of her nails. She should just leave, right? What the fuck did that paper even mean? Her red converse shoes would be wearing a hole in this nice hard floor soon. “You already look perfect for the part Kate.” A deep voice echoed from a dark corner of the room, so farl she had to squint, her heart thumping in her throat. Kate hand wrapped around her throat defensively as she stopped her pacing. “He….hello? Wh..wh..whose there?” She stammered over her words as fear ate at her, she could feel the pulse in her throat grow wild. Her eyes hurt from being so wide, staring into the darkness. And she watched in terror as a giant of a man stepped forth. Dressed in all black, the man was head to toe in tactical gear. Pockets lined his pants, pants that ended in thick black combat boots, the kinds that hunters would wear. His black tank hugged his rugged body, the skin that was visible was covered in vibrant tattoos. Ink covered every inch, all the way down to his knuckles, the shirt he adorned was covered by some kind of black vest that held even more pockets. In his ear hung some small piece of wire, it reminded her briefly of an earpiece. But her mind was disjointed, not putting every detail together. “Whadda mean” Kate stammered as she backed away instinctively, her ass hitting the glass she was just pacing in front of. “You. You answered the add. The perfect little prey. Already so scared. I can see how the blood is flushed under your skin, giving you the perfect shade of pink. Your eyes wide, your breathing labored. Did you know that panic makes the body feel dizzy, your muscles tense, tremble. Your brain becomes too aware of possible threats and begins to become hyperactive. The midbrain, the amygdala become too overwhelmed. You can feel it. The fear. We can see it. Taste it. Savor it. Tonight, we will own it. You answered, we called. Predator. Prey.” Kate began to hyperventilate, his words rattled around in her empty brain. What the fuck did she do? What did he mean? Too much was going on, sucking in deep mouthfuls of air, spots began to dot her vision, she felt fuzzy all of a sudden. He was right, whoever he was. Panic, fear, terror coursed through her blood. “It’s okay though Kate. You texted, that initiated the contract. Twenty thousand has already been funneled into the account you provided. Four predators for the night. Rules are, you run, we chase and we capture. And when we do capture, we own. There are no safe words. No limits. No escape really. Just primal urges and fear.” The man held his hand up, showing a metal glint that shown off the lights, with a simple click, the panel that she was plastered against slid open, forcing Kate to fall flat on her ass on the massive deck outside. Scrambling backward, Kate almost crab walked backward only to fall off stairs that led to the soft grass. Following her out the man smiled down at her, his grin more wolfish, predatory. She was frozen in fear as he stood above her on the deck, his arms now crossed over his chest. With another flick and click, lights that shown behind him went dark, immersing him in shadows that moved. An inky blackness that moved and multiplied. Blinking her fear filled eyes, her brain was playing tricks on her. One suddenly became four. Four men, four giants, four horseman stared at her with hunger. As one, they moved in sync, each reaching up and grabbing that wire to place it in their ear. “It….it was an earpiece” Kate whispered to herself. Shock flooded her already tight system. Her nails dug into the soft ground as she tried in vain to calm herself. “You have thirty minutes, it’s a head start to begin running little mouse. The sun will begin setting in that thirty minutes, and then we hunt.” As one, the four men silently disappeared into the darkness, leaving her seemingly alone in the dying of the light. Tears sprang from her eyes, fat drops flowed like rivers down her cheeks as she bought her knees to her chest. Kates arms wrapped around her knees to hold herself together as she cried in fear. She could feel the hot sun on her bare shoulders, as if it was making fun if her. Slowly dying, allowing more of that dreaded darkness to consume everything. Just like it did them, the Predators. Her heart thumped hard in her chest. Was she going to be hunted to die? No, they pai her. Why would they pay her just to kill her? Plus they, whoever they were put a very public add out, one that could be traced. Right? Her mouth was so dry, her breath coming in too fast, she had lost semblance of breathing through her nose, her body taking over and panting out of her mouth. Swallowing she began to rock back and forth as she tried to think, to remember what he said. They were going to taste? What did he say? Claim? What were they going to claim? She had nothing. Nothing to give. But. Kates breathing stopped as her mind finally fucking clicked. The fact that she was hungry from not eating, sleep deprived from school and fear coursing through every single fiber of her being, her brain was sluggish. It took longer for her to realize what they were talking about. They were going to claim her, claim her body as theirs. In the most primal way. They were going to fuck her, rape her, fill her with everything. Her brain screamed for her to run, run away now and as fast as she could. Her heart the muscle that stopped momentarily began pumping so fast in her rib cage it hurt. But her cunt was suddenly dripping. A flood of juice gushed down, coating her in thick honey. She had only been with two people her entire boring life. And both were less than mediocre. So boring she didn’t even remember their names. Kate shook her head as her body began a war with itself. Fight or flight. Fight. Flight. Fuck. “Tick Tock Kate. Thirty minutes in now twenty. You not running will only make it worse. We chase, releasing energy. If we don’t chase, where do you think that energy will be directed? The dark voice whispered from the darkness of the house that now stares at her like a menacing creature. A nightmare that was sent to terrifier her. Kates feet kicked out sliding against the grass, her hands moved, her ass slithered across the earth, scrambling for purchase, but fear made it hard for her to gain footing. With a low groan she heaved herself over. Her converse slipping, running in place slowly, then picking up speed. Her arms pumped as she began to finally run. And she swore she could hear a low “Good girl little mouse” as she ran to the thick trees. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Licking his teeth, he grinned. Fuck she was perfect. Ass that was round, tits that were bigger then any of their hands, when he’ll get to grab them, they will spill out of his palms. Thighs that were thick, legs that were long, and hair that fell in thick waves. Waves that meant he could wrap his hands in and hold her in place as he shoved his fucking rock-hard dick down her throat. Her other holes used by his team. Ripped open and stretched to the fucking max as they fucked her senseless. Tilting his head, he barely glanced left or right. He and his team had gone over this hundreds of times, making sure that whoever answered their add would not get away. Move right, left, and middle. Goggles on, the light will be gone soon. Her eyesight shit, Fear will make her sloppy. First one gets her sweet pussy. Remember the rules. Knives not too deep, ropes and bondage tight enough but not to cut off circulation. She must feel the pain. She signed up for this fellas. Lets hunt.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Adrenaline rode Kate hard as she ran. Her muscles burned as she tried in vain to dodge branches and brambles that tore at her skin and clothes. She could feel what must be a million tiny cuts along her flesh as she ran blindly through the thick foliage. She could not hear anything, except the pounding of her own heart, the rush of her own breath. The light was now miniscule, filtering through the thick trees, limiting her visibility. Her legs felt like lead suddenly, her blood like molten lava she tripped over her own feet and began to fall. Her hands hit first, debris embedding itself into her soft palms. Her knees crunched against pebbled and detritus shooting pain up her spine. Yelping she rolled, hitting broken shrubs from a life that grew too fast for little things. Rolling, she finally came to an agonizing halt. Fresh tears dotted her eyes, her poor addled brain confused. Blinking rapidly, silence descended. Not a single thing made a sound. It was as if the forest itself was waiting for something to happen. For her heart to explode, for her brain to leak from her ears. For her to shove her hand down her pants and fuck herself into a screaming rage. Gods this was so fucking weird. But the night decided for her when a twig suddenly snapped from behind her. Rolling over she kicked her feet, her foot she realized was shoeless, lost in the tumble through leaves and dirt. Her toes dug into mud, giving her some form of grip but as she was just beginning to hurl herself forward, a tight hand gripped her ankle and yanked her down. Loudly screaming, another set of hands wrapped around her throat, silencing her. Kate kicked out, eliciting a heavy grunt and she fell forward, the hand at her throat loosening momentarily, giving her enough time to push and run. Laughter echoing behind her. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- He had her in his palm, felt her erratic pulse under his fingers, beating like a hummingbirds wings. So fast it felt like she was flying under his palm. The night vision goggles shown her pupils were blown, so large they enveloped any color she may have had. The sun was completely gone now, she was running blind while they watched. He knew like him all their cocks were hard, ready. They couldn’t wait to capture her, string her up, cut the clothes from her body and fuck her raw and hard against the woods. Sweat beaded his brow, his lips and down his spine. “Go around, track her and surprise her. She’s headed towards the cabin. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Kate was lost, dazed, terrified, tired. She had fallen too many times to count, her hands hurt, her knees bled and somehow, somewhere she twisted an ankle. Her hands clawed at the trees surrounding her. She couldn’t see shit. But she was not expecting a tight hand in her hair wrenching her head back hard enough she saw stars. Screaming in horror, she tried to kick again but heard a tsk. Each ankle was lifted, legs spread. Her knees bent and bucked under the intense strength. In her ear, she felt a puff of hot air, followed by the words “Found you little mouse.” Hands gripped her roughly, keeping her immobile as they worked quickly. Her other shoe was ripped off, something tight wrapped around her ankle, then the other and she was suddenly dropped. Her bad ankle giving out. Her hands, arms though were still held tightly, her wrist burning suddenly with abrasiveness. Screaming into the night her slow brain once again caught up too late she was being tied up, her back arched as her arms are wrenched up and back. Her back slammed against the tree rough bark speared her thin shirt. Tears flowed freely from her eyes as her heart exploded behind her sternum, but every single fucking sound stopped when her heard the sound of zipper teeth echo into the night. Part 2 coming soon.

#sweetmisery #lostsoul #mywriting #predator #prey #hunting #r@pe kink #primal #fiction story only #fear

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