#rheannon | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

amandacanwrite · 2 months ago

Note

Ohhh, can I play? I just ate one of these so the word is peaches 🍑 x

Alright -cracks knuckes- MINORS DNI with the following snippet. This is a little bit from the beginning of my Peaky Blinders meets Fae Court Politics book called Of Foxes and Follies.

Context: Rheannon is a girl with a mountain of debt owed to one of the most notorious street gang bosses, The Half-Blind Barber. She is the type to steal from Peter to pay Paul, sneaking into soirees uninvited and stealing from guests who are too tipsy to notice when a necklace is slipped off their neck, or an earring is nabbed off their table.

Only when she crashes a party hosted by a notorious gangster known as The Magpie she is quickly caught and invited to his parlor for a game of cards. The wager? If she wins, he gets his priceless timepiece, if he wins, he gets a dance.

This scene takes place shortly after his winning hand, but Rheannon isn't ready to give up her prize quite yet. Hope you enjoy!!

...But I also couldn’t deny the enticing nature of him, even if he would only use me and throw me away, I couldn’t deny the pull he had over me.

We went into the next series of steps at the music picked up in tempo and Cilean spun me again. It was all going just fine; just as easy as it had been before, when my shoe caught something slick on the floor and I lost my footing.

Cilean didn’t miss a beat, he quickly caught me and kept me from humiliating myself by falling back on my own arse. I looked back to where I’d slipped as he took me out of the path of the other dancers and balked at what I saw.

I’d expected a discarded hors d’oeuvre, or perhaps a misplaced handkerchief. Instead, what I saw was something entirely shocking.

It was a pool of blood, red as spider lilies against the ivory marble floors.

Or at least it had been when I caught the slickness of it with my foot, now it appeared as a streaking, pink mess on the white tile of the floor. I inhaled to ask about it, but Cilean was already leading me away from the dance floor.

“Careful, darling,” he said. “Should we take a step outside? It’s getting a little stuffy in here, isn’t it?”

“S-sure,” I said. “W-wait, hold on a minute.”

“You want another dance?” he asked, looking at me, his brows raised.

“Th--What I just saw on the floor. That was blood,” I said. “I slipped in someone else’s blood.”

“You really do need some air,” he said, smirking back at me. “Why would there be blood on the dance floor?”

“Hell if I should know, but I know what I saw,” I said.

“You saw some red liquid on the floor? Do you know how many casks of wine I keep in my cellar, Miss Todd?” he asked. “I promise you it wasn’t blood.”

I pressed my mouth and looked back at the floor again as he led me away, but whatever mess I’d slipped in was either hastily cleaned up or blocked from my view by the dozens of spinning dancers on the floor. I wanted to argue with him more, but I worried I truly was wrong about what I’d seen. I didn’t want to appear as if I was delusional.

So, I followed, feeling a bit uneasy about the strangeness of things I’d seen since I’d gotten here. How did I wind up at the card table of The Magpie himself? How was I now frolicking with him through his hallways.

“Where exactly are you taking me?” I asked.

“Why would you want for me to ruin the surprise?”

“I’m not entirely sure a surprise from you would be something I’d like to willingly walk into,” I said.

“A little late to be worried, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Touche,” I said as I let myself get carried away in his undertow.

Finally, he came to a nondescript door, a plain wooden one with hardly any embellishments of note, aside from an ornate handle attached to twine—a servant’s bell.

“Are you taking me to the servant’s quarters?” I asked.

“Easiest way to get out of doors,” he said looking back at me. “Do you have some sort of objection to taking the back way?”

“Only if it’s because you mean to hide me from someone,” I snipped. “Perhaps you didn’t invite me and perhaps I am not the kind of girl you like to cavort with, but I have enough stubborn pride to refuse the indignity of sneaking around like some kind of dirty little secret.”

He pushed the door open and led me into the corridor. It was dark and smelled of food. I could only imagine it was from all of the dishes that had been carried through the small, poorly ventilated space. He took a few more steps before I dug in my heels and brought us to a stop.

I had expected him to sigh, to gripe about me being a prude or an annoyance. To try and shame me for thinking that someone like me could ever think that someone as wealthy and handsome as he was could see me as anything more than a spirited tryst in the stables. I could handle it, I was ready to give him an earful of exactly what I thought about that.

But he didn’t sigh and he didn’t gripe. He didn’t yank his hand away to leave me and sulk. No, he did quite the opposite. I could see the outline of him only faintly in the dark corridor as he crowded me. He stepped into my space so quickly that I had no choice but to give way, backing one step, then another. As soon as my back brushed against the wallpaper, his hands were on me.

My waist, my thigh, my back. My heart leapt into my throat, and I heard my own shocked gasp fall out of my mouth. Finally, he cupped the side of my face in his hand. It still smelled of tobacco from his pipe, I could smell his sweat and how it mingled with the fragrance of his aftershave and the pleasant earthiness of whatever cologne he was wearing.

His nose brushed along the edge of mine and I hitched in a shaky breath.

“Do you think, sweet Rheanon, that I would let anyone dare make me feel ashamed in my endeavors with a woman?” he asked.

Somehow, his voice had dropped even lower than his already natural baritone. His voice rumbled in his chest like rolling thunder, and just like real thunder, I could feel the weight of that sound in the very marrow of my bones.

“Is there a problem with wanting a bit of privacy?” he continued, his warm breath cloying, brushing across my lips. “Then again, maybe that’s something you like, hm?”

“Like?” I asked, my head fuzzy. “What do I like?”

“Do you like the risk of getting caught? Do you like the rush of knowing that any moment now, my butler could walk through that door—or one of the chambermaids—or one of my guests. Does your heart race when you think of what they’ll see as the light spills into the hallway?”

He hefted me up into his arms with such speed that I shouted out in surprise. He pressed me against the wall, every line of his chest and abdomen melding with my own. When the skirt of my gown got in his way, he pushed it up so that it bunched and bustled around my hips, only the thin fabric of my shift and my undergarments remaining between us.

One of his fingers snagged the strap of my garter belt and tugged, pressing the fabric of my stockings against my inner thigh.

“What will they think when they see me like this, Rheannon?” He asked as his hand coursed up the curve of my thigh, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. “With your beautiful thighs wrapped around my waist, with my hand curved around this...”

He cupped the swell of my backside before kneading wantonly, “...this perfect peach of an ass you have?”

“Y-you’ve...you’re misinterpreting--” I mumbled. “It’s not that I’m some kind of...exhibitionist.”

“Am I?” he asked. “Then why are you so breathless, lass?”

Cruel. He was a cruel and sadistic man to subject me to this. He was a cat playing with his food. It was enough to make me want to box his ears.

“Are you just going to torture me and make me feel like a deviant, or are you going to shut up and kiss me?” I said, sounding far less angry than I’d been trying for.

“I’m not sure—did you leave your manners somewhere?” he asked, an edge coming to his smile that I could see even in the dark. “Is that how you ask for something that you want?”

I couldn’t tell if I was flustered or furious. He truly wanted to play with me.

“Oh, you really didn’t like that, did you?” he asked.

“Does being patronizing usually work for you?” I said.

“Lass, I don’t typically have to work for anything when it comes to my romantic exploits,” he said. “Usually women and men alike are clamoring for my attention.”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” I said. “If you wanted an ass pat, you should have asked one of your invitees to join you.”

“I’m not disappointed,” he said, smoothing his hand up the front of me, brushing over my breast before grasping my chin in a firm hand. “You’re the most fun I’ve had in ages.”

Then, despite my refusal to beg and my prickly griping, Cilean closed the distance between us and kissed me.

I had been expecting his mouth to be hard on mine with the sort of quiet command that rolled off of him in waves. I’d expected a clash of tongue and teeth, I’d expected biting and mis-matched trajectories.

What I got instead was something entirely different.

His hand was tight where he grasped my chin, but his lips were feather soft as they closed on mine. It was hard to describe how it made me feel. The brush of his lips was so sweet and light that it pulled me in, the tender brush a siren’s song seducing me.

My eyes fluttered closed as I surrendered to it, his hand on my chin releasing its grasp before ghosting gently up the curve of my jaw and slipping into my hair.

The kiss ended, but he didn’t part from me. He still held me against the wall without a single hint of discomfort or exertion, our noses still touched. I opened my eyes and found him watching me.

This close, I could see the beautiful curve of his long lashes backlit by some distant moonglow deeper in the servant’s quarters. His eyes flickered as they stared into mine, then dropped to my lips.

“What is it?” I asked in a whisper.

His eyes met mine again, dark and desirous. There was something else in that stare, some emotion I couldn’t identify. I tried to read it, but before I could discern anything he closed that small distance and kissed me again. His mouth seized my lower lip, a faint suction pulling it between his teeth that only barely brushed against the tender flesh there. His tongue swept in deftly, teasing the opening of my mouth and asking to be invited within.

The skin on the back of my neck blazed and burned like I had a fever. His thumb brushed down the side of my neck in a sloping line, pressing against my pulse point. He huffed a sound of amusement through his nose and I knew he could feel my heart hammering like a hare’s in my neck.

How embarrassing. He’d barely started to kiss me and I was already as wound up as a virgin the first time she pinked her knees with her sweetheart. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing to me—well enough that he felt satisfied to smile into the kiss as he deepened it—well enough that he didn’t even need to say anything to make me feel plenty self-conscious about it.

His tongue, like the rest of his mouth, was unintrusive in its pursuit of mine. I was used to Eian and the other boys; the clumsy tangle of tongues that tasted of stale ale and hastily hand-rolled cigarettes, the hurried and frantic nature of their desire as they pawed at me.

Cilean kissed me like a connoisseur enjoyed a fine vintage. He took his time, tasted me slowly, savored me. His full lips were slick and pillow soft, his tongue, despite the smoke and drink he’d been consuming, tasted of summer-ripe berries and honey licked off of sticky fingers. I felt like I was melting in the palms of his hands, like I’d rather die than kiss any other man than this one standing before me.

I reached out my hand for his chest, wanting desperately to feel his body. I wanted to undress him, to taste more than his mouth, to taste his skin, his sweat, his blood. I wanted to bleed for him. I wanted to give him anything he would have from me. I no longer cared about the strange things I’d seen—the group sex, the blood on the dance floor, his strangely silent minions—I’d do anything if only he would stay close to me.

I coursed my hand over his chest. He gave a low hum that rumbled through my body.

I was so pleased to hear that sweet sound come out of him, so happy to make him feel good. I brushed my hand higher, sliding in a trajectory toward his neck where I hoped to twist my fingers in his dark, thick curls.

But I felt something cold on my skin as I reached the seam of his shirt collar. Cool and metallic. A golden chain.

My eyes fluttered open and it was as if a spell had been broken. I remembered all at once who I was, why I’d come here, the exact nature of the predicament I was in.

I’d come here to steal, to settle my debts and move on with my life with my new found freedom. I’d come here to swipe a few worthwhile pieces to pawn them off so I could give the money to The Barber. Sure, I’d played along with Ciliean to this point—with The Magpie. But’d gotten in over my head. I’d let him beat me at cards, let him charm me with a few dances, and now I’d fallen in too deep with him.

I knew where kissing like this ended up.

Gods—what had I been thinking? What would Eian think if he came to my flat tomorrow and I wasn’t there. How hurt would he be to know that I’d fallen in bed with another man the very same day I promised to give him a chance to court me.

There was only one way I could justify something so egregious, and I was in the perfect position to follow through on it.

I made sure to keep the pace he was setting for us, I made sure to seem as lost in his kiss as I had been mere seconds before, and I got to work.

If anything, this was going to be easier than the usual conquest. When I pickpocketed, I always had to find some reason to bump into someone, find some reason that my hands wound up on their body. Sometimes it was a spilled glass of wine, other times it was manufactured clumsiness. But I wouldn’t have to do anything like that now. I had more than enough reason to have my hands on him—to even be a little heavy handed.

The trick to a good pickpocket was sleight of hand and misdirection. It wasn’t enough just to steal from drunkards—even drunks could tell when something was missing if you were too quick and careless with the theft. The key was to make your mark think the watch was still on their wrist, the necklace still around their throat, the earrings still looped in their lobes.

Gold was heavy so when it came to Cilean. I’d have to find a way to keep the illusion of weight in his coat’s interior pocket as long as I could.

But I knew he was perceptive. I couldn’t be sloppy, not when he had me pressed against the wall with his hand on my throat. If I was going to steal the pocket watch, I’d need to replace it with something else.

It was a risky move, but I could only hope that he wouldn’t recognize what I left with him—that I could sneak out of the party as soon as I got the watch and that he’d continue to get so drunk that he wouldn’t even remember this strange little tryst we were engaging in. I reached down with my still-free hand and slipped my brooch out of the sash I was wearing. I was practiced enough with it to do it with one hand and to do it quickly enough that the movement hadn’t been noticed.

I passed the beetle brooch into my other hand, hiding the swap with a covetous stroke from his stomach to his neck, then back down again where I let my hand pull on the chain, adding tension on it—pulling it taut so that, if there was any difference in weight between my jeweled brooch and the gold watch in his pocket, it could be written off as my hand leaving the chain.

From there, it was simple. A slip here, a slide there, a little pluck and the watch and chain was in my hand.

I was suddenly glad for the humiliating racing of my heart earlier, because it was the perfect cover for how my heart was hammering in my chest now. There was nothing like the thrill of a good score, and this one was by far my largest catch.

I made a gesture like I was trying to reach back against the wall to steady myself and hid the watch down the back of my dress, hooking the chain on the neckline and letting is slide into my corset, already stretched and displaced from all of the dancing and kissing.

It was a haphazard place to put it, but it would have to do until I could get myself away from The Magpie.

With my winnings secured, I broke from the kiss and made a good show of panting.

He cupped my face as I let my head loll and my lashes flutter.

“Alright, lass?” he asked, his voice husky and warm. “Have I need to grab the smelling salts?”

“Mmn--” I said, making my voice syrupy and dreamy. “I could use a bit of fresh air.” I gently played with his silky bow tie. “Maybe we could go back into your gardens? Lie down under the stars for a spell? Have a sip of water before we...”

I bit my lower lip, finding it soft and swollen from kissing. “Carry on? With our diversions?”

His eyes crinkled with mirth, though his own swollen lips just barely twitched at the corners. He brushed the edge of his nose against mine once more, taking a deep breath in. “You are turning out to be quite diverting, indeed, my little vixen,” he said.

I giggled, trying to keep my mind clear about me as, even now, the threat of being ensorcelled once more by his enigmatic charm and his skilled lips loomed in front of me. Truth be told, I would have loved to learn what a man who could kiss me breathless could do with the rest of my body; to see what his fingers and his hips could do for me.

More concerningly than that, was that I craved the opportunity to please him.

To be called a vixen, his vixen, was almost as intoxicating as the kiss. I wanted to know what he’d say to me while I rocked and ground along the length of his shaft, wanted to watch the adorable tension men always got in their jaw when they were ready to lose all control and spill into me.

But I couldn’t get distracted. I couldn’t indulge—for plenty of reasons.

“Well,” he said after a few breaths passed between us. “Let us get you some air and some water, shall we, Darling?”

#of foxes and follies #rheannon todd #Clean #the magpie #fae gangster #ocs #my ocs #my writing #writing community #writers on tumblr #writing #writeblr #authors #romantasy #historical fantasy #book quotes #smut #fae smut #smut writing

4 notes · View notes

amandacanwrite · 9 months ago

Text

WIP Excerpt — Meeting an Incubus

Hello! I thought I would share a bit of my WIP called Foxes and Follies. Its about a young woman who unknowingly steals from a member of the Unseelie Court and is taken there to do the bidding of an intimidating dark fae called the Duskeeper.

This scene is when the protagonist meets one of his lackeys and… well it’s not the best first impression on either side.

CW|| some light sexual themes. Nothing too explicit. Also a bit of forced proximity in which the protagonist is uncomfortable. Again, nothing too bad just proceed with that information in mind.

“W-what...what are you?” I blurted.

He turned his attention to his book, flipping to the next page, his nails filed to deadly points that mirrored his nails and horns. “You’re terrible with introductions.”

I pursed my lips, feeling a flare of irritation. “You’re a man with green hair and horns, I have more immediate concerns.”

“Nothing is more important than good manners, Little Fox,” he said.

The way he said that term of endearment, the unique lilt and rhythm of it, made me think of The Magpie.

Have you forgotten how to introduce yourself? Shall I demonstrate how?

“You first,” I said.

“Excuse me?” he asked, his brow furrowing. My demand had clearly been an affront. Good.

“I’m your guest. It is only polite for the host to start with introductions, is it not?” I said. “After all, I’m under the care of your hospitality.”

“Hospitality that has been more than sufficient,” he retorted as he shifted in his seat, dropping his foot from where it was hooked on his knee and leaning forward to rest his elbow there instead. “Without the help of my whisps, you’d still have a festering wound on your leg and a fever burning through your body.”

So, they were will’o’the’whisps.

“I’m very appreciative of that,” I said. “But I’m not in the habit of just following the instructions of strange men I’ve never met.”

His amused expression faded and he caught the corner of his own lip with one of his pointed teeth. He closed his book with a loud snap and tossed it onto the cushion. He stood to his full, impressive height and strode on long, pinstripe-clad legs over to me.

I expected him to stop at the edge of the bed, but he didn’t. Instead he climbed onto it with me, giving me no recourse but to yelp and scramble backward until I collided with the headboard. His whisps flitted away with hushed tittering as the stranger continued his pursuit.

He bracketed me in against the bed with those long legs. His hands smoothed up the silky bed linens as he poised his body over mine like a comfortable lover; like he had me under his body plenty of times before. Like he was comfortable with it.

I looked pointedly away as his shirt billowed around his suspenders, revealing the statuesque planes of his chest and abdomen beneath. I shut my eyes, feeling my face warm. He didn’t let up, unbothered by my discomfort.

He grasped my chin between his thumb and forefinger, the point of his nail pressing against the swell of my lower lip. He jerked my head back toward him.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

I kept my eyes stubbornly shut for a few moments longer.

He grasped my whole jaw with his large hand. “Now.”

I bit the inside of my lip painfully before blinking my eyes open. When I did, I found him staring down at me. His lashes rested low, yet his gaze was almost oppressive, trapping me within it.

I swallowed tightly as I realized the off-putting nature of that gaze. There glowed an opalescent reflection in his pupils, like the kind you’d see looking into the eyes of an alley cat late at night during a smoke break.

I swallowed once more and forced myself to say, “I’m not telling you.”

“Oh?” he asked, his voice a velvety purr that curled warm up the length of my spine. “I could always make you.”

My heart raced in my chest. My eyes danced around his face. “Y-you could try,” I challenged.

I hated the stammer in my voice. I hated that even I could hear the front I was putting on for him. His lips parted to reveal a beautiful blade of a smile. I couldn’t tell if it was one of amusement or if some darker urge inspired the expression.

“Focus,” he commanded, those glinting eyes seizing mine. “Keep those lovely eyes focused on mine, my sweet little pest. Be a good girl for me.”

I stilled, my body going slack against my own wishes. I struggled to grasp onto my agency, but it slipped through my fingers like fine, satin ribbon. I lost myself in those opal pools, flitting my focus between each of them. I couldn’t decide which of them more beautiful. I lost myself in that thought, trying and failing to determine which of his eyes I should drown in.

“My, my. It turns out you can be a very good girl,” he said, the sound of his satisfaction so pretty as it tickled through my psyche. He released his grasp on my jaw and positioned his hand more gently, cupping the curve of my face.

I leaned into his hand, needing the tenderness; needing him. I felt something pluck at my lips. Like pulling thread through the eye of a needle, the corners of my mouth curved up. I felt ease, I felt contentment. But something about it was wrong.

His nail dragged my lower lip just slightly and I felt my eyelids droop. There was something this man had done to make me angry; to make me frightened… but I couldn’t recall what it was.

“That’s it,” he said. “You’re so much prettier when you obey, aren’t you my sweet Little Fox?”

“Mhmn,” I felt myself say.

“So, why don’t you give me that name of yours like a good girl?” he said.

“My name...” I sighed. “My name?”

“That’s right. It would be so easy,” he said. “All you have to do is tell me what to call you, sweet girl.”

There was a low tightening in my belly; the hum and heat of arousal. My eyes fluttered shut as the sensation flooded me.

Memories flickered like flower petals. These were not the ones I’d fought so hard to remember only a few moments before. These were memories that my body had recorded. The feverish feeling of my breasts being touched for the first time. The feeling of Eian’s callused hands on the sensitive skin of my thigh. The feeling of lips, slick and sweet against the side of my neck. The boy at the docks who had me pressed against the wall before he thought to ask if he could.

My name.

My...

I opened my eyes, rage consuming me like fire. I didn’t know what he’d done to conjure those visceral, private thoughts, but whatever it was, it was none of his business. I was too close to rear up enough force to headbutt him. But I’d lived a long time on The Strid.

I pulled back my feet from between his legs and used all the strength I could conjure in my legs, placing my feet on his gut and sending him backward.

That said, he didn’t go far.

He tumbled clumsily back, his brows quirking high, those opalescent pupils constricting. He looked almost affronted, like I’d taken a piece of fine china and shattered it while he watched.

“You. First,” I insisted.

It was silent for a long time. The only sound in the room the hushed sound of the sheer curtains hissing in the breeze beside the bed. He seemed to take me in newly, looking at me from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. It felt uncomfortable to be looked at like that—like he was trying to peel the outer layers off and peer at the clockwork inside of me.

“What are you?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. Barley audible. “I’ve never...a human has never--”

I set my jaw again, glaring at him. He rolled his eyes, sitting and crossing his legs, leaning back on his hands, but not moving any further away. He seemed to have accepted his failure at…at whatever he’d been doing to me.

“My name is Leif,” he said finally. “I’m an incubus.”

#writing community #writers on tumblr #writing #authors #writeblr #my writing #romantasy #historical fantasy #book quotes #of foxes and follies #foxes and follies #rheannon todd #Leif Larkspur #Cillean #the magpie #the duskeeper #incubus fic #fiction

8 notes · View notes