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targaryenimagines · 7 months ago

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The Khaleesi’s Queen

Dark!Daenerys Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,559

Summary: Daenerys doesn’t like to be interrupted; not when she has everything she could ever want within her grasp.

Warning(s): G!P Daenerys, slightly rough (and possessive) sex, oral (R!Receiving).

Author’s Note: Changed up the prompt, which I hope is okay Tried to figure it out the first way, but I wasn’t doing it any justice in the slightest. I suppose this can be seen as a continuation of My Khaleesi, but it can be a stand-alone too. (This is told mainly through Dany’s POV, if you’d like me to make a partner through the Reader’s just let me know!)

Series Masterlist

“Do you take me as some sort of fool, Councilor?”

The question is asked in an airy tone, one that a person would use when making a remark about the weather or the coming crop season, but the fiery undercurrent, like iron piercing through the sky, kept the man it was directed to in place. Violet eyes locked on dark brown, a message clear within them: Speak. Now. I’m running out of patience.

“O-Of cou-course not, Your Majesty,” the man stumbles, trying to alleviate the situation. “I-I just wished to tell y-you what your ancestors used t-to do.”

A sneer works itself across a beautiful face. “Yes,” she drawls, disgust clear in her tone. “But those same ancestors didn’t have the bond I do with my son.” Rising from her chair, Daenerys pins the cowering man in place with her gaze. “What will you have me do, Councilor? Have sex with my queen on the back of my son’s back in hopes of creating another?” She takes another measured step closer. “Do you think I’m unaware of what’s being said about me? That I’m oblivious to the gossip and rumors being spread?” Daenerys is a mere five feet from the man now. “Everyone within the Seven Kingdoms knows about my bond with my children, but you choose to council me into doing something that’d be sacrilegious in their eyes? That’d create even more discord within the land?”

Daenerys pauses then, tilting her head as she surveys the cowering man— from his balding head down to his recently polished shoes— and her gaze darkens further.

“So, I have to ask, do you take me for a fool?” She reiterates. “Because you must if you think I wouldn’t question you or your motives.”

He shakes his head, practically throwing himself at his Queen’s feet. “I-I swear to you, Your Majesty, I’m just a lo-lowly scholar. Ju-Just trying to help.” Fear weasels its way down his spine when he felt her lean closer to him. “I-I swear it.”

A breathy chuckle echoes across the room, barren of any form of amusement. “Oh? You swear it?” Crouching down, Daenerys forces the man to look into violet eyes. “I must believe you then.”

Snapping her fingers, the shadows around the edges of the room come to life as figures clad in obsidian black step from them, silver spears glinting under the light.

“Grey Worm.” The Captain of the Queensguard steps forward, back dutifully straight. “Nādīnagon zirȳla.”

At once Grey Worm, and another Unsullied, step forward and clasp the now begging man under his armpits and begin dragging him from the room. His cries for mercy falling on deaf ears: “N-No. Ple-Please, Your Majesty! Don’t do this. Please.”

Dark oak doors close with a resounding bang, cutting off his pleading.

Silence settles once more over the office, save for the faint crashing of waves against the surf outside and the cries of gulls. If Daenerys closed her eyes, she could almost imagine she was back in Essos. Back when things were simple but infinitely more complex. Settling back into her high-backed seat, Daenerys lets loose a soft sigh.

“Did you just have that man executed for telling you something you didn’t wish to hear?” A teasing voice breaks through the silence, the warm cadence of it bringing a smile to Daenerys’ lips. Looking down, she’s met by the sparkling gaze of her wife. “Or did you have that man executed for interrupting us?”

Huffing out a laugh, filled to the brim with adoration, Daenerys pulls you from your kneeling position, placing her hands on your hips once you’re comfortably straddling her. “I didn’t have him executed, ñuha perzys.” She places a delicate kiss to the corner of your lips. “I just wanted to have him leave my presence in a timely manner.”

You nuzzle closer to her. “And to do that you had to scare him? Are you certain it has nothing to do with his untimely entrance?” Wiggling on her lap, Daenerys has to bite back a groan as your familiar weight bears down on her growing erection. One that had found its home in your mouth a mere twenty minutes before— only to be unceremoniously ripped out when the man had knocked, requesting an immediate audience. “I know how you get when certain things don’t go your way.”

“Careful,” Daenerys warns, nipping at your exposed neck. Delighted in the way your breath hitches at the slightest bit of pressure to the small area underneath your jaw. “It’s not polite to tease your Queen.”

Rocking your hips more, you quip back. “It’s a good thing you’re not my Queen then.” Dipping your head, you press a heated kiss to her lips, groaning when her hardness hits just the right spot through her tailored pants. “You will always be my Khaleesi.”

The sound of the title, the first one she had ever truly earned, falling so sweetly from your lips, when the taste of you was still heavy on her tongue, brings a small snarl forth from deep within her chest, rumbling out across the relative stillness of the room. Standing, Daenerys grips you tightly by the waist and deposits you on her desk, uncaring of the various baubles that fall off due to the action. She easily finds her home between your thighs, pressed flush to your beautiful form.

“A Khaleesi is very different from a Queen,” Daenerys purrs, pressing another heated kiss to your lips. Running her tongue against the bottommost one, a husky sound of contentment being made when you let her gain access to the warm heat of your mouth. Fighting for dominance, one that she easily wins, Daenerys plunders further into your mouth, running her tongue along the roof of it, savoring the taste of you. Once she starts to become impeded by the lack of air, she pulls back and nearly comes undone at the wanton expression across your face— kiss swollen lips, lust darkened eyes, a delicate sheen of sweat along your brow. Exquisite. “A Khaleesi takes without question. A Khaleesi is rough, making sure her claim is known, but a Queen is soft, gentle.” Driving her hips into you, Daenerys snarls. “Are you certain you want a Khaleesi instead of a Queen?”

Throwing your arms around her, Daenerys is pressed firmly down, both your fronts flushed together. “Yes,” you hiss, nails digging into her shoulders. “I want my Khaleesi to claim me. To show me that I’ll only ever belong to her.” Your hips cant once more, trying desperately to get some friction. “Show me what a Westerosi Queen could never accomplish.”

At the mere thought of you being claimed by another, at anyone else having the privilege of seeing you come undone, Daenerys’ world view narrows to only you, only bringing you pleasure, so that you’d never think about leaving her.

She’d turn this world into nothing but fire and ash before she’d ever let that happen.

Nostrils flaring due to the possessive fire roaring within her chest, Daenerys takes in the delicate symphony of scents that wash over her due to the action: the sweetness of your bath oils mixed with the heady scent of sweat and the musky undertone of your arousal, strong despite the layers that separated her from the source of it.

“Lean back,” she growls, pressing one last deep kiss to your lips before she began to make her way down your body. Nimble fingers tearing at the buttons and fabric that she comes across, tongue and teeth lavishing the newly exposed skin with attention, until you’re lying delicious bare, save the last bit of your smallclothes, across the dark wood of her desk. The sight of your laid open, and waiting, for her brings a jolt of arousal straight through her body, but she didn’t wish to satisfy her own needs. Not yet. For now, she’d remind you that she’d only ever be the one to give you this sort of pleasure, that no one would ever be able to replace her. Daenerys settles onto her knees between your thighs, rubbing her nose lightly across the patch of darkening fabric at the apex of them. “Don’t even think about cumming until I say you can.” Violet eyes rise to meet your own, expression stern. “Do you understand?”

Nodding, almost frantically, you spread your legs further, giving her more room to maneuver within. Taking advantage of the additional space, Daenerys mouths over your soaking center, tongue flexing against the sodden material that kept it covered from her, as her hands clasped your hips to keep you in place. The sound of breathy moans and pleading whines from above her sending a delicious thrill down her spine.

"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" The question is rhetorical, she doesn't expect you to answer, but the questioning keen in response brings a soft smile to her lips for the briefest of moments. Pressing closer, Daenerys finally tears at the last barrier keeping you from her, the sight, and the scent, of your glistening center causing her own mouth to water in renewed hunger. "I crave you, ñuha perzys. More and more with each passing moment. I crave to bring you as much pleasure as you can withstand." Daenerys places a delicate kiss to your throbbing clit. "I crave your taste." Lowering her head, she dips her tongue teasingly into your entrance, savoring the flavor that could only ever come from you. "I crave the sounds you make as I ruin you."

Without preamble Daenerys buries her head between your thighs, thrusting her tongue as far into you as she could reach, the keening cry of pleasure tearing itself from your lips music to her ears. You pulse around her tongue, inner muscles flexing, as you try to pull her deeper into your depths, the feeling a reminder of how exquisitely tight you always are for her, something that brings another jolt of arousal coursing through her, making Daenerys aware of the throbbing between her own legs. Forcing her thoughts away from her own need, Daenerys consumes you, tongue lashing across your clit before diving back into your slick hole, hands gripping your hips tight enough to bruise as she keeps you in place, despite your clear desire to chase whatever friction you could find. Your desperation for her, the clear need you had for her, almost made her take pity on you, almost allowing her to let you fuck her tongue, but the only thing you'd be cumming on in the near future would be her cock -- nothing more and nothing less.

Taking notice of the heightened pitch of your cries, the growling rasp building within your moans, Daenerys knows that you're close, that you're almost cresting the peak of the pleasure she's giving you, which means, with a small bit of reluctance, Daenerys tears herself away from you, tongue running along her bottom lip, savoring the remnants of you upon it. Your responding whine allows for a satisfied smirk to grace her beautiful face, soothed that you clearly wanted her as much as she wanted you.

Maneuvering quickly, Daenerys didn't have time to deal with all of the buckles that she wore, not to mention her boots, she simply opened her zipper and shoved her tailored pants as far down as they would go, her erection finally free once more, poised to claim what had always belonged to her. Rubbing herself against your wet heat, Daenerys arches a brow. "Do you want this?" It was the last warning she would give you before she claimed her wife completely, as a Khaleesi should. "You still have time to choose your Queen."

With a heaving chest, and narrowed eyes, you spit back. "The only woman I could ever want is my Khaleesi." You hook your legs around her hips, arching against her. "So, fuck me."

Not giving you a chance to rethink your words, not that she believed you would, Daenerys thrusts into her wife, the slick channel greeting her like an old friend, the feel of it causing a deep snarl to rumble from her chest. If she could manage running Westeros from right here, then Daenerys would never leave, but the times that she could make herself at home between your legs once more were that much more important to her when she could manage to find the time -- her devotion to you superseding all else barring the devotion she had to her son.

"Yes," you hiss, nails digging harshly into her clothed back. "It feels so good, Dany. So good."

Lowering her head, Daenerys harshly bites the sensitive spot just below your ear, tongue soothing the burn that no doubt appeared due to the action. "You're so beautiful." She nuzzles against a slightly older mark she had left a few days prior, quickly going to work to make it as fresh as the one she had just left. Slamming with more force into you, delighting in the sharp keen that's torn from your lips, and the way you flutter around her, due to the action, Daenerys finally detaches from your neck. "The most beautiful woman I've ever seen and you're all mine."

Nodding frantically, you arch against her lithe body. "I will only ever be yours, Dany." Taking her by the face, you press a needy kiss to her lips, all tongue and teeth as you pant against her. Clearly trying to stem off the encroaching orgasm. "I will only ever want you."

"And you'll only ever have me." Legs beginning to burn due to the power behind her thrusts, and the familiar fluttering within her belly, telling her that she wouldn't be able to last that much longer, Daenerys tugs at your bottom lip. "Cum for me, my queen. Cum for your Khaleesi."

As if a switch had a finally been flipped, your body arches completely off the desk, arms and legs slightly spasming, as your inner muscles tighten completely around her, and a fresh wave of wetness coats you both. The feeling coupled with the delicious sight, causes Daenerys to come with her own groan of your name, her hips still softly thrusting as she leads you through the last waves of your own orgasm.

Once you stop shaking, for the most part, Daenerys leans forward and places a delicate kiss to your brow, still firmly planted inside of you, nuzzling against your sweat-stained temple. "You were wonderful, ñuha perzys, but don't think that I've had my fill of you yet." She runs her hands down your sides, rubbing gently across your lower abdomen. "I still have to put my heir in you."

With a delightfully tired smile, you run your fingers through sweat-matted locks, the silvery-gold still looking radiant despite it all. "I love you, Khaleesi."

Violet eyes flutter shut at the title, the affection in which it falls from your lips, warmth suffusing itself within her chest because of it. Cradling your face delicately between her hands, Daenerys confesses. "I love that you still call me that."

You huff out a laugh, pressing a light kiss to her inner wrist. "Even if we're in Westeros now, Dany, you will always be my Khaleesi. No matter what."

"And you," Daenerys replies, adoration clear within her tone and gaze. "Will forever be my darling Queen."

#daenerys targaryen #daenerys targaryen x reader #daenerys x reader #daenerys targaryen imagine #daenerys #got imagine #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones imagines #game of thrones #house of the dragon #all of the unsullied left by the way #they’re just outside the room now instead of being within it due to daenerys no longer having an outside visitor

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lilybug-02 · 1 month ago

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CONGRATULATIONS ON ENDURING THE HARSHEST PUNISHMENT 🎉🎉🎉

Genuinely feel so so happy right now. That took at least 10 hours. But gosh. I want to reiterate just how much I love Hollow Knight. There's a reason I wanted to do the Path of Pain. And it's because this game is so good that I want to do and find everything it has to offer. Even the hardest challenge it has. Because everything and I mean EVERYTHING- the music, story, characters, gameplay, and challenges- are all so polished. It's addicting.

It makes me feel like i'm at the top of the world.

#hollow knight #No wonder people are dying for silksong to come out. I want games like this forever!!!#ask stuff #bread #bread thoughts

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b00tyliciousbabe · 8 months ago

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⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅

barbie tingz

marcus scribner x THICC male reader

summary: just marcus loving you like with his heart, soul, and FAT SCHLONG. slight feminisation - don’t kill me.

notes: LOVELIES! hope everyone is having a beautiful day. i wanted to let y’all know that i will be taking a lil break because it’s exam season. don’t be sad…because this means i have an entire summer of smutty content to write and catch up on! ps. each word in this fic is me being another squat closer to the fattest ass in the world. ENJOY!

ALSO! the met gala is tonight! my favourite event of the year, i might make a short rec…how do we feel about that?

song rec: ‘freak’ - victoria monét

marcus was well on his way to establishing a name for himself in hollywood. booking new roles, alongside his debut as a director, he was on track for a career that would rival his mentors. but if you were to ask him what his biggest achievement was, he would say being with you. the corny mf has actually reiterated his adoration multiple times during interviews, and the world is obsessed with how lovestruck he was. aside from being social media’s favourite young couple, you, yourself, had a blossoming career in fashion that meant you were styling your man to make sure he looked good for his press tours.

notoriously, you garnered a reputation for EATING UP on the carpet - zendaya being your only competition. this ain’t no exaggeration, but every time you’d step out, those fits would break the internet. thus, when the news dropped that you’d be attending the premiere with your boyfriend, all eyes would be on you - yet again. having you on his arm, instantly elevated his aesthetic. not that he ever saw you as some pawn too boost his career, you meant the world to him, but your beauty as his trophy wife made him even more palatable. usually, you’d have an entire glam team by your side cultivating your iconic, polished look. but, you and marcus had both been working so hard, to the detriment of your relationship, and so you decided to spend the night at his, agreeing to do all the glam yourself.

‘Y/N,’ Marcus bellowed from downstairs, putting on his rings, and spraying cologne onto his clothes. ‘baby, we gotta go.’

‘Y/N! over here! to the left! Y/N!’ a flurry of paparazzi screamed. ‘the body is TEA!’ one reporter exclaimed, making you laugh.

you graciously blushed. they weren’t wrong, your pear-shaped figure, defined abs, and toned arms were nothing short of a sculpted masterpiece. amidst the bbl allegations on twitter, and every tabloid claiming to have the secret to getting an ass as perfect as yours, YOU were the standard. a beautiful, androgynous mix of allure and charm. not even chris evans, america’s ass, said that you had the best glutes in the industry. it was a thing of wonder; something so many lusted for, and even more desired to have a piece of whilst having you in backshots. there were an array of wolf whistles from the public whenever you walked, swiftly followed by a gaggle of photographers snapping shots of your post-gym bawd.

marcus soon joined you on the carpet after finishing up on his interview. if the sensory overstimulation of flashes and cheers wasn’t enough, this was heightened when marcus snaked his arm around your lower back. whispering sweet nothings into your ear, spectators were foaming at the mouth by his public proclamations of love, hiding your blush from the world.

‘don’t be shy,’ he said lifting your chin to his face. ‘there’s that smile I love.’ the whole crowd was gushing, you could’ve cringed at how clingy he was being in public, but found his confidence to do so, all the more endearing.

one thing that you sly liked about marcus, was how he jealous he could get, so many of his friends and industry buffs would come up to talk to you during the interviews, coming up for hugs, and even though he trusted you, his need to protect had him riled. marcus had a great relationship with all of his co-stars and they all became such a family over the filming process. you being there made the family even stronger, embodying the role of MOTHERRR in more ways than one, and they all appreciated your kindness. always there to soften the stressful tones of your bf’s criticism.

you were particularly close with his friend from another project, and due to mutual management you spent a lot of time in the same spaces. he came up and hugged you from behind, before being whisked away to speak with another reporter. all but a few seconds, lasted an eternity, the worst kind, burned into the possessive psyche of your man.

moments passed and it was time for group pictures on the carpet. you and marc were dead center, with his large hands gripping you tighter than usual. you looked up to see he was scowling, ‘lighten up bubs.’ you giggled, to which your bf fixed his face - he could never stay mad when you were always there to calm his demons. not long after, the same face screw, that made his nose look so cute came back, as he remembered the voices of the media resounding in his head.

‘damn I’d hit that.’

‘Marcus is one lucky mf to be all up in dat pussy’

‘I bet the recoil on that thing is insane.’

it infuriated him to hear how the public spoke about you, as if you were some object, and not the kind person he grew so enamoured with. ‘I’m gonna fuck you so hard, you gon’ beg me for mercy.’ he whispered , breaking that veneer of respectability for a brief moment, squeezing your butt, then turning back to smile at the cameras. you’d never seen that side to him, it’d be a lie to say it didn’t turn you on.

throughout the screening, he made sure to let you know that all your teasing would soon be dealt with. the vulgar remarks were still plaguing him, and you knew you were about to be on the receiving end of it. literally.

‘upstairs.’ he said sternly,

the two of you started kissing, unbuttoning his shirt as he unbuckled your pants to free the globes of juicy flesh he loved so much. strewn across the floor, all fear of creasing the custom couture outfit you were wearing had disappeared - the overwhelming desire to make love to your boyfriend clouded your judgement.

you get down to business, kneeling to align your lips with his cock head. ‘don’t take this the wrong way.’ marcus sighed, urging you to stand up, so frail against how tall your man stood.

‘Y/N, i just wanna fuck right now.’

you knew how badly he needed this, and a part of you liked how desperate he was to be inside you. but it was bizarre, marcus loved watching you suck him off, getting him all lubed to plough your hole, almost as much as you loved gagging on his meat. nonetheless, you obliged, bending over as you had your knees on the edge of the bed, hole puckering at the chill of the air. marcus grabbed your left cheek, caressing and massaging your upper hip.

‘so fucking soft.’ he whispers against your skin, kissing at your taint. it was as if he snapped out of his love drunk trance, and was left a primal shell of himself. he practically ripped off your underwear, leaving your naked bodies to rub up on each other as he scrambled to find lube.

‘fuuuuuuuk’ he groaned.

his thick schlong fit like a glove in your inviting hole, slick from your desire and his precum.

‘damn i missed that boy pussy’ - LIES. that man combusts if he isn’t inside of you at least 4 times a week - wtf was there to miss? this sentiment made you smile at how whipped he was for you though.

his pace quickened. pulling his entire length out of you, except his bulbous tip, and spitting directly on your pussy to get you even more slick. ‘hear that baby,’ he praised the ‘mac n cheese’ sloppiness of your hole. ‘your pussy was made for me.’ he was right; most guys love skinny twinks because their petite butts made their tops’ look hung. despite the voluptuous curves you had, you were ample in both chest and derrière making average look like a micro penis inside you. all but marcus. he overpowered you in ways no other man could, his thick, girthy cock stretched you out in a way that blurred the lines between pain and pleasure. not to mention his length, during your first time he could barely fit half in without it feeling like he was stabbing your insides. but after some practice, you started taking him - ALL of him.

his grunts deepened. ‘practically begging me to cum inside that hole.’ gripping your hair up fucking you in doggy. style. marcus began leaving love bites on your neck, marking you for all to see. his big hand crossed to caress your childbearing hips. whoever said men can’t get pregnant must’ve never accounted for marcus’ determination. his dick wanted to make you a mother so badly, and nothing was going to stop him trying.

‘you can take it.’ he praises. ‘all. of. it.’ slamming into you with a bold rhythm on his final three words. and that you could. your hole was heaven for him. every time he would enter, your thick meaty globes would bounce like jelly on his lower abdomen, making marcus even more inclined to give you your reward. you moaned out in ecstasy, your bodies were made for one another.

‘who’s pussy is this?’ his grip on your neck became tighter, still allowing you to moan out in response, ‘it’s yours marky, all yours.’ fuck. you were whipped, almost as much as he was. ‘that’s right baby, moan for me.’

‘scream like the little bitch you are.’ you and marcus both enjoyed the passion of rough sex, but this was something you hadn’t ever seen in him before. he was a beast and you loved it, way more than you could ever admit. there was something sweet about the high you were on as you were being impaled by his dick.

particularly, he relished in hearing your slutty cries, ‘music to my fucking ears.’ praising you ‘my pretty little slut, fuck yeah, you want my load.’

‘fuck yeah marc, give it to me please.’ you screeched, loving how hard he was clapping your cheeks.

‘shiiiiiiit, baby, fuuuuuck.’ he spouted, spilling his pearliness into your pussy. he used his thumbs to kneed the dough around your hips, losing himself in the bakery he so enjoyed visiting every morning for breakfast.

gently, he collapsed on top of you, still inside the warmth of your flesh. after a gentle make out sesh, cockwarming your boyfriend until he was soft, your bf brushed up against you. massaging your thick thighs, marcus tended to the bruises he gave, kissing them reassuringly. you ushered him to lay his head between your pecs, as he put his entire body weight onto you. he sighed deeply, feeling safe in your warm embrace. ‘marc, is everything okay?’ you stroke his face, as your fingers laced into his curls. he snickered groggily, ‘shouldn’t i be asking you the same thing?’ - a fair question because he litch just wrecked your shit. ‘real, but we both know that in a couple hours i’ll be fine.’ a silence filled the room, concern brewing in your heart. you played with his ear, knowing how he becomes putty in your hands. ‘fuuuuuck, you ain’t gon’ stop unless i talk, right?’ you kept quiet, trailing the tips of your fingers on his lobe. he sighed deeply, ‘i just get so possessive over you.’ his last words muffled by your ample bosom as he came to the realisation that the press’ words got to him more than he thought.

sitting up, marcus exhaled deeply. ‘i can’t even blame them for ogling, you’re so beautiful.’ ‘but u ain’t an object, and i hate that people treat you like that.’ you caressed his cheek with a loving care. ‘call it jealousy, possession, toxic - I don’t care. you’re all mine.’ marcus always felt the need to take care of what was his, doing better than what he had seen throughout his childhood.

you had an idea, trailing your fingers down his torso, circling his belly button, ‘why don’t you show me again?’ whispering into his ear as he breathed out in pleasure.

you kissed his cheek, before slowly massaging his dick tip, ‘how much do you love me.’

marcus turned you over. stroking and licking his ear, y’all were so intimate. he held onto the grooves of your waist, fucking into you slowly, marking your neck with his saliva.

‘you’re such a dream to me Y/N,’ he always had a way with words that made you smile like a school girl. ‘I was so selfish before, you didn’t even come.’ you always placed marcus’ pleasure above your own, but he was never satisfied with just brutalising your hole. he needed you to enjoy taking his dick, just as much as he enjoyed gaping your hole.

‘guess I’ll have to fuck another load in, to get one out of you.’ he joked, sucking on the sweet skin of your plump ass.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅

tag list:

@gayaristocrat

@ghostking4m

#gay reader #gay #bottom male reader #smut #gay male #male bottom #male x male #male bottom reader #male x male fluff #male reader #m4m #amab reader

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calicoheartz · 8 months ago

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Caitlin x fem!reader fic based on:

jealousy, jealousy - Olivia Rodrigo 👀

The reader is jealous because Caitlin and her teammates get along really well, and people start shipping CC and Kate Martin. But then people also start claiming that they've seen CC and Kate kiss after a game. Angst and fluff, please?🥹

-🦢

Jealousy, Jealousy ; Caitlin Clark

꣑୧ — summary | basically the prompt !

wc ; 889

— warnings | angst (lots of it) mature themes , jealousy , reader is fem!

my master list ㇀♡

a/n : I absolutely love writing fics based on songs! Thank u so much anon 🎀 enjoy besties! ◡̈

The gymnasium buzzed with energy, the familiar sound of basketball shoes squeaking against the polished floor mingling with the cheers of the crowd. Cait, with her fiery determination and lightning-fast moves, commanded the court, effortlessly leading her team to victory. But amidst the celebration, an uneasy feeling gnawed at the back of your mind.

As you watched Caitlin interact with her teammates, laughter flowing freely between them, you couldn't shake the feeling of insecurity creeping into your heart. They seemed so close, so comfortable with each other, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy at the thought of anyone else sharing Caitlin's attention.

Caitlin's easy and close friendship with her teammates grated against your insecurities like sandpaper on skin, not because you didn’t specifically like it, but you felt like there was something more going on. They shared inside jokes, traded playful banter, and seemed to have an unspoken bond that left you feeling like an outsider looking in. You tried to brush off the feeling, to convince yourself that it was just your own jealousy interfering, but the doubt lingered and followed you like a shadow.

Every photo you saw, ever headline you read, only reiterated the intense thoughts harboring in the back of your mind, that you would and will never be enough for Caitlin.

❝ Got a pretty face, a pretty ‘girlfriend’ too

I wanna be you so bad, and I don't even know you ❞

As the whispers grew louder, fueled by the relentless speculation of the media, your anxiety reached a breaking point. People started shipping Caitlin with Kate Martin, her fellow star player, and the rumors only escalated from there. It seemed like every headline painted a picture of their supposed romance, their chemistry on and off the court sparking a wildfire of speculation.

You tried to ignore it, to bury your doubts beneath a facade of indifference, but the cracks were starting to show. And then came the final blow – whispers of a kiss shared between Caitlin and Kate after a game, a betrayal etched in the shadows of the locker room.

The news hit you like a sucker punch to the gut, stealing the breath from your lungs and leaving you reeling in its wake. You wanted to believe that it was all a misunderstanding, that there was a logical explanation for what people claimed to have seen, but the doubt festered like an open wound.

Confrontation became inevitable, a storm gathering on the horizon with no hope of reprieve. You found Caitlin in the locker room, her laughter ringing hollow in your ears as you approached, the weight of your words heavy on your tongue.

"What's wrong?" she asked, concern etched into every line of her face.

You tried to speak, to voice the turmoil raging inside you, but the words caught in your throat like shards of glass. Caitlin's brow furrowed in confusion, her gaze searching yours for answers you couldn't bring yourself to give.

And then it all spilled out in a torrent of emotion, your fears and insecurities pouring forth like a flood. You accused her of betrayal, of choosing her teammates over you, of breaking your trust in the cruelest of ways. The words hung in the air, a bitter taste lingering on your tongue as you waited for her response.

Caitlin's expression shifted from confusion to shock, her eyes widening in disbelief as the weight of your accusations settled between you like a chasm too vast to bridge. For a moment, there was only silence, the air thick with tension as you both grappled with the wreckage of your relationship.

And then she spoke, her voice barely a whisper against the roar of your emotions. She denied the rumors, swore on everything she held dear that there was nothing between her and Kate, that she would never betray your trust in such a way.

But the damage was done, the fracture in your relationship too deep to repair with mere words. You turned away, the weight of your doubts heavy on your shoulders as you walked away from the wreckage of what once was, the echoes of Caitlin's voice fading into the distance like a distant memory of love lost.

She chases after you, grabbing ahold of your arm before quickly saying, "Hey, look at me," she said, her voice soft but firm. "Those rumors, they're just that – rumors. Kate and I are just friends, nothing more. And as for what people claim to have seen... it's all lies, I swear."

You searched her eyes, seeking the truth in their depths, and found nothing but sincerity staring back at you. A weight lifted from your shoulders, the knot of tension in your chest slowly unraveling as you allowed yourself to believe her.

Your eyes glued to the floor as you try to resonate with her, to try and find it in you to move past these allegations, to allow yourself to freely love your girlfriend with the pressures from the media or society seemingly trying to tear you apart.

Your eyes glaze as you mumble out a simple, ��thank you, for that- I believe you.”, after hearing this, the brunette wrapped her strong arms around you, intertwining her hands with yours as you exit the arena, making sure to prioritize communication in the future.

i feel like it’s been forever since I’ve written angst so this was very much needed !! tysm for reading 💌

#wlw #wcbb #wlw imagine #wcbb x reader #my hcs #headcannons #caitlin clark #caitlin clark x reader #caitmylove #indiana #indiana fever #wnba basketball #wnba #iowa women’s basketball #iowa hawkeyes #iowa wbb #kate martin #angst with a happy ending #angst

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lefarte · 6 months ago

Note

Hallo, may I make a soft Levi funger x reader request? 💜

So polite heheh yes of course. My first request, is it cause he’s my profile picture 👀 ? You didn’t specify if you wanted headcanons or more of a ficlet (is that a word?) so I just sort of did my best I hope this is decent 🩷

Under the cut ^_^ no content warnings, just fluff, gender neutral reader

When Levi got clingy (which is often) it rarely manifested through physical touch. He’s hardly willing to do any more than tug on your sleeve to get your attention, and even this is a very small action that you could easily miss. More than anything, he liked to watch and guard you. Even if you kept telling him it wasn’t necessary, you always found him awake at the small hours of the morning over your bed.

“…I… I was awake anyway, so…”

He muttered something like that and then turn away. What would he do if not watch over you? Oil his gun? Count the windows in the building, count the entrance and exit points, think about his life up until this point? Since the war, even his mind became something of a problem. Always rearing its head at inopportune moments.

When he looked at you and the way your hair is fussed up first thing in the morning, he could almost imagine… domesticity. Something like this; he wakes up, and your hands are entangled from the night before, and you yawn and rub your eyes. You would eat breakfast together and talk.

“…How long have you been up?” You pulled the blankets off. “Did you sleep at all?”

Levi nodded. “I did…”

“You’re getting tremors in your hands again.”

He looked at his hands, cracked and dirty and covered in dry blood, bitten and shaky. A telltale sign. Within a few hours, maybe less, the nausea would come, and then the cravings, the sweat and the migraine. He shrugged.

You rolled out of bed. The bed squealed as you got off. To his surprise, you came to him.

“Don’t bite it,” You said, looking at his hands.

He blinked.

“You bit so hard you’re bleeding,” You reiterated, touching his fingernails.

He cocked his head, much like a dog. “S…Sometimes I wonder if you’re a… real… person.”

…Or a figment of his imagination. The first time he saw you, he ran away. You must have been some ghost of his past, one of the many dead faces brought animate by the withdrawals. And you kept pursuing. He thought for sure you wanted to kill him for what he did. Instead of that, you gave him heroin. And then you gave him food, and took him in, for absolutely no cost.

He decided that you must not know, and you should never know.

“Don’t be silly.”

You put a bandaid over his finger.

“…No…really… you shouldn’t be here…” Not in Prehevil. It’s a rotten place, for bad people. “And… um… I don’t need a bandage… you should save that.”

“You say weird things sometimes. It makes me want to squeeze you.”

He couldn’t respond to that. “Huh.”

“You need to get some sleep.”

“Stay here...” He croaked.

He had to admit that you were being sensible. The lack of sleep had been getting to him. He was saying things he shouldn’t say. The sun hadn’t fully risen, so… he could afford himself to rest for maybe another 20 minutes. Being generous.

It felt pathetic to beg.

“I’ll keep watch.” You promised.

Swallowing his shame, he slipped under the covers. It was still warm from your body heat. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt the warmth of a human, even if it was just the lingering traces from your pillow. He almost felt excited like a little kid. Its like an indirect hug, he thought.

You sat at the foot of the bed. You had no rifle to polish or any way to keep yourself occupied, except to listen to the soft breathing of Levi next to you. The way he curled up was soft, never like how a soldier should sleep. He left his rifle.

“Sleep well,” you said softly.

“….yeah….”

#fear and hunger x reader #Levi fear and hunger x reader

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raz-writes-the-thing · 10 months ago

Text

Polish and Shine (Supernatural One-Shot)

Sam Winchester x GN!Reader / requests are open

Summary: Sam chews on his nails a lot. Too much. You come up with a plan to break the habit.

Fic type: comfort, fluff

CW: this lil fic contains mentions of Sam wanting to explore his gender : ) not much, just mentions of him enjoying feeling feminine (please be gentle with me, this one has a lil piece of me in it).

SPN: @wereallbrokenangels @nervoussystemss (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It's not something you noticed a lot at first. To be quite honest, your social awareness wasn't the best, and looking at people head-on was something you struggled with even after you got to know someone.

But you did start noticing it. It seemed that he did it more at night when it was just him and his thoughts and the big dark room lit up only by his laptop at the table. On a side note, he was going to ruin his eyesight if he kept that up.

But he also did it in the Impala, or after a disturbing interview, or even just when Dean was late back from some girl or guy's place he picked up at the bar.

Chewing his nails... Sam was always chewing on his nails. You understood why, of course. It was an anxiety thing. A stress thing. You'd be lying if you said you didn't fall victim to the same impulse sometimes, but the amount of nail-chewing was starting to worry you.

It had gotten so bad that Dean had started slapping at Sam's hand if he noticed him raising it towards his mouth, one hand on the wheel and his eyes piercing warning daggers into Sam's soul as he pointed at him accusatorially. A silent "stop it right now before I turn Baby around."

It only stopped him from doing it so much on the road. Less so anywhere else. You'd been keeping a quiet eye on Sam the last few days, watching him chew his nails back to the skin. Irritating the skin and the keratin so much that it was probably hurting him. You weren't even sure what was worrying him so much.

You'd been brainstorming ideas to help him with the impulse for a few days until it finally came to you one morning when you were making a med-kit run- stocking up on all the things you all would definitely need at one point or another.

Nail polish. Of course! You'd picked up a couple different colours- given they were all out of transparent along with your bandages, iodine and Betadine and headed back to the motel of the day.

Sam had looked at the bottles in your hand with a raised brow when you brandished them. He picked one up, twirled it around and set it down on the counter.

"Do you want me to paint your nails for you or something?" He asked. Now, you couldn't say that wasn't appealing and that you weren't keen on that idea, because you were, but that was not the purpose of this little exercise.

"Maybe later, Sam. I got them for you-"

"For me?" He cut you off with one of those little huffy laughs he was so good at. You pulled a chair out and sat down, setting the bag on the counter and grabbing one of the bottles.

"Yes, for you," you reiterated, reaching for one of his hands. Sam allowed you to take it and take a look at the abused fingers. "Look, I- I've noticed you chew your nails a lot- and this looks like it hurts. I know Dean wants you to stop, and I imagine you'd also like to break the habit, yes?"

Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat, averting his eyes from your warm gaze.

"Yes," was his soft reply. You nodded, giving his hand a squeeze.

"This might help you break the habit. Plus, you'll look super pretty."

Sam snorted. His eyes darted back to look at you, and you really saw how shy and vulnerable he was feeling at that moment. It made you want to wrap him up and keep him safe.

"So, they didn't have clear," you explained, voice soft as if trying not to spook a deer. Or a moose, you supposed, in this case. "But I got you a few colours to choose from. Which one takes your fancy?"

You know exactly what he's going to pick before he does it. The forest-green. He hands you the vial and you let go of his hand to shake it up and unscrew the cap.

Sam sits patiently for you while you work, occasionally clearing his throat or giving you a quick smile. It doesn't take long, only a few minutes. Let it dry, then another coat. Let that dry. Done.

"There, all done," you exclaim, leaning back and stretching your back so it pops nicely. "Very nice, very nice," you approve. Sam fans his fingers out and juts his lower lip out thoughtfully.

"You know- I kinda like it," he blinked as though the discovery shocked him. "Can I do yours next?"

And so began a tradition. Once a fortnight you'd both paint each other's nails. Dean even got into it after a few weeks, getting his own done, too. Sam had been worried at first that Dean would make fun of him for his nails, but the only thing Dean had said after he returned toting beer and Chinese food was "nice choice, Sammy" as he cracked a beer and propped his feet up.

Sam continued to chew on his nails for a bit. It was a learning curve, after all, but he did end up slowing down and eventually stopping completely. You hadn't mentioned to Sam that he'd stopped just in case he hadn't realised, but you and Dean had shared a beer over the silent victory. And when Sam brought the victory to you both a few days after that, all three of you shared a beer then, too.

You and Sam continued to wear different shades and Sam even learned to put the polish on himself, though he vastly preferred you to put it on for him. Considered a bonding moment, which was cute. Dean would participate occasionally, and eventually, Sam admitted that he liked how feminine the polish made him feel.

After that- things sort of migrated from just nail polish to brushing his hair and experimenting with colour in his wardrobe. That was all he was really comfortable with for now, but that wasn't a problem. You were just glad he felt comfortable enough to share such personal information with you.

You both loved each other so much, and one of the best things about found family was that you knew you would be pillars of support for each other.

No matter what.

#sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #supernatural #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #spn #spn fic #spn fanfic #spn fanfiction #supernatural x reader #supernatural x you #spn x reader #spn x you #sam x reader #supernatural one shot #spn one shot

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shepscapades · 1 year ago

Note

GOD DAYUM

So the part 5 thing huh? Welp IT'S GOOD I LOVE IT

Because X is my blorbo I just wanted to point out some things here

MMMMMMMM HE HAS LONG HAIR??? I mean *looks at my posts* long hair fits him absolutely [Still not sure if he has long hair or not but looks like he has his hair tied in a ponytail or in a bun, I don't know it just looks like it on the second image]

[oh and also he called him "Doc" again, instead of Docm which I don't know what could mean in this situation yet, but one day it'll probably make sense as we get more parts]

This Etho right here looks either terrified or confused, and I think it's because

X is going to go absolutely crazy and he's scared that X is now in control [based on the "you dropped your crown king'' caption that might refer to Etho who isn't the attacker anymore but could also refer to Xisuma which I'll explain later]

2. He finally snapped back into his senses

3. he sees X without his helmet for the first time and his good 'ol computer brain is like '??????? Who tf is that"

"you dropped your crown king" could also refer to X as his helmet got destroyed in process [being the crown] and from what I know, we don't know the reason for why X wears helmet in this AU. The most popular headcannon for his armour and helmet is that he's a voidwalker and can't breathe in the overworld, we don't know if it's a thing in this AU but if it is that could mean that now he's powerless, he "dropped his crown" - he became weaker, powerless against his enemy. Also Doc looks kinda scared, or maybe just surprised after seeing X's face for probably first time. [if he's scared, then he's probably aware of Xisuma's condition when it comes to air]

NESTLE CRUNCH

But also poor Doc he looks horrified

ALSO

*looking for lore through old posts* huh these seem familiar... WAIT

AND THE DATE THOSE WERE POSTED

[it's in Polish sorry, but it says 13th October]

SO THE COMIC HAS BEEN SKETCHED OUT SO EARLY?? Damn those really take long to do, I mean I was aware of that fact but It's been like 3 months since those sneak peeks have been posted and WOW THAT'S A WHOLE LOT OF MOTIVATION YOU HAVE HERE SHEP

[also only now noticed how in this panel Etho's body sketch is red as a sign that he's the danger in Doc's eyes and Xisuma's is green/blue. Oh and in the first sketch X didn't have his hair visible in the visor hee hee ]

So yes, loved it, even if there were only 3 images I still think it's amazing ! We got to see your Xisuma a bit [he- he handsome -makes big eyes]

Sorry for the long ask again!! just!! excited!!

Now I'm going into my drawing cave as I'm full of inspiration already bye bye <333

(also also to reiterate, I have no idea how long part 6 will take since I just kinda have rough storyboarding for the rest of the comic, and classes just started up again— this is my exhibition semester so most of my drawing energy will be prioritized for my grad gallery… we will wait to see how much energy I have left by the day for destruction :3)

ALSO ALSO ALSO! “You dropped your crown king” was absolutely me trying to find a silly caption for what’s supposed to be a serious/dramatic part of the story while also referencing the fact that Xisuma’s helmet shattered/fell off— there are many conspiracies and clues to be had here but I just wanted to clarify that that line is not one of them SFKDFGHJ

I will therefore also not directly respond to anything else being discussed here BUT thank you as always for sharing your theories and analysis!! It always makes my day >:D

#LOVE IT #dbhc ask #1-marigold-1 #ask #dbhc xisuma #dbhc doc #destruction #dbhc etho #the shepherd #my sona #art escapades #dbhc theories

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gretavanlace · 2 years ago

Text

Debauchery Defined

Jake Kiszka x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, language, masturbation, dirty talk, dangerous situations, oral sex (m/rec), illegal activity (traffic related), etc. jake in a hat briefly - cause that shit deserves a warning. Probably typos, excessive italics as per usual, blah blah blah

“I’m sorry, sir, I have nothing under the name of Kiszka.”

The bored attendant, slouched upon a stool beneath an Enterprise sign, doesn’t even have the decency to sound mildly apologetic.

The sign is bright. Too bright for the hour. Too bright for the weary, sleep deprived, burn in your eyes. Just too bright.

Judging by the furrow in his brow, despite his ever present sunglasses, Jake shares your contempt for the fluorescent glow.

“I made a reservation days ago.” You reiterate, spelling his last name once more. Turns out, it’s a lesson in futility, as the clerk doesn’t even bother to type it in.

“I told you,” he snaps, fixing you with a glare. You sense he thinks it reeks of authority. It doesn’t. “There’s no rental reservation. Spell the name all night long if you feel like it, but it isn’t going to change anything.”

Jake, in a smooth rush, is leaned in closer - serpentine and quick in his movement. Yet, calculated, careful, eerily calm in that unsettling way he adopts when irritation is trudging toward anger.

His warning comes quietly, but it bears a menacing aura all the same. “Speaking to her that way is ill advised, I can promise you that.”

Your hand finds his arm, stroking soothingly through the worn hopsack of the blazer he layered on, hours ago, before your flight. “Jake, it’s alright.”

Never aggressive just for show, and certainly never overtly so, when Jacob feels someone is crossing a line with you, he is quick to polish his armor - a knight sweeping in to save his damsel in distress.

He relaxes visibly beneath your touch and navigates back to civility with a deep breath.

“Alright…” he flicks a glance at the name tag that rests crookedly on the other man’s shirt “Tyler. So you don’t have the reservation - we need a car. You have cars. Simple. Why is this an issue?”

He’s tired, and cranky…a long day of travel has leeched the patience from his bones.

Tyler, likely used to overwhelmed travelers frequenting the airport kiosk, remains unimpressed. “I have one available vehicle. Luxury class. Reserved for our most discerning clients.”

Jake rolls his eyes, clearly teetering on the edge of asking this asshole if he’d like to taste the back of his hand. “As it happens, I am discerning. How lucky for us. We’ll take it.”

Papers are signed, keys are exchanged, and finally, you’re schlepping through the hall leading to Parking garage B7, as instructed.

“Luxury for discerning clients.” He scoffs, hefting his bag, and yours, over his shoulder, though you continue to insist you can share the load.

His battered guitar case swings against his legs as he stomps along, “What an asshole. S’probably some boat of a Lincoln or something…I’m gonna look like a pimp.”

The wide-brimmed hat cocked low over his shades will be most fitting, then, won’t it?

Laughing at his dramatics - not so different from his twin, after all - you watch the doors whoosh open to reveal a deserted sea of concrete. Deserted that is, save for one lone sports car waiting beneath a flickering light.

You both stop short. “Or a frat boy douchebag.”

“Frat boys can’t afford cars like that.” You correct, nudging him to get moving.

He picks up the pace dutifully, “So, just a douchebag, then?”

“Yes, yes, Jacob…you’re very refined and everybody knows it.” You tease, ever the soft heart for his antiquated flare. “If anyone sees you, we’ll just explain that your horse and buggy are in the shop.”

His eyes rove across the lines of the car as you approach. Slyly sweeping over the glossy, black curves, almost hidden below the mysterious shadow of his hat.

“I’ll drive.” He mutters as if it’s no big deal, startling your feet to a standstill.

Never, not once, in the entirety of all the time you’ve known him has he ever offered to drive. In fact, now that you’re exploring the subject, you don’t think you’ve ever even seen him so much as graze a finger over a steering wheel.

“Do you…” you pause to collect your jumbled thoughts. “Do you even have a driver’s license?”

It seems strange, all at once - that you’ve never wondered about this before.

“What?” He laughs, finally shaking off the annoyance he’s been wearing on his shoulders for a few too many hours.

You wait while he presses a button on the key fob, opening the trunk with a smooth hiss, asking “well, do you?” as he dumps the bags, and his Gibson, inside.

You’ve seen him present identification hundreds of times, but you can’t recall it ever being anything but his passport.

“Purse in the boot or up front with you, darling?” He asks with an exaggerated swagger and flourish.

“Stop avoiding the question, Jacob.” You sigh, folding your arms as he slings your purse over his shoulder, abandoning Oliver, and moving to open the passenger side door for you. “Do you or don’t you?”

He waits until you’ve settled and then bends at the waist, offering a forehead kiss, and a secret. “I don’t. You wanna break a few rules with me, hall monitor?”

You feel your eyes widen as if he’s just confessed to casual murder for sport.

But you tamp it down and take hold of some perspective, this isn’t murder. Still, you don’t like it.

“Jake, don’t drag me into your debauchery. If you want to endanger the lives of hundreds of unsuspecting motorists, you can do it alone.”

In response, he swings the door closed and jogs around the sloping, gleaming hood, slipping into the driver’s seat, gentle and sleek as a sleepy housecat.

“I never said I didn’t know how to drive, baby,” he tosses his hat in the back and shakes out his waves, “just that I failed to revisit the DMV when ‘the man’ said my time was up.”

“This is stupid.” You slide down in your seat, careful not to reveal how much you’re enjoying the supple leather coasting along the backs of your thighs where your shorts have ridden up.

The opulence is an undeniable high. One you wouldn’t have expected, but there all the same.

He grins to himself, face lit up, beautiful and bright, like a little boy in a toy store. “Debauchery,” his voice is smooth as whipping cream. Smoky. Lazy. Like he plays behind the wheel of a flashy Porsche every day. “Immoral behavior that involves sex, drugs, alcohol, etcetera.”

“What?” You’ve begun to relax already. He is skillfully maneuvering the vehicle through the twists and turns of the garage. Okay, so maybe he does know how to drive.

“Debauchery. That’s what it means. It isn’t this.” He waves a hand, absently calling attention to the car. “But don’t you worry that pretty little head of yours, my love. I’ll have you dragged down into the thick of it soon enough.”

Leaning back against the headrest, you decide to give into his whim and enjoy the ride. It’s lovely to be able to strip off the stress of the day and let him take over the department of transportation, for once.

As you study him, with the hum of the road and the purring engine serving as white noise, you can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips.

“Jacob Kiszka,” you allow your grin to widen as it will, “I never would’ve guessed you’d be such a guy.”

He grabs for your hand, pleased that - as luck would have it - he has been blessed behind the wheel of an automatic…the absence of a gear shift leaves him open to holding onto you, and you are his favorite thing to hold.

“What are you on about?” Oliver pops in to say hello again, as is habit when Jake feels a bit too on the spot.

“Never once have you wanted to drive,” you remind him, lacing your fingers through his. “No matter how many times I tease you for being a passenger princess. Wave one fast car with a pretty paint job under your nose and you’re swimming in testosterone.”

A soft laugh is his only response as he coaxes out onto the freeway.

“You look good behind the wheel, baby. You know that?” Your free hand toys with a lock of his hair, smoothing it and twirling it around your pinky.

“I look good, always.” he sighs, feigning boredom as he weaves in and out of traffic to find his desired lane.

The further away from the hub of the city you drive, the more traffic begins to dissipate, until you seem to be adrift along some dystopian highway time has forgotten.

“How long?” You ask softly.

Staring out the window at the scenery whipping by sounds lulling, you might even fall asleep to it, but you can’t seem to tear your eyes away from him, and this calm, capable, skill set you never knew he possessed.

How like him to keep you on your toes, sharing bits and pieces of himself little by little. Doling out tiny Jacob Thomas shaped morsels only when he sees fit.

“Who cares how long?” He glances up at nothing in the rear view mirror. “This is nice.”

“It is.” You agree. Allowing the silence to wrap up warmly around you both again.

You watch him. And you watch him. And you watch him some more.

And you’d help it, if you could. Honest. The timing is most inappropriate. Not to mention, likely a little dangerous, but something about watching him command all that power beneath his hands has you weak. Submissive. Needy.

In moments of weakness in the dark, you’ve confessed that you feel the same watching him play. The way he makes love to his well worn and loved guitar. The way he coaxes sex soaked wails and whines from the strings, working his fingers faster and faster along the frets until the climax crashes apart, exploding into sound where there once was quiet.

The way he talks to her, the way he loves her. The way he knows her body just a little better than he knows yours, or even his own. It all makes you a bit jealous in the most decadent way. It makes you eager to showcase your worth as well, to sink to your knees in service to this god walking around amongst men.

He holds a brand new power and you want to slink into his lap and mewl like a kitten starved for attention. Instead, you settle for moving in closer, brushing a feathery kiss against his neck, nuzzling into the crook of it, unabashedly brazen with your want.

“Hello, my love.” His eyes never stray from the road, but his hand wanders your thigh, welcoming you. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m wet.” It’s a simple admission, but the way you hush it in his ear causes his cock to stir. It takes so little from you to pluck at his edges until he’s unraveling at the seams.

“Why’s that?” He adjusts in his seat, spreading his thighs just enough to make your head spin. “All I’m doing is driving a car. Is that all it takes?”

“Sometimes.” You sound pouty. It’s hardly there at all, but he hears it and he loves it. His spoiled rotten sweetheart.

“Well, I’m a little busy, love.” He slides his hand higher, silently wishing you had chosen a skirt today. “But you go on and be sweet to that pretty pink place I love so well. I miss your pussy, baby…it’s been such a long day. Miss the way you feel, the way you smell, the way you taste. I want you all over my face, fuck. Touch yourself.”

“Right here in the car?” You suck his earlobe into your mouth and the nibble over it as if he is an indulgent treat, because he is.

“Yeah.” He nods, grip tightening around the steering wheel, “Right here in the car.”

Maybe some other time you might toy with him a bit, dangle the string just out of his reach, but you’re further off track than he is at this point, so you shimmy out of your shorts and slide out of your sandals to rest your toes on the dash. Your knees fall apart as your fingers disappear into your panties with the tiniest moan when your fingers brush over your clit.

“Aren’t you such a good girl?” He pats at your thigh in praise, burying his grip into the soft, warm flesh there. Filthy, fucking dirty little thing, touching her pretty, wet cunt in a car we don’t even own just because I asked. So good, baby. Who’s my well behaved, darling girl?”

Sometimes you think his need to praise you rivals your own deep-rooted lust for receiving it.

“I’m your good girl.” You breathe, writhing slowly in your seat, drawing in the scent of sex and Italian leather, laced with the faintest hint of his cologne. It has faded with the hours, handing the spiced teakwood over to something a little more Jake…this is when you love it best.

“Then be my good girl and come over here. Come see me, sweetheart.” He extends an arm, casually inviting you in. You know what he wants, and you plan to give it to him.

For a moment, you're both illuminated in the golden glow of headlights traveling along across the median…he looks like the slickest snake masquerading as an angel. A serpent in the garden, ever tempting and cunning.

It’s all a front, as you well know. A role he plays when he wants to make you quake with desire. His heart is soft and kind, ever mindful of others, ever stuffed full of unending empathy and thoughtful love.

Unbuckling your seatbelt with a click that makes him frown, you slide over to the very edge and toy with the clasp of his belt, panting hot little puffs of breath against his flushed cheek, if only to stir him up further.

“You want that?” He lifts into your touch so you can feel how hard he is, all for you.

“Yeah,” tiny pecks of your lips chart his jawline. “Yeah, I want that.”

“Say it.” His fingers are in your hair now, curling into a loose fist near the nape of your neck, pushing you down. “Say you want my cock. Say where you want it.”

You’re hurrying now, tenderly fumbling with the buckle, hungry and desperate for it. “I want your cock, Jake. Want it in my mouth…in my throat.”

“Fuck…” it growls out of him strangled and tangled up with hot, salacious, greed. “C’mon, baby.”

You long to preen with pride; he wants it so badly, so suddenly - but there are more pressing matters at hand.

Both hands on the wheel now, he watches as you sink down around him, swallowing him so deeply, and with no real warm up, that you gag, sucking him down further anyway as you retch and sputter around his length, throat both fighting the intrusion and pining for more of it.

“Slow down.” His warning grits out through his teeth. He didn’t want to say it at all, slow is the last thing he wants. He wants to float off into it, stare focused and sure on the road, thoughts lost in the way you sound fighting around his cock, sucking and lapping over him, dying for just a little more, just another taste….

You shake your head adamantly, sending your soft, wet tongue slicking back and forth just along the base, nearly nudging at his balls as they tighten up for you. Every reaction his body hands over is all for you. Always for you.

“Fuck, baby,” his right hand drops to pet at your glossy hair as he fucks up into your kiss. “Gonna make me cum in that pretty little mouth. Feels so fuckin’ good. You want it?”

Nodding urgently, you bury your nose into the soft path of hair that trails below his belly button, choking until your throat is squeezed around him, strangling the thick head of his throbbing cock.

He’s twitching against your lips now, straining and pulsing, fucking throbbing. Obscene and depraved. Perfect.

“M’close, baby,” he’s murmuring raspy, stuttering, pleas as his grip tightens until your scalp stings blissfully. “Keep going, just like that, so close…baby, baby, baby, fuck…”

He’s whining and babbling, broken curses and hissing encouragement that barely makes sense. You couldn’t love it more.

Hollowing your cheeks, you suck hard on the updrawn and then relax your throat, plunging him straight to the back of it in one harsh go with a guttural sound that makes his thighs jerk.

You feel the slight hitch in the gas as he loses his footing on the pedal, and soothe him with a palm swept under his shirt until you can feel his heart hammering against your palm.

He regains focus - you can feel it - and then whispers a soft, “Thank you, sweet girl.” Grateful that your wits have prevailed when his own were waning.

You linger at the base, licking at what you can with his heavy weight cradled in your tongues embrace. He flexes violently, and you brace for it, gluttonous for the warmth of his release, and with a groan and gasp of your name, he doesn’t disappoint.

“Gonna cum, baby,” oh, he sounds so pretty. Trotting out the tiny whimpers that are saved for when he’s really lost in it. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, dontstopdontstopdontstop, fuck fuck fuck—“

Your taste buds dance with him, alive with the delicacy that is Jacob. So warm and perfect, covering your tongue, rolling down your throat, until you can feel him inside you, really inside you, in the way you love most.

He’s a mess above you, but you carry on until he is whining with overstimulation and begging you to stop, lightly pulling you away until you can just barely lap over his glistening tip as he softens against his splayed open pants.

You know he’s thinking of all the ways he plans to return the favor when he can properly get his hands on you, but as he catches his breath beside you and steals glances at you tucking his beautiful cock away, you feel completely, totally, blissfully, satisfied.

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zarvasace · 9 months ago

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Hesitantly moving forward on this :) please check out the form if you would be interested in contributing to, downloading, or purchasing something in this vein. My goal with this form is to get a rough idea of how big this could be! Please share this with people you know outside of Tumblr who may be interested, too!

I am hoping this fanzine encompasses more than the short stories and polished digital art you might be thinking of (though of course that too)! If you have a talent for sheet music, a craft, recipes, cosplay, photobashing (credited), or other sorts of things that could be included in a visual format, feel free to mention that!

I am reiterating here as well as in the form itself: if any physical products, including but not limited to books and keychains, are made and shipped, they will be sold as close to at-cost as possible, estimating on the higher side. Any extra funds will be donated to charity. (The form has a spot to suggest them.)

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu #scheduling this for a few hours out so it will hopefully show up in tag feeds #⚠️

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buckysgrace · 6 months ago

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3. Favorite Crime

Broken Hearts Club Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Your first date with Steve ends differently than you expected.

CW: Oral sex (fem receiving), unprotected sex, semi public sex

“He’s taking you where?” Patty stalled the strokes of her hand, the brush a little too close to your eye for comfort as you awkwardly pulled away. You’d already reiterated all of Steve’s plans at least twice. Apparently the third time was when she was actually listening.

“He said the whole nine yards,” You laughed nervously, “I don’t know.” You shrugged your shoulders, unsure of what you were supposed to say. She had been insistent on dressing you up, molding you into how she thought you should look.

“He never took me to Enzo’s.” Patty sat back in her chair, eyebrows furrowed together as she chewed down on your words. You could feel the tension in the air as you tapped your foot against the floorboard.

“Maybe he’s grown.” You suggested as you pressed your fingers together, not sure as to why you were taking you there. You still thought he was just being nice. Friendly. That’s how you remembered Steve to act.

“You think he likes you more than me?” She asked quickly, almost snapping at you as her eyes narrowed accusingly. Your mouth suddenly turned dry as you shook your head, knowing it wasn’t like that at all. There was no comparison.

“What?” You looked at her surprised, feeling a little panicked suddenly, “No. No I wasn’t suggesting that. I just meant that maybe he wants to try something new.” You tried again, hoping that sounded better. You reached for your cup of water, sipping on it slowly so you wouldn’t ruin the lip gloss that you had put on.

“Right,” She pulled away, watching as you refused to look in the mirror. You couldn’t tell what would set her off more; checking out your reflection or refusing to admire her work. It was like walking on a wire, “I’m sure it’ll be boring anyways.”

“Probably,” You agreed as you nodded your head in agreement, glancing at your reflection for just a quick second. Your hair and makeup was nice, designed exactly as she wanted it to be, “Do you want a ride home?” You asked curiously as you turned towards her once again.

“I’m not walking.”

“Gran,” You paused as you stepped into the living room, feeling a little awkward with how dressed up you were. It was just a simple blue dress, the shoulders puffy and the hem of it ending at your thighs, “Do you think you can give Patty a ride?” You asked as your friend stepped behind you, sending her a wave.

“Oh, Patty,” Your gran smiled tightly as she looked at her, “Always a pleasure. Of course I can give you a ride.” She sighed as he put her recliner down, dropping her needle into her yarn as she glanced at you over her glasses.

“I’m going out with Steve too,” You reminded her awkwardly, watching the way she stomped to put her shoes on, “So could you drop me off at the restaurant?” You picked at your nail polish, ignoring how you had painted them to match your outfit.

Patty was quiet the whole ride, leaving you with enough time to get your nail polish completely off of your nails. You were sure that you’d be iced out once again, but you weren’t why. You were doing what she wanted.

“You know,” You drew out playfully once Patty had made it into her house, “This would be a lot easier if I could get a car again.” You suggested with a smile, hoping that you might sweeten her up again.

“You know,” Your gran replied in the same sing-song tone, “You could’ve not let your friend drive your car.” She reminded you, shaking her head as she shut the conversation down once again. It was your responsibility at the end of the day.

“I couldn’t say no.” You mumbled as you stuck your legs out in front of you, sighing deeply as you thought about your poor crushed car. You wished you had an easier time shutting Patty down.

“Did she have a gun to your head?” She asked you, making you scoff, “No, I’m being serious. Because maybe insurance would pay for more of it.” She added with a laugh, able to pull a small smile to your lips.

“You’re cruel.” You replied, turning your attention to the window as you tried to act like your nerves weren’t twisting and turning inside of you. Enough to make you feel sick. Steve was oddly intimidating to you.

“Love you too, sweetcheeks.” She blew you a kiss as she pulled into the parking lot. You took a large breath of confidence before you stepped out, reminding yourself that no matter what happened you’d be fine.

Steve was waiting at the front door, looking just as nervous as you felt. His hair was tousled from his fingers pushing through it, his fingers tapping against his jeans and teeth clamped down on his bottom lip. His white shirt was tucked into his pants, but he wore a matching white shirt over that. With three red stripes over the chest, matching the collar and the cuffs that he had pushed up to his elbows.

“You arrived early?” You questioned him as you slowly dragged your feet against the concrete, still unable to decide if this was a good idea or not. Perhaps you could still turn around and flee, flag down your gran and pretend this had never happened.

“You look good,” He blurted, his brown eyes widening a second later, “I mean really good. I just-, uh yeah. I thought I’d wait for you.” He gestured towards the door, looking like he wasn’t quite sure what to do either. It was funny to see him so nervous, even more so when you considered it was because of you. You didn’t think you were that intimidating.

“Thanks,” You grinned as you swayed your hips back and forth, making the bottom of your dress move as you did so, “I feel very fancy.” You admitted, even though you felt very out of place. This was very new to you.

So was the way he was looking at you. His brown eyes had a golden tint to them as the setting sun gleamed off of his warm skin. Your knees felt like they buckled at the soft way he traced his gaze over your features, like he was drinking in the image of you.

“Should we go inside?” You squeaked out, gesturing your thumbs towards the door. You had a feeling you wouldn’t survive very long if he continued to look at you like that. Like you were special. Maybe eating wasn’t the best idea.

“Uh, yeah,” He moved quickly as he pulled the door open, still wearing a dopey grin as he held onto it for you, “After you.” He mentioned, brushing his cheek against the side of the door as you moved first. You squeezed your fingers together, still not realizing how hard this would be.

You downed your glass of water as soon as you both sat down and they brought the drinks over. You placed a nervous grin onto your lips, dabbing at your lipstick as you tried to urge your heart to stop racing.

“You look nervous.” He observed, soft lips pulled into the warmest smile as you once again felt like your tongue had twisted into a giant knot. You kept thinking of what Patty wanted, but then also of how sucky of a situation it was for him.

“I am,” You admitted as you breathed in deeply, finally getting your heart to slow down. It was just Steve. You could talk to him. You didn’t need to think of Patty right now, or the outcome, “I’ve never been here before.”

“I haven’t either,” He replied as he rested his elbows on the table, leaning over a little bit so you could see him better. You drifted your eyes down to his neck, observing the two moles that stuck out as you recalled the way you used to press on them and claimed them to be vampire bites, “I just thought I should make an impression, after our last conversation.” He clarified.

“I figured you’d be in a suit.” You teased, cocking an eyebrow as his brown eyes grew wide.

“You did?” He questioned, looking a little fearful as if he had worn the wrong outfit, “I do feel underdressed.” He admitted as he glanced around, making you laugh for the first time. He turned back towards you, glee etched in his features.

“I think that’s because everyone else is old,” You whispered as you leaned over, keeping a hand over your chest to keep your cleavage from becoming too visible, “Do you think if you throw your dads name out that they’d give us some wine?” You teased, feeling a little successful in the half hearted laugh he returned.

Eating with overly glossed lips was much more of a challenge than you had originally prepared for. You felt like you had to part your mouth too far apart just to take a bite without smearing it everywhere. You gave up after a few bites, sighing in defeat as you carefully rubbed it away with your napkin.

“So who was it?” Steve asked once he was done analyzing your movements and promising that it hadn’t ruined your whole look.

“Hm?” You asked him in confusion, covering your mouth as you munched down on the rather large bite of noodles that you had just shoveled into your mouth. You tried to chew faster, not wanting to answer with food in your mouth.

“The guy you went out with.” He spoke up again, sounding a little awkward as he stabbed at his plate with his fork. You swallowed roughly.

“Oh,” You started with a nod, “I don’t think you’ll like that answer.” You said sheepishly, grinning bashfully as you twisted your noodles around your fork. He cocked his head, looking at you curiously.

“Who?” He asked again, leaving you gnashing your teeth together as you decided that bouncing around the answer wouldn’t work out in your favor.

“In my defense,” You started as you dropped your fork and rested your hand over your chest once again, “I had no idea that you and this person didn’t get along. Well, I didn’t know until after.”

“Uh huh.” He narrowed his eyes, no longer looking amused as you stepped around revealing any names. You already knew that he was aware of whom it had been.

“Yeah,” You grinned awkwardly, bashfully as you shrugged your shoulders, “But just that one time. So there’s that.” You tried to make it better, watching as he angrily stabbed at the meatball on his plate.

“Why’d it not work out?” He mumbled, bearing the same pouty look that you were all too familiar with. He used to make the same face when his parents told him that you weren’t allowed over.

“It wasn’t actually anything that he did,” You admitted as you took a large gulp from your Coke, savoring the feeling of the bubbles traveling down your throat, “Patty just-, uh she just said something.” You shrugged your shoulders, pretending like it wasn’t a big deal.

“Ah,” He nodded his head along with your statement, as he brought his fork up to his mouth, “She’s good about that.” He replied dryly before he took another bite of his food. You chewed on your bottom lip, feeling like you should defend her. She was your friend after all. Your only friend.

“She meant well,” You brushed your hand aside, pulling a stiff smile up to your lips, “It didn’t work out anyways.” You replied as you took another large bite, wanting to change the topic desperately.

“Because of him or because of what she said?” He asked curiously, tilting his head as you roughly swallowed once again. You were sure the answer was written out in your expression. At the time, Patty had been quite clear that he had only been interested in you because he actually found her attractive. Which you didn’t think was far off.

“What do you have planned for us after?” You asked him instead, linking your fingers together as you smiled sweetly at him. You sat up a little straighter, no longer feeling like you had an appetite.

“I thought we could see a movie?” He suggested as he brushed his finger across his very pink bottom lip, “If that’s alright with you?” He questioned you once again, acting like he’d switch the date around if you didn’t agree with it.

“A movie sounds great,” You told him seriously, still smiling as you pushed your finished plate to the edge of the table, “I’d like that a lot.” You reached for your bag, trying to reach for the cash to pay for your part of the meal. Steve was quicker, paying for it all before you had a chance to blink.

“Did your grandparents stop smoking?” He asked curiously once your things were gathered up and he was leading you out to his car. The night sky was already raised as you followed his long strides, watching as he hurriedly raced you to the passenger side.

“In the house, yes,” You replied with a laugh, “Now they just pretend that neither of them smoke when they sneak out of the house at different times. It’s pretty funny.” You grinned as he pulled the door open for you, accepting the offer of his hand as you slid inside.

Your palms burned, fingers tingling from where his skin had touched yours. You quickly rubbed your hand off against your knee as you erased the odd sensation, sure that you were just stressing yourself out once again.

Steve was still nice to listen to, his commentary on his job filling your short car ride as you hung onto every word. You learned that he wasn’t going to college in the fall, choosing to work instead. You also learned that he seemed to really enjoy his job, even though it was scooping ice cream.

“Two tickets please.” He leaned forward, elbow resting on the counter as he stated his order. You pressed your lips into a grin, looping your arm through his as you pretended to get a better look at what was showing. He snapped his head back towards yours, lips parted in surprise.

“Movie?” The worker asked as you kept your gaze forward, pretending that you had no clue as to why he was looking at you in such a manner.

“Uh yeah we’re here to see a movie.” He gulped as he snapped his head back towards the guy behind the booth, blinking rapidly as his cheeks burned pink. You lightly rubbed your thumb against his exposed skin, a little surprised at how cool he felt despite it being so hot outside.

“Yeah, no shit,” The guy drew out slowly, “What movie?” He asked as he shook his head, sounding frustrated.

“Oh, uh,” Steve stood up a little straighter, flushing deeper as he glanced back at you once again, “Back to the Future.” He answered quickly, voice a little squeaky as you continued to rub soft circles into his skin. You observed as goosebumps spread underneath your touch as he continued to spit out the popcorn and snacks you wanted.

“What’s it about?” You asked him, trying not to think of how he reacted to you. You removed your hands from his to take your shared drink, but stood close enough that your arms bumped against one another as you headed to theater five.

“Well he goes back in time and he tries to bang his mom and-,” He turned towards you, rambling in excitement as you headed towards the back of the theater. You preferred looking at the screen from the very back.

“He what?” You stopped so suddenly that he almost knocked into you, sending popcorn flying. You squeaked, helping him tip it upright before you lost too much of it.

“Not on purpose,” He said with a laugh, then paused, “I think?” He said a second later, leaving you a little horrified as to what he had gotten you into.

Your row remained empty as people shifted into the rows in front of you, leaving the two of you alone as he whispered little questions to you about how your life had changed. You felt slightly weird to admit that your life was completely the same, so normal that it was very boring. But he looked interested all the same. He had the same twinkle in his eye, the same fascination that left you breathless earlier. It was hard to focus on anything other than the way

You guessed it was about half way through the movie when Steve’s hand fell to your thigh, squeezing softly as you felt your eyes widen this time. His hand was soft, warm on your skin as he continued to rub the same pattern back and forth. You felt the same sparks from earlier, the same burning as you shifted in your seat as the tables turned.

His fingers drifted underneath your dress, sparking a rush of goosebumps through your skin. You looked towards him, admiring the slope of his nose and concentrated lines between his eyebrows. He was staring straight ahead, but you could tell he was fighting the urge to look at you.

He brushed his fingers against your clothed pussy, making you shift in your seat as you hurriedly glanced around. Just to confirm that no one else could see. Or was already watching. Your pulse quickened, racing harshly as he pried your legs further apart.

You bit down on your bottom lip, trying to fight the urge to moan as his fingertip drifted across your needy clit. You lurched, biting back a gasp as a smug smirk grew on his lips. He returned to that same spot, rubbing his fingers in gentle circles as he pressed down against your sensitive bud.

“Steve.” You whispered breathlessly, mind full of pleasure and awe as your skin burned underneath your dress. You felt too hot suddenly, jolts of electricity racing through your body as he pressed a fingertip against your slick hole.

“What?” He asked as he leaned in closer, eyebrows furrowing in mock confusion as his lips turned up into the hint of a smirk. You wanted to kiss the cockiness out of him, but fell limp as he slid his finger slowly inside of you, “Something wrong?” He questioned, eyes locked onto yours as your lips parted in awe.

You shook your head slowly, fighting the moans that were sitting at the top of your chest and threatening to break free. You enjoyed the feeling of him curling his finger deep inside of you, filling you as he began to slowly pump it against your wet walls.

His gazes felt too intense suddenly as you turned away, your chest feeling far too tight as you resisted the urge to rip your bra off. A small gasp left your lips as he wiggled another finger inside of you, leaving you fighting to keep the rush of moans from spilling off of your tongue.

He curled his fingers deep inside of you, leaving you breathless as your legs spread further and further. You began to rock your hips up against the curve of his long fingers, resisting the urge to cry out as he stroked the bundle of nerves deep inside of you.

You bit down harshly, trying to hide your muffled sounds as the muscles in your stomach snapped and broke. Your head hit the back of the seat, the heels of your feet digging into the floor as he continued to pump his fingers in and out of your aching cunt.

You brought your index finger up to your mouth, biting down on it harshly as he languidly rocked his digits inside of you. You could feel yourself leaking around the girth of his combined fingers, soaking his knuckles as you desperately sought your release.

You squeaked out, drooling onto your own finger as you sank your teeth into your flesh harshly. Butterflies spread through your stomach as a fire burned deep inside of you as he hit your bundle of nerves. You felt your thighs clamp shot, squeezing his hand in place as your pleasure came crashing down over you.

Everything shook as your pussy clamped down around his fingers, your cum dripping along his knuckles and your thighs as you resisted the urge to cry out. Your body was throbbing, jolts of pleasure shooting through you as you roughly fell back against the seat.

You turned your gaze towards him, sure that you were awestruck as he slowly removed himself from between your legs. You missed the sensation of him inside of you, your eyes hazy as he brought his fingers up to his mouth.

Your stomach churned in the same pleasure filling sensation as he licked his fingers clean, shoving them into his mouth as he held eye contact with you. You felt disconnected from everything else as your lust took over. You wanted him.

You took him by the hand, tugging him roughly out of the seat as you marched out of the theater. Your popcorn and shared drink were long forgotten as his hands fell to your waist, hot and heavy as he gripped onto you tightly.

He pushed you up against the empty hallway, the sounds from the various movies echoing in the hall before he fell to his knees in front of you. There was a mischievous look in his eyes before he lifted the hem of your dress, burying himself underneath it.

Your palms fell flat against the wall, eyes wide as your chest rose and fell harshly as you glanced around in full awareness that anyone could see your very compromised position at any second.

A choked gasp left your mouth as he took a deep inhale, his nose brushing against your clothed pussy as he rubbed his fingers across the band of your panties. Your heart was hammering harshly, far too roughly to be safe as he tugged your clothing aside to expose yourself to him.

Your body jolted at the sensation of his tongue dragging through your cunt burned through your body. Your cry was covered up by a loud booming sound from one of the movies as he licked away your cum from your slick hole.

He grunted as he buried his mouth against your cunt, tongue prodding and licking at your sensitive hole. His fingers were digging into your skin, holding you in place before you were snapping yourself to your senses and pulling him onto his feet.

“Need you,” You whispered, voice broken as you stood toe to toe with him, “Right now.” You told him sternly, staring at his slick covered lips. He dragged his tongue out playfully, making your heartbeat increase as he took your hand and led you back out towards the car.

Your knees felt weak, your shoes dragging against the floor as he guided you back into the passenger seat. You felt like you were in a haze as he leaned over to push the seat all the way back, crowding himself onto the floorboard as he nestled his way in front of you.

You giggled awkwardly, nervously as he pushed your dress over your hips and then pulled your panties down with quick motions. His eyes sparkled, warm and lustful before he was pressing your fingers against the back of your thigh and digging your knees into your chest.

You felt very exposed and very cramped in the crowded car, but protested none as his lips fell to your clit again. He kissed your pussy slowly, softly and sensually as your eyes fell back in awe.

“God,” You whimpered as you brought your hands up to your eyes, exhaling deeply as he began to suck on your sensitive bud. You sighed deeply, a soft smile pressing into your lips as the pleasure rose in the pit of your belly again, “Oh, Jesus.”

His tongue drifted between your walls, licking away your wetness before he fell to your sensitive clit. You gaped, fingers falling into his thick locks as he languidly stroked at your clit. You fought to keep your head upright, determined to watch the way his eyes flickered up towards you.

Warmth spread through your body as the flat part of his tongue fell against your sensitive bud, licking you fully as your hips fell restlessly against his face. His long fingers fell to the back of your thighs, squeezing you roughly as he pushed your knees further up to your chest.

“Stevie,” You whimpered, the nickname rolling easily off of your tongue as he moaned into your cunt. You felt your clit throb, the pleasure spreading through your body as his groans vibrated against your skin, “Oh my God!” You squeaked out, gripping his hair as he flicked his tongue across your slick hole.

A soft smile formed on his lips as he dragged the tip of his tongue across your hole, his fingers digging into your flesh before he stretched your walls with your tongue this time. You cried out at the sensation, rocking your hips forward to savor the way he buried himself into you.

His tongue curled deeply inside of you, massaging and licking at your walls as his nose fell against your clit. You gripped one of your knees, keeping your legs spread high and wide as you messily tried to rut your hips up against his mouth.

Steve’s tongue was warm and thick inside of your cunt, curling deeply as he squeezed at your flesh. You knitted your fingers harshly through his hair, whining as the movements of his tongue spread a fire within you.

He was groaning and moaning, acting like you were the one pleasing him as he accepted the way your hips moved against his face. Like he didn’t care how messy you got him. Your foot kicked out against the window, hitting it harshly as your high suddenly rocked into you.

“Fuck!” You cursed, face burning from bliss as words of pleasure fell from your tongue, “Yes, yes!” You squeaked out, voice raspy as he licked away the cum from your quivering pussy.

The windows grew foggy, warm as he pulled himself up from between your thighs. Your legs dropped lazily, still shaking from your past two orgasms as you observed him with hazy eyes. You gripped the collar of his jacket, gripping tightly as you pulled him forward.

You wouldn’t admit that you had ever thought about getting with Steve, but if you had, it wouldn’t have been this way. It would’ve been a little sweeter, somewhere that wasn’t as public. But you weren’t complaining at all. This was as perfect as that scenario.

His mouth was sweet and smooth against your lips as you desperately held onto him, afraid that he would disappear if you let go. He grunted as your slick spread across your mouth, down your chin as your kiss became sloppy and messy.

You dragged your hand down his shirt, needing to feel his skin against your own as you dropped your fingers to his belt. He whimpered, the sound vibrating across your skin as the sound melted blissfully in your ears.

You fiddled with it, popping it open slowly as his kisses slowed to a pause. He lingered against your mouth, breathing in deeply as you cupped his bulge in your hand.

Your eyes met his at the same time he moaned raspily, your insides melting as you looked down at where you were palming him. He felt large against your hand, making your fingers appear dainty and small before you returned to stripping his jeans off.

Lust and need swarmed in your mind as you watched the way his long cock slapped against his abdomen, precum leaking as you slowly wrapped your fingers around his nice girth. You swore you could feel him trembling underneath you.

“I want you,” You whispered softly, drowning any sense of regret as you slowly moved your palm up and down the curve of his cock. He felt too good in your hand, making you wonder just how nice he’d feel inside of you, “Please.”

“Yeah?” He asked breathlessly, groaning as you continued to stroke his long cock in your hand. You moaned softly, licking your lips as you spread your legs wider, “You think she can take me?”

“Uh huh,” You whined urgently, nudging him forward as you rubbed his tip against your leaking home, “Want you so badly, Stevie.” You whispered as he pulled you closer to him, leaving your ass hanging off the side of the chair. You pressed his tip in slowly, gasping breathlessly.

He groaned, brown eyes wide in fascination as he watched the way your cunt swallowed around his cock. You blinked your eyes rapidly, gasping as you felt him stretch your walls out inch by inch. You trembled underneath him, thighs shaking as he bottomed out against you.

Your mind felt numb, fuzzy as he moved his soft palms to your hips. He squeezed at your flesh, palming at you as you adjusted around him. Your cunt burned in a pleasurable way as his fat tip rested against your spongy walls, filling you deeply.

“Jesus,” He whined as he dropped his head into the crook of your neck, messily kissing at your skin as you struggled to breathe underneath him, “You feel so good. Can I move?” He asked hesitantly, blinking harshly as he looked at you with hazy eyes.

You nodded your head, gaping as your fingers fell to his biceps. You gripped him tightly, holding onto him for support as he began to slowly drag his cock out of your soaked cunt. You whimpered at the motions, faltering underneath his touch as he began to rut his fat dick in and out of your cunt.

You moaned louder, not caring if anyone could hear or see. The feeling of his cock stretching your walls and curving deep inside of you was enough to leave your mind foggy and clear. You just wanted to feel good, to make him feel good.

“God,” You whimpered as he moved his hands up messily to the top of your dress, his hips slapping against yours at how deep he was inside of you. You could feel him pulsing against your walls, the curve of his cock pressing inside of you, “S’big, Stevie.” You breathed out, feeling as if he was slowly becoming a part of you.

He grunted in response, forehead falling to yours as breathy moans left his lips. You could feel your body humming in response, sure that he was just as loud as you if not worse. You kissed at the side of his neck, fingers holding onto his shoulders as he shoved your dress down far enough to expose your bra.

You cried out at the feeling of his cock hitting your bundle of nerves, rough waves of electricity curving through your body as he tugged your bra down next. You whimpered, whining deeply as his lips fell to your hardened nipples.

You clung to his back, legs dangling awkwardly as you began to rut yourself up against him once again. He continued to hit at the spongy spot deep inside of you, leaving you panting and writhing underneath him. You had never felt so good before.

“God, fuck,” He whimpered against your chest, spit falling from his lips and trailing down the curve of your body, “You feel so good. So fucking good. Ah, fuck.” He hissed, eyebrows knitting together as another whiny moan left his lips.

The belt buckle was digging into your back, uncomfortable but not enough to make you protest. You needed him too desperately, too distressed to worry about the bruise that you’d likely develop tomorrow. All that mattered was him and the way he was making you feel.

“Right there, Steve,” You moaned as you glanced down between your bodies, watching the way your cunt swallowed his girth. He hit your bundle of nerves with each deep thrust, making your clit ache and your stomach muscles clench as the fire spread deep inside of you, “Please, please!” You begged as you gripped him a little tighter, allowing yourself to rock against him.

His fingers spread over your hips, dragging you along the curve of his cock as his motions became more frantic. You felt your toes curling against your shoes, your mouth opening as a deep pleasure spread through your body. Everything was too much, too extreme as you felt like you were floating and drowning at the same time.

His name left your tongue like a prayer, chanting over and over as the pleasure snapped inside of you. Your cunt clamped down around his aching cock, squeezing him roughly as you shook while you came.

“Jesus,” He panted, forehead resting against yours as his nose dug into the tip of yours. You whined as you scratched at his back, still shivering underneath him, “Oh God, God. Feels so fucking good.” He spit out roughly, hips digging into yours as his balls pressed into your skin.

You held onto him, lips meeting his messily as you swallowed and licked away his sounds of pleasure. His cock twitched inside of you, spurred on by your twitching walls as he came inside of you. You breathed out roughly, lips trailing over his face as you kissed his blissed out expression.

It was quiet as you held onto one another, chests rising and falling in the same motions as everything came crashing down around you again. But it was still hard to focus on that when he was holding you so tight, his heartbeat apparent as you ran your hands over his chest.

You reminded yourself as you met his tender gaze that you weren’t dating. Not yet. And you never really would be. There was nothing wrong with just messing around as friends. And that’s what Steve was.

A friend. And you had just made your situation a whole lot worse.

#Steve Harrington #Broken Hearts Club #Steve Harrington x reader #Steve harrington x you #Steve Harrington x Y/N #Steve Harrington x reader smut #Steve Harrington x you smut #Steve Harrington fluff #Steve Harrington series #Steve Harrington fanfiction #Steve Harrington fanfic #steve harrington imagine

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achaotichuman · 1 month ago

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Thirty-One Days of Tamcien people!!! Prompts list is here if you would like to join in for this little unofficial event!

For this fic, I couldnt resist the angst potential. I hope you are all prepared for the pain.

Read on AO3 or below the cut!

TRIGGER WARNING: DEPICITONS OF INFANTICIDE

“Well, Lucien?”

Lucien stared, wide-eyed at his eldest brother. Eris kept a pristine blank face, the picture of Autumn royalty. With his pressed tunic, and polished gold jewellery. He stood next to Beron who looked bored, unamused, like the delivery of news that his youngest son was to be shackled into a political marriage wasn’t nothing more than chatter about the weather of the past week.

“What?” Lucien asked, dumbfounded.

“The boy finally speaks.” Beron muttered, the High lord took a breath, straightening his back as he reiterated the news in a far less… gentle way, then how Eris had said it, “The High lord of Spring and I have come up with a plan, Lucien. The youngest of Spring is an unfit Heir, but a potential Heir nonetheless. With his shapeshifting capabilities, however, he is capable of bearing children. And despite both his and your… lesser preferences when it comes to partners-”

Lucien snapped in a sharp breath at the words ‘lesser preferences’. A breath Beron noticed, his eyes were alight with power as he murmured, “Keep a tight leash on your sharp tongue, if it weren’t for how useful you are, I’d have you dead.”

Lucien’s hand clenched underneath the table, but he schooled his features. Briefly glancing at Eris who just stared at him with pity in his eyes.

Beron had never given Lucien much thought, often forgetting he even existed. It had allowed him more freedom than the rest of his brothers. He was mostly free to do as he pleased. But there were some boundaries that even a forgotten, lesser seventh son could not cross. Enjoying romantic, or motherforbid, sexual company as a male with other males was one of those boundaries.

Lucien had thought Beron might kill him when he was told by a sentry that Lucien had been caught dallying with one of the male courtiers in the gardens. He had locked him in his bedroom for days, his only company one of the maids who brought him meals and drink, as well as Silas, his second-eldest brother, who occasionally sent a bottle of wine to drown his sorrows in.

At first, Lucien had kicked at the door, screamed and cried, but it was heavily fortified with some kind of enchantment that not even Lucien, as talented as he was at undoing spells, could figure out.

And that brought him to this morning, being sat down in front of his entire family. His mother not even looking him in the eyes, as she sat at Beron’s left. His other brothers watched either their plates or Lucien himself. Most of them looked bored. Lucien supposed it would be boring for them to watch.

For him though, his heart was pounding in his chest. His hands were shaking, his knuckles white as he fought to keep his anger in check, even as it rose in the back of his throat, burning hotter and hotter with every stoking breath.

Beron continued on, uncaring for Lucien’s clear distress, “Elvin has sent his third son here. He will be shapeshifted to the body of a female, and you will court him as is proper. We will make sure all our affairs are in order, then you will marry him, and bear a son, one who will be taken and raised by the nurses, and taught by Eris. If your child is powerful enough to make up for your endless failures and disappointments, then I will let both you and the failure son of Spring live. If not…”

It took everything in Lucien to raise his voice enough, to keep his voice steady enough, to ask, “And if I bear a daughter?”

“There will be no daughter.” Beron said softly, “If there is, she is to be killed so swiftly even I never hear of her existence. If there is a daughter, you will end her life and say a boy died in childbirth. Then you will try again until you produce a worthy son.”

A sob tried to rack through his body, pushing against his ribs, his throat constricting until he was sure he wasn’t breathing. His skin was slick with sweat, his eyes burned with tears.

It was simple and plain. He was to be locked in a marriage with a male who would hate him for what he was doing to him. Their child would not be theirs, a boy that would be Eris’ Heir in every way that counted. And if they had a daughter, she would not live long enough to open her eyes.

The doors opened behind Lucien, they creaked, and footsteps filed into the room, but Lucien heard it all very distantly. Everything became far away, like he was sinking underwater, slipping into darkness.

“Do you understand, Lucien?” Beron asked. Lucien didn’t fully hear what he said, but he felt himself nod nonetheless.

“He is here, milord.” Someone said,

“Send him in,” Someone else said. Might’ve been Beron. Might’ve been Eris.

Lucien stopped hearing altogether.

He was beautiful.

He was so, so beautiful. Lucien got a little light-headed trying to imagine what he’d look like in his natural male form.

With long, golden hair. Like fine threads of pure gold. Vibrant eyes, so green, but shrouded with a kind of darkness that reminded Lucien of standing on the border to Spring at night as a child, looking in to see the dark woods shrouded in fog.

Lucien knew his female figure was shifted to suit Beron’s ideas for what a woman should look like. A trim waist cinched by a tight green corset decorated with details of golden roses, ample breasts that were pushed up by the corset. Long skirts flared out over the tiles of the Forest House floor, hiding his legs that Lucien was sure were also designed to meet Beron’s strict requirements.

But even with every cleverly sewn-in modification to his form, there was a sure power behind every stride. Muscle that flexed underneath the too tight fabric, and a warrior’s gaze underneath the makeup that tried to hide cuts and bruises. Lucien was sure he spied bandaged that peeked out when the puffy sleeves of his dress rode up slightly.

“My High Lord, this is Tamlin, the youngest son of the Spring Court.” The male that escorted the young prince said.

Beron tilted his head, one ankle resting on his other knee, as he surveyed the youngest Prince from his throne.

“Not so much a son anymore.” Beron muttered, then raised his voice to say, “You’ll be a fine Lady for my son. However, the name Tamlin no longer fits the wearer.”

“Names are a title only fit for those deserving, easily stripped from those lesser.” The male said he had dark brown hair and pretty eyes, if only they weren’t so ugly from the greed that shone in them, Lucien thought.

Tamlin had been entirely blank-faced since he entered, but for the first time, his eyes lit up with fear.

“My mother named me.” Tamlin said, his voice clearly altered to fit his new body. But distress shone plainly in it.

Lucien’s eyes widened slightly. The panic he now understood. His mother had not been allowed to name any of her sons before him, but Beron had not cared for what his name might be. Lucien had been the only child she bore that she had any say over.

If the horror stories of what High Lord Elvin did to his wife were true, then Lucien was sure that Tamlin had also been the only son Dahlia had been allowed to name.

Beron scowled, “You will do well to watch yourself. Ladies and those of lesser value do not speak unless spoken too.”

Tamlin lowered his eyes, but briefly, for a small fleeting moment, they looked towards him.

Lucien’s heart raced in his chest when their gazes locked.

This was no normal man.

His eyes burned with such a ferocity. With such fire if it weren’t for the essence of Spring that seemed to seep from his very bones, he could’ve been of Autumn.

Lucien swallowed hard.

The two Lords spoke, and it was nothing more than a background buzz in his ears, as Lucien felt his heart racing in his chest.

Tamlin stayed in the Forest House. Lucien never thought he’d say it, but Beron was more merciful to him than Elvin had been to Tamlin. Eris had briefly informed him that Tamlin was not welcome back in Spring, ever. He was banished.

Lucien had never met the High Lord of Spring. Not properly, only fleetingly through glances in meetings or during celebrations in which the Spring Court was invited. Elvin had been the picture of power. Wearing furs, gold and jewels. Unsurprisingly, he and Beron got on well.

But Beron had not banished Lucien, that would raise questions, and Beron would rather keep his disappointment around then promote gossip. Because gossipers always found out, and if the Autumn Court knew one of his sons enjoyed the company of males. Beron’s ego would never recover.

Elvin did not seem to care, gladly allowing gossip to spread, just so long as he never had to see Tamlin again.

That level of hatefulness frightened Lucien.

Tamlin himself was quiet. He was given a new name, and remained under the careful gaze of his mother’s watchful Ladies. Who didn’t let him out of their sights for long.

The ‘courting’ was mostly Lucien sitting in the same general vicinity as Tamlin and allowing his mother to talk to the people who chaperoned Tamlin.

Tamlin himself remained glassy-eyed, with a back ramrod straight, and a pleasant smile on his pretty face.

Lucien tried to return the smile, he tried to talk to him, but he would receive strange looks from the Ladies of the Court, and even Tamlin himself would shrink in a little. So, he stopped, and he waited.

Once the proper time for courting was over, they would be wed. And as the days ticked closer, the knot in Lucien’s stomach progressively got tighter and tighter.

One night it was particularly bad.

His mind conjured visions of a small, wailing child. With a shock of strawberry blond hair, big green eyes and darkened skin. She was so small, so pretty, and his chest was filled with so much love and adoration.

But it was a she.

The vision turned, his hands were covered in blood and the babe was in his arms, without a head. And Lucien screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed.

He woke up crying. Clutching the sheets so tightly, trying to reach out into the darkness like he might be able to change the nightmare he had.

Eventually, his breaths slowed. His panic calmed. When he was no longer shaking so much, he slowly sat up.

The room was not so dark after his eyes adjusted. There was the silvery light of the moon that slipped between the crack in his curtains. The dying embers in the fireplace gave off an amber glow that lit his path to his desk, the chair which his robe was slung over.

He dressed in dark orange silk quickly, then left his room.

Lucien walked the cold, dark halls silently. Trying to slow his still too quick breaths, trying to stop his heart from beating so much.

It was a few weeks from when they were to formally announce the engagement, from there Beron would move swiftly.

They had a story, Tamlin, now called Lillian- Beron had wished for something delicate, to try and further shift attention away from looking further into who Tamlin really was- was a Lady from the Spring Court. She had been chosen as a bride for Lucien, her family was no more than a widowed father, played by one of the Lords of Spring that Elvin had sent as a servant for Tamlin.

It was a believable story. No one would pay mind to it. Lucien almost wished someone would find the details inaccurate, would look into it and pick out the flaws, call Beron out and demand to know the truth. Just so that Lucien would never have to risk holding his daughter in his hands only to have her torn from him and-

His heart was beating faster again. His hands were shaking.

He needed air.

Slipping out through the servants quarters. Lucien found himself in the gardens. They weren’t much, but they were pretty. Winding paths through the Autumn forests, the scent of woodsmoke and distant rain drifted through the chilled air. He breathed in deeply, pacing slowly through the paths, winding further into the deeper parts of the woods.

He didn’t know how long he walked for, before Lucien heard the snapping of a twig underneath a foot that was not his own.

Whirling around, he summoned flames to his hands immediately.

“Who is there?!” He yelled.

Noone responded, but he felt eyes on him.

“As a son of Autumn, I order you to reveal yourself!” His flames grew hotter, spilling up his forearms.

What he didn’t expect, was for a male whom he very much recognised to step out from inbetween the trees.

Lucien’s jaw dropped, and his flames went out.

Oh, he had been right, Tamlin’s male form did make him light-headed.

He was like a living statue of the Gods. Painted by the finest hands. Long golden hair no longer in elaborate braids, but spilling down his shoulders and back, curls wild and free. His eyes, no longer shrouded but like when the sun hits the dew drops hanging on the edges of the grass blades. He was taller than Lucien, his face now sharper, but his lips still soft. His movements no longer restricted by silk and corsets, but moving fluidly. He eyed Lucien like a predator. Like a warrior sizing up an opponent.

“You.” Lucien breathed.

Tamlin gritted his teeth, he snarled, fangs glinting in the moon's silver light, “You.”

It was then that Lucien understood.

Tamlin hated him.

He supposed it was with good reason.

“I will not tell anyone.” Lucien said, hoping that may ease the Prince’s aggression.

Tamlin, however, just tilted his head to the side, “You lie. You have to.”

“I don’t have to do anything.” Lucien said softly, looking over Tamlin now, Lucien recognised that the tunic, the leather pants, it was hunting leathers. They had the emblem of the Autumn Court. He had stolen them.

“Which poor sap is out of hunting leathers?” Lucien questioned, his voice an amused hum.

“You will tell.” Tamlin crossed his arms.

“And gain what? An even deeper scowl when I’m forced to bed you? I will not receive Beron’s good graces if I report that I’ve found you unshifted.”

Tamlin considered his words, and even though he still frowned, his demeanour shifted slightly. He leaned back on his heels, uncrossed his arms, no longer so much glaring at Lucien, and more observing him with keen, cunning eyes.

“You’ll get a scowl anyway.” Tamlin said, “I don’t fuck men I don’t love.”

“That makes two of us then.” Lucien replied, “We can be uncomfortable together.”

Tamlin sighed, running his fingers through his hair. He plucked out a dead leaf and looked at it so horribly, you would have thought it killed his mother.

“How are you enjoying our Court?” Lucien tried for small talk, “I hope you're finding everything comfortable.”

Tamlin’s eyes softened ever so slightly, “Your Court is so…”

Lucien swallowed, Tamlin flicked his eyes around as he tried to find words.

“Dead.” Tamlin eventually said, flicking the leaf away.

Lucien snorted, he actually outright laughed, the first time in months.

Tamlin glanced over at him, with a raised eyebrow, Lucien bit his bottom lip as he struggled to keep a smile down, “Sorry, sorry, I’ve just never had someone say something so… forthright? It is Autumn though, you will find much of it is dead.”

The Spring Prince just stared at him, then looked back down at the leaf now floating to the ground.

“I don’t…” Tamlin grasped one of his arms, he bit down on his lip, but there was no smile on his face like Lucien. The Autumn Lord felt a pang of sudden worry bubble up inside him when he saw tears lining Tamlin’s eyes.

“I can feel the lands.” He croaked out, “And all I feel is death.”

“Oh…” Lucien whispered.

“I am a Spring Fae.” Tamlin whispered.

Then the Prince whirled around, screaming, “I am a Spring Fae, I do not belong in death!”

Tears were spilling uncontrollably down his face, as Tamlin then said, “I would have rathered my father killed me. I wish he had slaughtered me so at least my blood would spill on Spring Land. I cannot live in death!”

Tamlin dropped to his knees, and Lucien felt the sudden, intense urge to run to him.

His tears fell without stopping, an endless river, a well without a bottom. And the land… it felt like it bent towards him. Weakened as he was not in Spring, but still, the land seemed to cry with him.

“I cannot be bound to the birthing bed. I cannot live in eternal dying.” His voice shuddered with every breath. He was shaking.

It was then that Lucien noticed the finer details. The deep, heavy bags that weighed down his eyes, the hollowness of his cheeks, the way his clothes seemed to droop around him. The tan of his skin was replaced by a sickly paleness.

Lucien felt the knot in his stomach tighten, bile rose in his throat as he stared at this male. At this banished Prince. His future bride.

He felt sick as he realised how similar he looked to how his mother looked. Worn down, forced to bend until she broke.

That wasn’t what he wanted.

This wasn’t what he wanted

He didn’t want the marriage his parents had. He didn’t want to watch who was bound to him slowly wither away until he was nothing but the female Elvin and Beron had forced him to become.

Lucien stepped forward, his foot breaking the dead leaves scattered across the ground. Tamlin flinched, ducking his head down, covering himself with his arms, trying to hide himself.

“Hey, hey,” Lucien whispered, he slowly got to his knees, putting a hand on the ground between them, reaching out his arm.

“I can’t live like this.” Tamlin whispered, “I just can’t, I’ll-”

“I know, I know.” Lucien murmured.

Suddenly, an idea came to him.

“Hey, Tamlin,” Lucien murmured.

Tamlin furrowed his brow, looking up at Lucien. He seemed surprised, “Yes?”

“I have something I think you’ll like.”

“It’s not the Spring Court but…” Lucien opened the cloudy glass door to reveal the inside. He turned and saw Tamlin’s eyes wide, his mouth dropped open.

“You have a greenhouse.” He whispered, his voice filled with awe.

They did have a greenhouse. And a magnificent one at that.

Filled with plants from all over Prythian. It was large. With its tall walls, its glass ceiling revealing a blurred view of the starry night sky. The heavy, rich smell of pollen swirled all around them. Bees buzzed about, flying from flower to flower. Plants bloomed all around them. Encasing them in a world entirely separate from the world of Autumn.

Tamlin stepped in further. Lucien shut the door, ceiling out the death and decay of his own Court outside. Tamlin stared at the greenhouse all around him, walking backwards into it, seemingly lost in a trance.

“It’s beautiful.” He whispered finally, bending down to lightly trace his finger across a blooming rose.

“It is.” Lucien agreed, then he cleared his throat, “Beron has an extensive collection from not just Prythian, but the lands across the sea. There are several different rooms, in which house a variety of different plants that require a separate environment to the rest.”

“Amazing.” Tamlin breathed, wandering in further, Lucien followed after him.

“If you would like, I can organise so that you can help the gardening staff to care for the greenhouse.”

Tamlin whirled around, blinking in surprise, “You’d really do that for me?”

Lucien smiled, “Of course, Tamlin. Consider it an early wedding gift.”

Tamlin still stared at him, after a minute, Lucien felt just a tad uncomfortable, but before he could say anything, Tamlin’s eyes widened once more, he blushed profusely, looking away, “Sorry, it’s just… no one has called me by my name in months.”

“Oh… yes.” They all called him Lillian now. Lady Lillian, Lord Lucien Vanserra’s future bride.

It might be torment.

“Thank you.” Tamlin said, his eyes filled with tears once more, but this time, they weren’t from fear, or sadness, rather overflowing gratitude that shone in his voice, “Thank you so much, Lord-”

“Lucien. Just Lucien.” Lucien quickly said, then he shrugged, “My friends call me Luce.”

Tamlin laughed a little, and the sound made Lucien’s heart jump in his chest. It reminded him of sunlight and new blooms.

“Am I a friend?” He asked with a smile that was blindingly sweet.

Lucien felt blood rise in his face, heating his cheeks, “You are my future partner, you are more than a friend.”

Tamlin blushed a little at that, “Tam.” He said, “You can call me Tam then.”

“Tam.” Lucien repeated, he tasted the name on his tongue, and yes, that felt very right.

The days went on. Tamlin spent every free moment he had in the greenhouse. Some of the workers had raised their eyebrows, and a few counsellors had come to Lucien to advise against such ‘frivolous hobbies’ but Lucien had shut them down immediately. Tamlin was to be allowed full access to all the greenhouses amenities and supplies. Including appropriate clothing to do such work.

And work he did.

They continued to meet in the late evenings. Lucien thought that maybe Tamlin might still be hesitant to talk to him, but the more and more they spoke, the more he uncovered the real Tamlin. The male who had been buried beneath gowns, makeup and mouths telling him to shut up and sit down and act like a Lady.

The real Tamlin had been working in his father’s warbands. He had been training as a warrior, his specialty being with daggers and swords.

Tamlin had laughed as he told a story about how the first time he ever beat their General in a duel. He had been the first soldier since the War to do so. He had shown Lucien the scars across his hands, legs and back while telling him how he earned them.

And if Lucien got a little breathless, felt his face go hot, whenever Tamlin pulled his shirt off to show off his muscled back and hard chest, Tamlin didn’t seem to notice.

Tamlin also told him the story of how his father found out about his preferences. He had fallen in love with a boy he met in the War Camps. Lucien’s jaw had fallen open when he learned it was the Prince of Night.

Rhysand, his name was, he had been so charming. Pushed Tamlin just to the very edge, fought with relentless strength, been so kind.

“I couldn’t have resisted him if I tried.” Tamlin had said with a sadness in his eyes.

Then Rhysand had betrayed him. Had told Elvin of what they had been doing to humiliate him in front of their Court. To score points with his father, who loathed Elvin.

Lucien had asked Tamlin what Elvin had done after, Tamlin had turned to look at him, and the sheer horror in his eyes had been enough to convey what had happened.

It had brought them together, in this sick and twisted situation, they had started to form some kind of bond.

During the agonising times, where Lucien and Tamlin would sit silently across from each other, Tamlin started giving him brighter smiles, ones that were genuine. Lucien would discreetly jut his thumb towards whoever was gossiping that morning and roll his eyes. Tamlin would thin his lips as he struggled to hold back a laugh. And then they would ramble and rant about all the horribly boring chatter of the day.

It was so nice.

And then, their engagement was announced.

Tamlin and Lucien had to sit by each other. Tamlin strapped in an impossibly tightly corseted gown, donning Autumn colours and Autumn jewels, his hair bound into tight braids pinned up in an elaborate style.

It was beautiful. He was beautiful. Devastatingly so.

But it wasn’t Tamlin. And Lucien could tell he hated it. Behind the picture perfect smile, the soft curves of his curated form, his politely folded hands, covered with gloves to hide the callouses, there was a rage. A rage and a fear that was so deeply ingrained into Tamlin from all of this, it couldn’t be ignored.

Even though the greenhouse, and their talks had seemed to have helped. They hadn’t helped enough. Tamlin was still so much thinner than when he first came. And he’d mumbled more than once while trying to carry soil or mulch, that he was getting weaker. He still didn’t sleep properly, and often his eyes were bloodshot from crying that he tried to hide.

But, there was nothing Lucien could do to stop this.

Lucien himself was suffering in a different way.

He barely slept anymore. When he did, he was plagued with dreams, as he got to know Tamlin, they only worsened, only became more realistic, as the ticking of the days got louder.

Lucien saw Tamlin strapped down, held down, screaming, in agony, covered in his own blood, in a body he hated. Forced to carry child after child after child.

Lucien saw his daughter. A wildly beautiful babe, still covered in the fluids of the womb, crying so loudly. Screaming as she was ripped from him. Often Lucien was held down, and could only watch helplessly as she was pulled apart.

Sometimes it was different, and Lucien was no longer in control of his own body. He would be the one to take the knife to his own baby’s throat, her crying always got louder, wails turned to screams before it was silent.

He always woke up crying. His own tears scared him. For after the nightmare, the wet, warm water felt like blood.

It was the night before their wedding, when it happened.

Lucien had been walking out to the greenhouse, dressed in simple clothes, strolling through the grounds. The fear that he had been drowning in all day slowly disappearing as his attention was taken up by the prospect of being able to vent with Tamlin.

But before he ever caught sight of the greenhouse, he found Tamlin, standing out in the line of the trees, just hidden from the sight of the sentries patrol. Lucien had found out that Tamlin had long memorised the guards rounds, so that he could get around easier and do as he pleased.

“Lucien.” Tamlin had murmured, urging him to hide in the shadow of the trees with him.

“Why aren’t you at the greenhouse?” Lucien asked, furrowing his brow.

“Lucien I-...” Tamin trailed off, then he straightened his back as he said, “This is what I have wanted to do since I was young, and I’ve realised, there is nothing stopping me from doing it now.”

“What-”

“There is nothing stopping us from running, Luce.” Tamlin said.

Lucien’s heart seemed to stop, as the world around them ceased to exist.

He could only mumble a breathless, “What?”

“There are no wards, no enchantments. Beron is cocky. He does not think anyone could get past his guards, all protective walls are inside the Forest House, and here we are.” Tamlin spread his hands out dramatically, “Outside.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, I’m making a break for it.” He said it with such a resolution. With such conviction that Lucien, for a moment, had his breath stolen.

Lucien finally recovered enough to start protesting, “No… No, no, no, that is dangerous-”

“The only danger is the consequences of getting caught, and not only is it unlikely, but would they be worse than what we will be forced to do?”

“I-”

“Luce,” Tamlin said, a little softer, “I love you, but…” His features hardened, “I will not wait around, I refuse to do nothing at all. I refuse to let Beron force you to rape me until I am impregnated. I refuse to potentially have to murder a daughter. And I refuse to have to give up a son.”

Lucien stared at him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed.

So, Tamlin had the same nightmares then.

“But…” Lucien grasped weakly for straws.

He didn’t know why he was grasping. His mind was already made up.

“I will not stay. I am only offering you a way out too. Because as soon as I leave these boundaries, I will shapeshift into a new person and disappear from the records entirely.”

“Where are you going?” Lucien asked.

“I cannot tell you. Not unless you come with me.” Tamlin said.

Lucien swallowed hard.

He looked back towards the Forest House. He saw a figure in the windows high above. The figure of a woman too thin. A woman once so powerful, and now broken and bent in every direction Beron wished to twist her. He knew she had once screamed and cried, and for a moment. Lucien wondered if his mother had also lost daughters…

Under the moonlight, two males looked at each other. Under the moonlight, their hands intertwined.

They were gone before the sunrise. And their fathers had raged until the land shook.

It is centuries later and no one knows where they went. But those who knew them know they are safe.

On a sunny spring morning, the wailing of a new babe filled the room. A tired male who had shifted himself out of his own will cried with joy.

Lucien held his daughter with all the love he held. He stroked her strawberry blonde hair, and cried when she opened her bright green eyes.

Extra notes about this, if you want to hear em:

Whilst this fic on the surface covers topics like the homophobia and misogyny depicted in ACOTAR, a lot of Tamlin's pain in this is a reflection of my experience being transmasc. Seems counterintuitive, I know, since Beron and Elvin, the main antags, both agree on Tamlin 'transitioning' to female. But the reason I wrote it this way and didn't make it so that Tamlin was already AFAB wanting to transition to male, is because I felt this was a better way to showcase the pain of being forced into an image and forced to abide by a set of standards assigned to a gender you do not identify with.

Tamlin being forced to live in Autumn and not being allowed back into Spring is more symbolic example of this. He is a "Spring Fae" he cannot "live in death" or cannot live as the antithesis of what he identifies as since it's such a deeply important part of him. This is also the reason I made it so Tamlin was banished from Spring, not Lucien from Autumn, since I felt with his shapeshifting abilities, this point would be best made with Tamlin.

Anyway, let me know your thoughts on this, and please give any feedback you might have! I hope you enjoyed!

Divider by @saradika

#acotar #tamlin #pro tamlin #lucien vanserra #pro lucien vanserra #tamcien #tamlin x lucien vanserra #lucien vanserra x tamlin #acotar au #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #31DaysOfTamcien #december 2nd- prompt: arranged marriage au

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fanaticsnail · 1 year ago

Text

You Kissed the Clown? Part 10

Hello everyone! Part 10 is complete (Part 9 is back here!).

After reuniting our couple, I wanted to flesh out a bit more of a chapter to introduce an outsider perspective to the situation unraveling. This chapter is from Sanji's perspective!

I am already working on Chapter 11 to hopefully bring a bit more understanding to the depth of the unravelling relationship as it reveals itself.

Word Count: 2,364

Bewilderment is a place Sanji felt himself be held within, not entirely processing the scene that lay before him at the suspended kitchen dining table.

After Zoro appeared to reluctantly bring himself above deck with no sentient decapitated head in tow, Sanji was curious; more curious still at the reason the First-Mate left the head behind close to the vicinity of the tinkerer.

“Where’s our beautiful and radiant flower?” Sanji asked, referring to the aforementioned tinkerer with a taunting smirk in his addressal of the swordsman.

Zoro chose not to reply to Sanji’s question, choosing instead to ignore him as he made his way to Luffy and lean against the wooden railing. The Captain of the Going Merry was sitting with a wooden fishing pole clasped tightly between his fists, a slightly vacant and far away in thought.

“We have a situation,” the swordsman uttered monotonously while staring at the open sea.

Luffy shook his head to break himself away from his thoughts and brought his gaze to the swordsman beside him.

“Yeah,” he nodded in agreement, “and we’re on our way to get my navigator back right now.”

Zoro breathed a large breath through his nose at Luffy’s naivety, hanging his head as he continued to lean against the polished wooden frame of the ship.

“I’m not talking about Nami,” he relayed to his Captain, “I’m talking about our tinkerer.”

“What’s wrong with my boatswain?” Luffy asked, furrowing his brows in deep thought, “she’s amazing. I couldn’t ask for a better negotiator, truly.”

“There’s nothing wrong with her,” Zoro said in a low, slightly agitated tone.

Luffy placed the pole arm of the fishing rod against the wall of the ship, steadying it to maintain its current course of action.

“Then what?” Luffy’s brows knit together in confusion, an anxious smile brought to his lips.

Zoro sighed out a breath in an attempt to rid himself of his agitation, gripping his fists against the railing of the ship. As he steadied his breathing, he rose his head up and rolled his neck to rid it of any clicks found within.

“She’s,” Zoro halted the words in his throat, not sure how to proceed with his sentence.

Sanji narrowed his eyes in an attempt to spy the words quietly leaving Zoro’s lips as he said something inaudible to Luffy. The Captain’s eyes widened at the words leaving the mouth of the First-Mate. The chef attempted to lean his ear further in to fully comprehend the magnitude of the drama enfolding, but again; straining to hear nothing.

Sanji witnessed Luffy inhale a deep breath through his nose and tightly scrunch his eyes shut in thought before releasing his breath in a slow, drawn out way.

“And you are certain of this?” Luffy asked Zoro, his tone serious in nature.

“I’m more than certain,” Zoro reiterated, “she told me so, herself.”

The chef of the Going Merry witnessed the Captain again take in a slow, drawn out breath to calm himself, humming slightly in thought as he brought his hand up to his chin.

“Sanji!” Luffy yelled, prompting Sanji to jump a little at his sudden addressal.

”Yes captain?” Sanji replied, walking over to Luffy with his left hand in his pocket.

Luffy hardened his expression in deep thought before relaying to the chef: “I’m going to need some meat.”

Sanji blew a small snicker out of his nose, a smirk appearing over his features.

“Given up on fishing already?” Sanji jested with him.

“No,” Luffy shrugged his shoulders, “I just wanted to eat while I’m waiting to catch something else to eat.”

Sanji snickered at the comment, nodding at his receival of the command lay before him.

“I’ll get right on it,” he smiled while turning to make his way to the kitchen.

And this is where he found himself in a bewilderment.

A large, green gemstone lay beside the left elbow of the designated boatswain, or beautiful tinkerer; as Sanji referred to her. A small hessian sack of corn starch also had the retractable drawstring slacked to reveal the white powder within; a metal scoop lay discarded at the side of the table.

His pestle was currently lying beside his mortar as a mixture of mint-green powder lay within; Sanji deducing the gemstone being crushed beneath his pestle being the origin of the hue.

A small giggle escaped from between the lips of the tinkerer as she tapped against the cheek of the decapitated head with a rounded soft brush. A chuckle also left the lips of the unnerving clown-head as his features softened under the ministrations of the woman.

She turned to undo her tinkering bag, only to make eye contact with him in the process.

“Sanji,” she sighed with a broad, beaming smile, “just the man I needed.”

“I thought I was the only man you needed,” grunted the head on the table, pouting at the lips. She turned to the head and shook it as a small reprimand.

“You need to eat,” she said, her tone almost loving, “and this is our chef. Sanji, have you made the acquaintence of Captain Buggy yet?” She turned to face the chef once more, his face continuing to remained stunned at the scene he unwittingly found himself within.

After the silence hung in the air for a short while, again he heard you address him; prompting him to snap back into attention.

“Would you mind, dear?” she asked him, gesturing to the teal-coloured refrigerator unit within the kitchen; prompting Sanji to break from her gaze and look to the object.

“Would I mind-?” Sanji trailed his sentence off before looking into the kind eyes of the ship’s boatswain.

“He hasn’t eaten in almost a week,” she said with a small, saddened smile pulling at her lips. Sanji knit his brows together at the comment, withdrawing into himself and reminiscing what his own starvation felt like.

“I’ll, uh,” Sanji said, again looking between the clown head and the tinkerer, “get right on it.”

“Thank you, Sanji,” She nodded at him in appreciation before turning to claim more of the powder within the rounded brush.

Sanji continued to eavesdrop the conversation unfolding at the hanging table between the pirate captain’s head and the tinkerer as he brought out several slices of pork belly and short-grain rice. He washed the rice after he prepared the pork belly with several spices and salts; continuing to silence himself to understand the greater context of what was being brought forth.

“And where did you learn this little trick again, my love?” the clown head asked her, his eyes half-lidded as he gazed into her eyes with his mouth slightly agape.

Sanji halted his motions, processing the title the unnerving clown bestowed onto you.

“We had many beach days growing up,” he heard you relay while focussing on powdering the face of the clown in a swiping motion, “and my father favoured experimenting with mineral rocks. My mother drawn more so towards the things that shined.”

You giggled at your own comment, continuing the swiping motion against the cheeks and forehead of the clown.

“And considering you did not want to part with your war paint,” you again hummed in a teasing tone, “you gave me no choice but to make powder from my talc stone to rid its coarseness from your pretty face and not disturb your artistry.”

Sanji heard the clown head sigh, but choosing to keep his eyes fixed forward to make himself as non-disruptive as possible to hear the conversation engaged between them.

“You think I’m pretty?” the clown whispered. He heard you place down the tool, seeking out your movement from the corner of his eye and noticing your hand extended to rest at the left cheek of the enemy captain and caress him.

“I think you are beautiful,” you replied with sincerity.

Sanji snapped his gaze back to his cuisine creation, finishing braising the meat and ensuring the flesh be fully tenderised before crumbing it by coating it in bleached flour, dunking it in a spiced egg concoction before finishing the wet exterior with long flakes of dried, crustless bread.

“So this is the situation that Zoro was mentioning,” Sanji thought within his mind as he poured a large amount of oil into a pan, “she’s sweet on the clown-captain.”

You continued to dab the brush on the painted, oil-based substance and successfully ridding the course sand from its firm grasp on the clown. After one more swipe, Sanji heard you sigh in relief as an indication your task was completed.

“I’m just going to clean all of this up to make room for your dinner,” Sanji heard you relay to the clown. He hummed in reply; Sanji again finding himself bewildered at no taunts, no jabs and no expression of any other emotion from the foreign captain than utter contentment.

Sanji felt you close to him as you required the sink to wash your items. Sanji noticed your bandaged right hand and immediately made to take the items from within it.

“Leave it, love,” Sanji smiled before nodding at the bandage, “you don’t want to undo all of that hard work.”

You furrowed your brows and followed his gaze to the gauze on your palm and sighed. Your partially hardened and confused expression relented from its grip on your face as you smiled at him.

“Thank you, Sanji,” you nodded your head at him while continuing to pile up the variety of items and bring them to the sink. Sanji looked over to the powder within the mortar, watching you as you emptied it into a small box.

“Talc and corn starch?” Sanji asked with a quirk of his brow upwards.

“Talcum powder,” you nodded while tapping the side of your left hand at the mortar and relinquishing all of the powder from the container into the box, “used in beauty routines and household cleaning.”

You tilted your head to the side before presenting it up towards the chef and gesturing for him to inhale it. He drew a breath in, inhaling the powder and taking in its sweet aroma.

“I grew up using it to rid my feet of the dry sand that clung to them after swimming at the beach with my siblings,” you shrugged, placing a lid upon the container and fastening a piece of leather twine around it to secure it fully.

Sanji nodded, placing the crumbed pieces of pork into the hot oil on the stove, a sizzling sound reverberating throughout the kitchen. You turned to look at the sheer number of portions Sanji had prepared of the pork.

“Are we expecting more company?” you chuckled in question, nodding to the benchtop.

“No, just Luffy,” Sanji shrugged, pulling a melodical laugh from your lips in response. He found himself smiling at you as he noticed the smell wafting from the rice.

“His portion is ready,” Sanji said, nodding to the head on the felt table.

You turned to look at the clown head, who’s eyes were bound tightly shut and wincing slightly. You brought your brows together at the expression coming from his face before Sanji broke you from your thoughts.

“Would you like me to serve it so you can share it with him privately,” he offered, voice free of judgement or malicious intent, “Luffy, Usopp and Zoro will be here shortly.”

You inhaled a sharp breath at the notion, bringing your gaze up to the chef in front of you. You looked between both of his eyes in the search for anything more sinister; prejudice or otherwise at your open adoration for the clown and smiling warmly once it found none.

“I would like that very much, Sanji,” you whispered quietly, bringing a smile to the chefs face.

He plated it within a travelling box and covered it with a thin piece of material much like you would prepare for your younger siblings to take on their journeys to school. After handing you the material, he held your movement by not yet removing his grip from the material.

“We can’t help who we love,” he said in a voice audible only to you, “but please be careful.”

You smiled in response, bringing your wrapped right hand up to his shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze in thanks.

“I appreciate everything you’ve done for us,” you said to the chef, “and I will heed your warning.”

Sanji nodded as he released his grip from the packed bento and turned to continue cooking the portions of Katsu-don for his captain and crewmen. You made your way back to the table and Sanji heard the gentle plop of you placing the box down before you spoke next.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he heard you laugh, “I don’t know how to best do this to make it as comfortable for you as I can.”

The clown-captain chuckled wholeheartedly, or as wholeheartedly as he could while his heart was currently separated from himself. Sanji again slightly turned his head to spy on the two of you through his peripherals.

“Don’t overthink it,” he hopped his head in its place atop the teal fabric cover of the hanging dining table, his twinkling smile prominent on his features, “you could never hurt me.”

You rolled your eyes at that comment and apprehensively moved your hands closer to his cheeks, taking them between your hands and caressing him a little in the process. He leaned into your touch as you gently rose him by his jaw to your left shoulder and held him against your neck with your left hand.

From this angle, the nearness looked almost like an embrace. He noticed the clown close his eyes and lean his head into the crook of your neck as you attempted to carry both the sentient head and the packed lunch within your wrapped right hand.

After managing to find an appropriate weight distribution, you turned to Sanji and dipped into a small and abrupt curtsey.

“Thank you again, Sanji,” you said before rising back to your feet. Sanji smiled in response and clicked the silver tongs twice in a playful manner at you before returning to his task of frying fifty portions of katsu-don and pouring a thickened, curry sauce atop the meat.

Part 11

Tag List:

@thesadvampire @a-phan-of-youtube @multifandombtch @plan3t-plut0 @tiredemomama @tfamidoingwithmylife @bimboshaggy @plan3t-plut0 @vixnicknacks @tesha-i-guess @glitteryblizzardsalad @hellbaby237 @shuujin @nevaeh-jasso @hellbaby237 @gingernut1314 @sl00tty-v @redpool

#opla #one piece #x reader #one piece live action #opla fic #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x you #captain buggy #buggy #buggy fic

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