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toomuchracket · 2 months ago

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witching hour (dad birthday party!matty x reader fluff)

this is my fave promptober fic so far. hanging out with your seventeen year old, referencing practical magic... what's not to love? enjoy <3

the feeling of one of the cats brushing against your bare ankles shocks you out of the little trance you didn't know you’d fallen into, lulled into a stupor while rinsing soap suds off the dinner plates and listening to matty gently play the piano in the living room. looking down, you see it's giselle pawing at the faux fur on your slippers - of course it is, because eloise will doubtless be asleep on top of the piano, as close to matty as she can get.

you can't really blame her for that, though, can you?

giselle mewls, a sound that turns into a purr when you scoop her up into your arms and twirl her around, a poor imitation of the dancers in the ballet amy named her after. “is it dinnertime, baby?” you coo at the cat. “is that why you're bothering me? yeah, must be,” you gently set her down on the floor, wandering over to the cupboard with the tins of cat food and grabbing a couple to open. eloise pads in when you're laying hers and her daughter's bowls down, affectionately head-butting the other cat before they both tuck into their food. you smile as you leave the room. “be nice to each other, girls.”

the music gets louder as you turn corners towards the living room, its increasing intensity matched by a hint of cinnamon scent; you spot the candles matty must've lit on the coffee table as you enter the room, flickering flames working in conjunction with the warm glow from the lamps to make the concrete feel cosy. the light catches the silver in your husband's still-thick hair, curls more grey than they are dark now, and you can't stop yourself from burying your face in them once you reach him - he's stolen your shampoo, again, but you resolve not to bring it up. you've always liked matty using your things like that, glowed at the thought of him going about his day smelling like you, marked as yours; the latter is probably why you find yourself beaming at the sight of his wedding ring, glinting in the candlelight as his fingers dart across the ivory.

“hi, darling,” the smile in his voice is audible even with your face hidden in his hair. you feel it on your temple when you move to rest your head on his shoulder, arms wrapping around his chest as he kisses you. “y'alright?”

“mhmm. song's nice,” you close your eyes, letting the unfamiliar melody wash over you. “is it yours?”

“yeah. just an experiment,” matty nods to the sheet music shelf, where his phone sits recording the sounds. “might become something, might not.”

“i think it should.”

“yeah?”

“yeah. s'pretty.”

“maybe it should be about you, then. pretty melody for the prettiest.”

“oh, shush,” cheeks burning, you hide your face in matty's neck. he laughs, resolving the melody with a final couple of chords, before clicking the recording off and closing the lid over the keys. “did i make you stop? i'm sorry.”

“i'm not. c'mere,” matty shuffles the bench back, patting his lap; you slink between your husband and the instrument as best you can (making a mental note to remember that description and use it as some sort of allegory later), settling atop him and clasping your hands behind his neck. his meet behind your back, and he beams, that same smile you fell in love with. “i love you.”

“i love you,” you smile. “wanna make out?”

matty laughs, your favourite sound in the world. “amy still not left work, i take it?”

“what's that got to do with anything?”

“well, i'd rather avoid another bollocking from our seventeen-year-old about us necking in front of her, if i'm honest.”

“oh, please - she wouldn't even be here without us necking,” you roll your eyes as matty cackles. “but yes, she's still at work. ri's dropping her home tonight.”

“in that case, then,” matty crashes his lips onto yours, sighing into your mouth when it falls open in contentment; you whine into him when his tongue flicks against yours, instinctively grinding down onto his lap. the force almost sends the two of you flying backwards off the piano bench, and matty has to grip the piano itself to stay upright. he laughs against your lips, pulling back - he's wild-eyed and out of breath, and he's maybe never looked more beautiful. “couch?”

you nod, kissing his nose. “couch,” you move to climb off your husband, but he has other ideas; you squeak as he swivels on the seat and stands, lifting you with him and crossing the room to the sofa with ease. admittedly, you're dropped quite unceremoniously onto the cushions, but you're well-used to matty's gracelessness after all these years together, and the way he climbs on top of you and kisses you desperately, fiercely, sloppily… you won't complain about anything as long as he keeps kissing you like that, and he does, until you're forced to break apart just to take in some pesky oxygen. he rests his head on your chest, and you twirl a curl around your finger. “you know, i really think sofa snogging is my favourite type of snogging.”

“sofa or shower, yeah,” matty hums. he turns to look up at you, smirking. “same goes for sex. and we haven't had sofa sex in a while, darling…”

you're unmoved. “yes, but we shower-shagged less than five hours ago, matthew.”

“and? i could go again.”

“could you?”

“yeah! three rounds, non-stop. m'serious.”

“baby,” you giggle, scratching his scalp. “you've never been able to do that with me.”

“s'your fault, that.”

you frown. “how?”

matty smiles, right hand sneaking under your (well, his) jumper and kneading gently at your tit; when his thumb brushes over your nipple, you whimper, and he moans. “you're too fucking hot, darling. can't help giving you everything i've got.”

“i like it when you do that.”

“and you take it so fucking well,” his voice is lower, breathier, sexier, and your resolve is wavering. “come on, sweetheart,” he coos, pushing the sweater up enough that he can flick his tongue over your nipple, humming into your soft skin when you moan. “let me fuck you.”

fuck it. “alright, let's-”

the front door slams. “mum? dad?”

matty groans into you, sorting your top and sitting up; you follow, biting back a giggle as you climb onto matty's lap and position yourself as innocently as possible. “we're in the living room, munchkin.”

“‘kay,” there's a sound of a bag clattering to the floor, fabric rustling, two loud thwacks as - presumably - your daughter kicks her shoes off; she pads into the room a minute or so later, hunching slightly forward in the way she inherited from matty, a surefire sign of their tiredness, and flops onto the armchair opposite you. she sighs, and then her pretty face - are you biased if you say that, given that it's basically the same as yours? - twists in disgust. “eww, you're snuggling.”

matty hugs you tighter. “yeah, and?”

“and it's weird when old people do it.”

you open your mouth, but matty beats you to a response. “my god, you're in the door less than two seconds and you're already being ageist,” he sighs, faux-dramatically, and amy smiles in spite of herself. “old. your mum's still in her forties!”

“not for long, though,” amy fires back; she winces when she sees your raised brows, though. “sorry, mum. let me retract that - you're still young, dad's a cradle robber, etc etc.”

“a five year age gap isn't cradle robbing, amy.”

“methinks thou doth protesteth too much, father.”

“for fuck's sake,” matty facepalms. he flicks your nose. “that's all you, that. sarcasm, and shakespeare talk,” he turns his attention back to your smirking daughter. “why are you so snarky tonight, anyway? that time of the month?”

“jesus, dad, no,” amy shakes her head, shuffling to further curl up on the chair. “work was just a bit shit. m’just frustrated, i s'pose. sorry.”

you wave insouciantly. “we've all been there, munchkin, don't worry about it. was today that big party you were telling us about? for the new exhibition?”

“yeah, it was massive. so much stuff sold that i was just on the desk the whole night putting in orders.”

“really? wow,” matty traces little patterns on your leg. “must've been good stuff, then.”

amy shrugs. “dunno, the stuff i saw was shite. reckon it's more just people jumping on the bandwagon of this guy cos he graduated top of his class at parsons, and that apparently means he's the next big thing,” she rolls her eyes. “just another white guy who thinks he's basquiat resurrected, if you ask me.”

matty cackles, face settling into the proudest beaming smile you've ever seen. he nudges you. “we've really done such a good job raising her, haven't we?”

amy rolls her eyes again; she can't keep the little smile from her face, though. “you're really weird, you know, dad. and sappy.”

he shrugs. “it works for your mum.”

“gonna ignore the use of present tense there,” your daughter peels herself from the chair, stretching as she stands. “and leave you two to your… canoodling. i need a shower.”

“alright, darling,” you hold out your hand as she passes you, smiling when she squeezes it. “there's some dinner left over if you want it.”

“what kind of dinner?”

“lasagne.”

“my favourite!” amy gasps excitedly, running back in and kissing your head. “you're a legend, mum,” smirking, she ruffles matty's hair. “you're alright, too, i s'pose.”

“love you, munchkin,” he calls after her as she speeds through to the kitchen, then rests his head on your shoulder. “she's so cool.”

“well, she's half me.”

“oi,” matty lightly pinches your thigh. “i was there at her conception too.”

“oh, i remember,” smiling, you kiss him, a quick little peck that still manages to make your heart race. “will you play that thing you were playing earlier, please?”

��only if you sit beside me,” he kisses back. “i'd miss you if you were all the way over here and i was over there.”

“my sweet little codependent angel,” you coo, laughing when your husband rolls his eyes. “of course i'll sit beside you, my darling.”

that's how amy finds the two of you when she returns to the living room over two hours later - sat as close as physically possible to each other, your body curving towards matty's while he plays, both of you murmuring lyric ideas to each other and editing them together in real-time. most people would find that adorable, you think, but not your seventeen-year-old. she makes a retching sound, plopping herself onto the couch. “you're still canoodling? wow.”

“we're working, actually,” matty retorts, resolving the melody with a final chord and swivelling round to face your daughter; you do the same.

her brow furrows. “on a saturday night?”

you shrug. “why not?”

“s'pose,” she picks a bit of fluff from her leggings with a sigh. “at least you're doing something. i dunno what to be up to, to be honest.”

you move to join her on the sofa; she snuggles into you the same way she's done since she was tiny, and matty smiles. “no parties tonight?”

amy shakes her head. “nobody wants to go out, either,” she sits bolt upright, big brown eyes widening in panic. “not that i ever go out out, y'know, but-”

“chill out, ames, your mum and i both snuck into places before we were eighteen,” matty joins the two of you on the sofa, throwing himself down on amy's other side. “well, i did. mum was probably too much of a swot to bother.”

the two of them giggle, and you stick your tongue out at them. “you didn't know me back then, matthew. i could've been wild.”

“but you weren't, though, were you, mum?” amy pats your arm sympathetically (and only mildly condescendingly).

“not really. but i made up for it,” you swat at both of them in a feeble attempt to stop their giggling. “your dad can testify to that.”

“really?”

“oh, yeah,” matty grins. “your mother's yoshed in more plant pots than anyone else i've ever met. speaking of,” he stands. “anyone want a drink?”

amy thinks for a second, then nods. you nod, too, an idea popping into your head; you tap your daughter on the leg. “d'you remember when we watched practical magic the other week?”

“yeah.”

you grin. “we could do midnight margaritas. well,” you check your watch. “quarter-to-eleven margaritas. if you guys want.”

amy's eyes light up; so do matty's identical ones. “can we actually?”

“yeah, we've got tequila,” you think for a second, looking at matty. “we do, don't we?”

he nods. “i bought that bottle for the boys coming over that nobody actually opened, remember?”

“oh, that's right,” you grimace. “george drank all my fucking vodka, ames.”

she giggles. “did he pay you back for it?”

“yeah, auntie charli sorted him out,” you stand, holding a hand out to each of your loves. “shall we?”

as he stands, matty grabs amy's other hand, yanking her up between you the way she used to beg you to do when she was little. she giggles, swinging her arms as you lead her and her father to the kitchen. “remember when i used to insist that we walked around like this everywhere?”

“of course. i miss it, to be honest,” you smile, pulling her into a half-hug when you enter the kitchen; matty wraps his arms around both of you. “but i accept that it's uncool and a bit fucking weird to be holding hands with your parents in public when you're nearly eighteen.”

matty sighs, the sound muffled by amy's hair. “eighteen. you were a baby five minutes ago. a little baby, trying to tell me that no, then because she goes was not in fact my song, it was mummy's, because she used to sing it to you and i didn't,” he lifts his head up to grin at you, while amy giggles. “why did you go for that one, by the way?”

“she was crying and i was just like ‘oh, please don't cry’ when i was trying to get her to calm down, and then i thought fuck it and started singing,” you shrug. “and it worked, so…”

“aww, mum,” amy rests her head on your shoulder. “that's cute. i didn't know that story either.”

“one of my favourite backstage memories, you pestering your dad about why he was singing my song.”

the man in question leans round to kiss your cheek. “i was mostly just flattered that someone mistook my writing for yours, to be honest. only time that's ever happened,” he leans round the other way to kiss your daughter's cheek. “thanks for that, munchkin.”

she pats his arm. “i wish i could say anytime, but…”

you and matty practically collapse into giggles, moving to turn the huddle into a proper group hug. moments like these are your favourite, spent laughing with the people you love most in the world; of course, there's one thing that would make it better. “right,” you wriggle out of the hug, moving to grab the tequila and glasses. “time for a drink. ames, could you grab some limes and cut them, please? but do it off-centre, they're easier to juice.”

matty protests. “i could do that! why are you getting our baby to hold a knife?”

“statistically, she's less likely to injure herself doing that than you are, darling.”

he blinks for a second, then closes his mouth. “probably true, actually,” he kisses your cheek. “i'll get the ice.”

“thank you,” once you're done salting the rim of the glasses, you plug in the blender and look over to your daughter. “you doing alright, amy?”

“mhmm,” she brings the bowl of lime juice over, just as matty drops ice into the glasses and moves to stand beside you. “wait. do you know the rhyme?”

you beam. “d'you want me to do it?”

she grins cheekily, a expression scarily like one of matty's; you can see him smiling out the corner of your eye, too. “yes please, mum.”

“alright,” you clear your throat. “eye of newt and toe of frog,” the tequila is poured, and you ready the cointreau. “wool of bat and tongue of dog,” in it goes, soon to be followed by your daughter's contribution. “adder's fork and blindworm sting, tesco lime is just the thing,” you smile at matty and amy’s laughter, grabbing the tub of maldon flakes. “cragged salt like a sailor's stubble, flip the switch and let the cauldron…” pausing dramatically after you put the lid on the contraption, you press a manicured nail into the on/off button. “...bubble!”

amy cheers, clapping along and elbowing matty until he applauds too. bowing as best you can while holding the lid on the blender, you laugh. “thank you, thank you. i'm here all week,” turning off the appliance, you take the lid off to look at the liquid - the smell makes your eyes water. “oh, jesus christ, that's strong. apologies in advance, ames.”

she smirks. “will we need to get a plant pot ready for you, mum?”

“less of the cheek, you,” a matching smirk appears on your face, and you nod towards matty. “he's the one who can't hack tequila.”

“liar,” matty pinches your hip, smiling into your neck when you squeak in protest. “pour them, and i'll prove i actually can, then, darling.”

“alright,” nudging your husband to move back, you pour the cocktail into the three glasses, sliding one to matty and amy each. “are we toasting?”

“sure. cheers,” amy clinks her glass off yours, then her dad's, beaming. “let the witching hour commence.”

#mads muses #mads does writing #promptober75 #into the birthday partyverse #birthday baby #amy #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fic #matty healy fluff #matty healy x reader #matty x reader

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dross-the-fish · 4 months ago

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Adam's Return. Part 1

Adam returns to the Frankenstein Manor in search of one of Victor's diaries.

......

Adam emerged from the dense undergrowth of the forest and trod the worn footpath that lead up the sloping and hilly grounds of the Frankenstein estate. It was a clear and quiet night, much like when he had last crept across these very same grounds. Pale moonlight poured over him, casting a sheen of silver on the fine leather of his coat sleeves and in the black of his hair. Despite his size he moved silently, stirring not a single petal or branch as he crossed through the bower of a well-kept garden. He felt himself something of a returning ghost. No more real than his reflection on the window pane as he grasped the crack brick and wooden frame work of the side of the house. He didn’t even need to look to know where to climb, he remembered.

Her window was just there, a few feet above him. Her balcony, spilling roses and thorned vines down the side of the house. Red now instead of the white of before. Different roses, same thorns cutting his hands and reddening them. Same handprints grasping the balcony rail and pulling himself over. Booted foot, instead of bare, on familiar stone. A good coat tore instead of a shabby one. The lock on the window was different, sturdier. He smiled to himself bitterly, wondering if it was made stronger to keep him out, even a century later. As he crouched before the window he peered into the bedroom.

Vacant, likely for some time as the bedframe had no mattress and the bedcurtains were moth-eaten. The furniture was covered in sheets and a veil of heavy grey dust. Burial shrouds. He smashed the window, not caring the damage the glass it did to his hand and opened the lock from inside. After he opened the window and climbed in he took a look around.

It was the same bedframe, same curtains, even the vanity mirror and the wardrobe, sturdy oak with painted birds. Before he could stop it an uninvited thought flitted through his head Did she paint them herself? Something in his chest squeezed uncomfortably and he swallowed thickly.

Don’t think of her now…

He felt a very strong need to be out of this room. This place still mourned a bride a century dead. He stooped through the doorframe, leaving a handprint on the white of the wall as he passed the threshold.

Victor’s room and study had been on the second floor. The home had been updated at some point, electric lamps rested on end tables in the hallway. Wall hooks for lanterns had been taken down. Lightbulbs and lamps replaced candelabras. It was a floor lamp he found in the modernized study. He turned the knob and set a spark along a coil in a glass bulb. Electricity worked its magic.

“Let there be light,” Adam chuckled wryly.

Unlike the bedroom the study was entirely different. Only the bookshelves and the desk remained of the original furniture. The chairs, sofa, end tables, all of them new and fashionable. This room saw a lot of use, evident in the recently cleaned fireplace, the typewriter with a half-finished page and a whiskey glass, bearing a lipstick stain, no doubt only hours old. This was a comfortable room for someone in this house. Which meant that it was highly likely if one of Victor’s diaries was here that it had been either moved or thrown out.

Still, he had to search. He began with the desk, prying it open and wincing as the lock groaned and gave way under the force of his pulling. There were papers, a pocket watch, and a photograph. This he examined for the person in it was an ancient looking man smiling and seated in a chair with three small children crowded onto his lap. The creature turned the photograph in his hands, dated 1888 “great grandfather Ernest’s 100th” 30 years ago…

Adam had missed the last of them by a mere three decades. It evoked an odd feeling in him, not grief but a sense of finality. The severing of a thread he didn’t know he’d been carrying.

It was the click of a rifle that brought him back to himself. Slowly he rose from behind the desk to meet the eyes of a terrified looking woman.

“My God…” she gasped, “My God…you’re real.”

#Frankenstein #AU #My writing #fanfic #drabbles

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kingofthe-egirls · 1 year ago

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ARCTIC: LAW x Y/N

brothel au

(cw: sw, brothel, reader is a new prostitute, sex, fingering, stripping, daddy kink, princess pet name)

(a/n: i've never written anything for law! sooo i'm curious to see how this one will turn out lol)

Songs: "Glances" by Fırat Durak

words: 1.9k

"So, are you new here?" The snow leopard of a man sits across from you, idly stirring his tea. Long fingers decorated with black-ink tattoos hold the silver spoon delicately. You nod your head.

"Just s-started," you admit, knotting your hands in your lap. You two are seated inside one of the brothel's VIP booths: lined with silver wallpaper that glitters with pink-rose lamps. There's a low, lacquered table in between you and the captain of the Heart Pirates.

You smooth the kimono's silk fabric over your lap, adjusting in your seat. The long sleeves get in your way, sort of, as you reach forward to pour yourself a cup of tea. The china teapot rattles a little, in your hands. Trafalgar Law raises an eyebrow. His eyes are so chilling.

"Show me what you can do," he suggests, leaning forward with a leering grin. His grey eyes sparkle, just slightly, but you've yet to be warmed by them. You twist your lips.

"I-I can play the shamisen," you start, stirring cream into your own porcelain teacup. Flowers decorate the inner rim. "I've also learned fan dances, literature, poetry readings, if you'd like," you list your skills off on your fingers. He watches you, his lithe body still. He's draped over his seat, long arms extending across the back of the plush, velvet banquette. You perk up, "Oh! I also do flower arrangements," you smile. The warlord tilts his head.

"Is that it?"

Your cheeks flush, your bottom lip burning a little on the too-hot tea. Steam fills your senses, and you cough. He laughs, and you hurriedly set the teacup down. "N-no, that's not all! I've been trained like any geisha," you flick your hair over your shoulder, the locks brushing against embroidered silk. "In all manner of entertainment," you lift your chin haughtily. You drum your fingers against the side of the teacup, waiting for it to cool down. Law leans forward, hands steepled with his elbows resting on pointed knees.

"Is that so?"

****

Now, you brush aside the warlord's dark hair from his face. You're sitting on his lap, now, still enclosed in the private booth. A heavy velvet curtains hides you from the rest of the brothel: dampening the sounds of music and dancing from outside. His hat is next to him on the seat. You wonder if it's soft to touch.

He scratches his jaw against your face. "What would you like me to call you, ah?" He smiles a bit, crooked and devilish. Although, now that your legs are straddling his thighs, and the denim presses up sharp and scratchy into your heat, he's starting to look a little bit warmer now. A faint blush tinges his cheeks as you spread your hands across his chest. His button down shirt is open halfway to his navel, and you slide your fingertips along the muscles planes of his chest. You trace the tattoo with your index finger. His blush deepens.

"Y/N."

He twitches an eyebrow, "Very pretty, Y/N. Mind if I call you princess, too?" His hand wraps slowly around your hip, oh so slightly bringing you closer to him. You feel warmth pool between your legs. You hope he can feel it, as you grin. You lace your hands around the back of his neck, greedily drinking in the lustful haze you see forming in his slate grey eyes. They flutter shut as you scratch through the soft hairs at the base of his neck, long lashes brushing his cheeks. You lean down to place a gentle kiss on one, and then the other. He lets out a shaky sigh, and you giggle (you can't help it, temptress that you are).

"Princess works for me, Doctor."

He gleams bright red at that, and you laugh outright. He shifts, sliding his gaze away as his hands tighten around your waist. You soften the glow of embarrassment, leaning in to trace soft kisses along his jaw and down his neck. His facial hair scritches against your skin, and you nuzzle into him a bit. "I can kiss ya for free, y'know."

He huffs at your teasing, and fishes into his back pocket for his wallet. You squeal a little, getting shifted on his lap as he adjusts to holding you with one, lithe arm. You lean into the strength of him, letting your weight relax against his hold. His long hands curl into the fabric knotted at your waist. He tugs a little, at the strings.

"Can I take this off?" His breath is warm, and fuzzy on your cheeks. You graze your lips against his, feeling his breath flutter beneath you. Quietly, you nod. You nip at his earlobe, naming your prices for the services you offer. He hums, nodding along.

After he pays you, you stand up. You sit back on the coffee table in front of him, just barely far away enough for him to get a look at all of you. You tease him, playing with the collar of your kimono. Slowly, you strip for him. He gazes at you silently, assessing your form with clinical accuracy as you undress. His hand goes to palm his cock through his jeans. You smirk, kicking a foot as you lean back to play with your tits. You roll a nipple between your finger and thumb, and Law groans. He crooks two fingers at you, rasping the command: "Come."

You slide over to straddle him again, retaking your rightful place on the throne. "Gladly," you whisper, kissing his neck. He traces his steady fingers up the expanse of your back, now fully bare for him.

"You're gorgeous," he moans, rocking his hips up into you, gently. You smile, blush dusting your own cheeks, now. He swipes a thumb across your bottom lip. He presses into your mouth, and you gladly take him. You suck his thumb, twirling the tip of your tongue around his finger pad. He groans, appreciatively. "Good girl."

"Hah," you shudder, pressing down into his hardness faster. He's rocking you back and forth on his clothed cock, both hands gripping the fat of your hips. You bite your lip. "I like that, Doctor."

He grins.

"Good girl," he repeats, "Now take this cock for me, hm?" He raises an eyebrow at you, and you nod. He reaches between you to unzip his jeans, and you pull back far enough to let him get undressed. His toned, tanned figure is revealed to you in its fullness: lit up with ambers and pinks beneath the banquette's lights.

You marvel at the tattoos snaking around his muscled forearms, stretching around languid hands as he leans back. He loosely fists his cock: something hard and strong and unbelievably breathtaking. You lower yourself back onto his lap, letting his tip poke at your entrance.

"Mm," you whine, sensitive, "S'big."

Law groans, and sinks you down further onto his aching cock. He bucks up once, twice. You whimper, stretched out, and try to take it best you can. "S-Slower," you whine, fluttering your hands around his neck. He coos, shushing you softly.

"Sorry, love," he licks his own fingers, before reaching down to spiral softly at your clit. You moan, furrow between your eyebrows disappearing at the pleasure. "How's that? All better now?"

You nod, eyes squeezed shut. He lets you take the rest of him at your own pace, muttering encouragements and praises while he fingers your clit. Butterflies have started to trail down your spine by now, and heat is shaking your upper thighs. "Mmph, feels good, daddy."

He chuckles at the nickname, and strokes his fingers down your back lovingly. He lets his hands rest warm on your lower back, sinking down in his seat so he can help you fuck yourself down onto his cock. He meets your rolling hips with steady, shallow thrusts of his own.

"Say my name, princess," he shushes you as you whimper and whine on his throbbing cock. (His length is...well. You've never felt this stretched out before.)

"Law," you whisper fondly, making eye contact as you cup his cheek in your palm. You thumb at his bottom lip, before leaning in to claim it in another kiss. Your lips brush softly, as he starts to speed up. Your breath hitches in your throat, and mumbled praises start to fall out, all "good, daddy, fuck darling, it feels so good, Law--," and on and on as he fucks you.

He shoots sparks straight into your abdomen, and you curse. "Shit, Law--," you bite your bottom lip, hands raking through his hair wildly, "M'gonna cum--,"

And your back bows forward, forehead pressed to his shoulder as he rocks you through an orgasm. It shimmers down your spine and through your toes, and you gasp in a lungful of air. He smells like sea salt and spearmint. You mouth at his jawline. "Please don't stop," you beg. He grunts in response, face heated and sweaty as you press kisses into his hairline. His mouth goes straight to your tits, licking and sucking all around your sensitive nipples. His hands are gripping you tightly, now wound around your back as he pummels into your from below. His jaw clenches tight, and he groans.

"Fucking shit, princess," he moans, squeezing his eyes shut as he ruts and ruts endlessly into your core. Another orgasm builds behind your navel, and you squirm. He feels you clench around him, and something wicked flashes behind his eyes. "Cum for me, slut," he gives you a harsh grin, squeezing at your nipple. He rolls it between finger and thumb, and you gasp. "Daddy wants to feel you cum."

"Fuck!" You squeal, rushing forward to wrap both arms around his neck. You bury your face in his hair, and breathe in. He smells like pine. "Harder, just like that, yeah--!"

Your eyes squeeze shut as your mouth opens in an "O" with the silent weight of your release. Law grunts, speeding his hips to a jackhammer pace, and follows you into bliss seconds after.

"Shit, princess," he groans, emptying himself so deliciously inside you. His spend and your slick slide down between you, leaking onto his lap and the couch beneath you. Oh well, you think, I'll clean that up later.

Law strokes your hair, letting your head rest on his chest. You hum, eyes closed as you enjoy the afterglow. He had been a sweet lover, surprisingly. Not so frozen after all, you think, smiling to yourself.

"All good?" He asks, leaning down to catch your eyes. You stare up at him, hazy, and nod. He takes your face in one hand, leading you back up to kiss his swollen lips. You make a happy, sing-song noise in the back of your throat. He twitches a smile against your lips.

"All good," you affirm, pulling yourself off him for now. He groans at the loss of contact, and you grin. You turn to the coffee table behind you, slowly bending down to pick up your kimono. You shrug it over your shoulders loosely, letting it fall open around you. You eye him, with a grin. You pick up his forgotten teacup, and hand it to him.

"Seconds, Doctor Law?"

His fingers brush over yours as he takes the teacup from your hand. He arches an eyebrow as he takes a long, loud sip.

"If you insist."

****

#dumpster dive #my writing #one piece fanfic #law fanfic #law smut #law x y/n #brothel au #law x reader #law x you #trafalgar law smut #one piece smut

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archetypal-archivist · 1 month ago

Text

A Little World of Our Own- P. 1

Your eyes blink open, haze clouding your vision for a minute before consciousness reasserts itself and you awaken for real. It takes a moment longer for you to register the roughness of the sheets under your hands and the warmth trapping you as you lie in what must be your bed.

It's sticky and hot and you must have been lying here a long time, so you sit up, sore body punishing you for your choice. A glance around the room tells you little more, with stone and mortar walls, rough-hewn board floors, and a scattering of oil lamps across the mantle, larder, and the small table by your bedside. You find a clay mug of water there and you drain it immediately, suddenly parched.

Where... where are you? Another glance at the room and it hits that there really isn't much beyond this one room. The only door you can see seems to be the one outside and from your bed you spy a small stove and all the various bits and bobs that indicate that this is a space well lived-in, intended for every form of living. A cast off knitting project even peers at you from a bag hanging off your wardrobe, one stocking long since finished, the other halfway there.

Have you truly been living here long? This must be your bed, you wouldn't be sleeping in it if it weren't, but try as you might, you can't recall knowing how to knit, or cooking at the stove, or lighting all the lamps. You pause, breath catching in your throat.

You're not sure you remember your name.

How can this be your house if you don't even know your name? Your hands fist in the rough-spun cotton as you come to terms with your strange awakening, too overwhelmed to peer around further, eyes locked firmly on the floor.

There's a rug there. It's round, grey and white. The patterns look nice, if a bit abstract. You let your focus travel along the swoops and swirls long enough for the tension in your shoulders to ease and with a gusty sigh, you flop backwards, head hitting your lone pillow with a dull thump. The ceiling is about as exciting as your floor and you stare at that instead.

What do you know? Not much. The home you're in isn't yours, you're wearing- a glance down- a long-sleeved gingham nightdress in light green, and everything seems to be a lot older than you feel is appropriate. Oil lamps, really? Something about that just seems... inefficient.

You laugh at yourself for the thought, a little hysterical. Inefficient, really? The entire world is beyond your understanding and you feel that the lighting system is inefficient? What a way to wake up.

A shift and something crunches under your body, startling you into shifting over and pulling the sheets away to get a closer look. The fractured remains of what seems to be a gemstone peer up at you from the space by your waist and you gently collect the fragments, wary of the sharper edges and glittering dust.

Do broken gemstones follow the same rules as broken glass? You aren't sure but keep your sparkling hands well away from your face as you take a closer look.

Altogether, the fragments seem to make up the shape of an oval stone, silver like a diamond with smooth planes on the front and back. Despite knowing logically that you should be able to see your hand through the larger pieces given the stone's clarity, somehow the gem pieces remain totally opaque.

It's as you take up one of the larger pieces to hold it to the light from a nearby window that you hear the door open and your heart leaps into your throat, gaze still fixated on the fragment.

"Ah. So that's how it is."

The light does nothing, the silver sliver remains stubbornly clouded.

"That's a mage stone, in your hand. Given that it's broken, I don't think I'll be seeing the original owner of this place any time soon, so you may as well introduce yourself. You are this cottage's new owner and I'd hate to be rude to my new neighbor."

"I'm sorry, what?"

The man who meets your startled gaze is unlike anyone who you've ever seen before, and it's more than your lacking memory saying that. His eyes are the palest blue you've ever known, more like the gem shards in your hand than any shade found in a human face. Grey hair frames his expression in loose waves and though the cut of his outfit is simple, the white button-down shirt and neat black slacks are pressed and starched into an image of gentility.

A neat mole just to the lower left of his lips completes the look and it tugs up as he notices your ogling, a teasing grin following shortly after.

"Azul. Azul Ashengrotto. And you?"

You blink back to yourself, flushing at your shamelessness. "I- ah. I don't know? I woke up here and I can't remember a thing. You said this place is mine now? Where am I?"

He seems taken aback somehow and something twists in your gut as he looks away, grin morphing into something more bitter. You draw your knees up to your chest as Azul moves to sit at the foot of your bed, his gaze blank as he moves to roll up his sleeves in careful, practiced motions.

"You're my patient, and I, your doctor. I serve the whole town- Little Grove- but you've been in my care for the past month as I live nearby and the work was paid for in advance by your predecessor. I believe you'll be seeing me often in the future, if your words are to be believed."

You huff at the thought of this Azul thinking you a liar and his eyes flicker to you at the noise, crinkling in amusement.

"Yes yes, I know, stop pouting. In any case, your lack of memory may be a boon to you; a fresh start was your predecessor's wish and you can hardly get fresher than wiping your memory entirely."

Your mouth drops open, upset forgotten. "They did what? That's a thing?"

Azul stretches his legs out and leans back on his hands, tilting his head at you with a cool look. "Yes, that was my reaction when they brought it up with me. Magic exacts a price to match, not that it stopped them and I think my reaction only goaded them on. They were stubborn to a fault and that was the nail in their coffin; spite is a powerful motivator."

You blink in shock, leaning back against your headboard as you process that. Azul seems caught up in his memories, expression distant despite him looking right at you.

"Your predecessor moved into this cottage in Little Grove about a year or two back, then ignored the world in favor of their research. The money they could've earned anywhere else is double or triple what they earned here, but they persisted. I never asked and they never said, and within the year, they fell ill and could hardly leave the house. By the time I became of aware of the situation, it was too late."

"Then... why are you here?" You can't help but ask.

"Simple," Azul shrugs, the gesture strangely at odds with his starched appearance. "They left a pouch of money on my doorstep with a letter. Enough to care for them in their final weeks of life, instructions on what to do if they recognized me. And lastly, what to do if they... didn't."

Azul bows his head and looks at you from the corner of his eye, critical and bitter. You can't tell if the lingering sharpness is directed at you or himself and you hold your tongue, unsure of what to say. The implications make you feel ill.

"I won't apologize for all this, the fault lies solely with the person who's body you're wearing. I can only promise that I'll be here to help until the month's end, and from there you'll be on your own. For what it's worth, though-"

and Azul's gaze is a blistering, heated thing-

"I have never been one to fail. By the month's end, you'll be able to ensure your own happiness. I promise."

#twisted wonderland #tiny glade #azul ashengrotto #my writing #fanfiction #little world of our own

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margaretoakgrove · 2 years ago

Text

Insomnia cure

That was another sleepless night in the old factory where Heisenberg and you lived together on the very outskirts of a small romanian village.

No, that was not one of those moments when Karl, being full of absolute enthusiasm, was eager to work on his ingenius projects all night long, even, oftentimes, entirely forgetting to have a break and take a short nap.

Tonight no matter how desperately he wished to close his weary eyes and fall into a sweet nights slumber, so desired sleep, unfortunately, refused to visit him at all again.

Cruel and merciless insomnia had began to stalk the lord approximately one week ago, and, actually, it is no wonder.

His entire life which was the definition of stress itself, with time, took its tool on him.

The intense and hard work on the noisiest floors of the factory, the brainwashed local villagers who blindly worshiped that mad witch's goddamn cult, not wanting to see the truth hidden behind the curtain of deceit; his adopted siblings that always got on his nerves and simply riled him up, and the head of the so called "family" herself who didin't want to leave his mind alone even in the time of night, turning ruthlessly his dreams into horrible night terrors.

All these highly negative aspects of the lord's living, in the afterwards, led to a constant body tension, an endless stream of anxious thoughts and to the severe sleeplessness.

Being very well aware of Heisenberg's sleep struggles and worried about his state of health no end, you could not sleep at all as well, that's why in this midnight hour both of you were sitting on an old worn leather couch in a small room, illuminated only by the dim light of a table lamp.

While Karl was staring at the floor under his feet and, from time to time, rubbing tirely his eyes, you, in turn, were looking furtively at him, making sure once more how beautiful in your eyes he really was, and, following the calling of your heart itself, decided you to break so long lasting silence between you both.

"Karl?" You called out in a soft silent voice.

"Mm?" Briefly he responded.

"You know…I…i love the colour of your hair. I truly do."

Heisenberg slowly turned his gaze from the floor to you, giving you a tired yet genuine smile.

"Why, thank you, sweetheart. I take it as a compliment."

You moved to him a little closer and carefully took within your hand one strand of his grey hair.

"Silver colour is so splendid. One of my favorites. It gets an impression as though once the moon herself touched your head with its silver light, and your hair turned grey after that."

"Well, well. It looks like someone in this room is a hopeless romantic, aren't you?" Chuckled Heisenberg, innerly admiting that everything you said was quite nice for him to hear.

"Maybe." You smiled shyly in response.

Unexpectedly for Karl, you placed your other hand on his cheek covered with deep scars.

"And these scars of yours…" Silently you whispered, while your eyes were running over the lord's face, as if exploring it like a treasure map.

"They are ugly, right?" A note of bitterness you caught within his husky voice.

"No, not at all. The scars don't spoil you one bit. Quite opposite, they add some peculiar unique charm to you." And Heisenberg once more chuckled at such a rather pleasant compliment to his side from you.

Being driven by your own tender feelings, you started slowly tracing with your fingertips over each scar on the lord's so handsome for you face. To Karl your so gentle touches felt like smoothly gliding along his skin the softest feather, and his exhausted body began to gradually warm up from the inside from these wonderful sensations.

You affectionately kept on stroking the face, ears and neck of your loved one, running periodically your fingers through his silver hair. A wave of pleasant shivers ran down Karl's back, and he rolled his eyes, slightly parting his lips in an utter pleasure.

At that moment Heisenberg was completely sure that he was being in a true paradise. In the paradise he had never seen and known until you came, like the sweetest of all angels, into his chaotic stressful life and showed him with your love, tenderness and care how the true paradise really felt and looked.

"Y/N…" The lord whispered your so dear to his heart name, but you gently placed your point finger on the soft warm and pouty lips of his that, in your opinion, were just created for loving kisses.

"Shh…Everything is alright, my love. Everything is alright…" Like a soothing music was your silent voice for him. "It's been a quite rough time for you. It's been a quite rough time...But now, my dear, you should have a good rest because, believe me, you deserve it. You do truly deserve it..." And having said the last words right onto the lord's lips, you couldn't help yourself but kissed the small scar on his lower lip.

Soon enough all his face you began to slowly cover with light and tender kisses, and Karl, not even realizing that himself, wrapped his arm around your waist, closer and closer pulling you to him, innerly desiring for this sweet caress to last forever because right now he felt so good, so tranquil, so…relaxed. Yes, relaxed…

The constant tension that had been keeping the lord's whole body for all this time in iron fetters left him now alone, and the endlessly buzzing nasty swarm of anxious thoughts finally vanished from his mind, making there a room for tranquility and peace.

Heisenberg slightly opened the sleepy eyes of his.

"Come here…Come to me…" You heard his barely audible whisper when he took carefully your hands, slowly laying down on the couch along with you and pressing you against his warm chest like a soft cozy pillow. "You're right. It's been a quite rough time. We both need to get some good sleep…" And after him giving you a caring goodnight kiss on your forehead, Heisenberg closed his eyes and quickly fell into a deep sleep.

You smiled when very soon you heard him quietly snoring and felt like the heavy eyes of yours began to close as well.

"Good night, Karl. Have sweet dreams." Pronounced you in a whisper, trying not to disturb your loved one's such a peaceful sleep, and, cuddling up to him a bit, you slowly drifted off, without even recalling to switch off the light of the table lamp, and it was on all the night, calmly illuminating on the room where the two of you serenely were sleeping in each other's warm embrace.

With that night magical endearment you brought Heisenberg to mind that if he ever felt exhausted, stressed and overwhelmed by the hell which every day surrounded him, he could any time come back to his personal true paradise that securely was hidden within your pleasant words, within your caring hands, within your happy smile and loving glance, and where your genuine love and tender care were really capable of healing his entire soul and body from absolutely anything.

#resident evil 8 #resident evil 8 village #resident evil village #re8 #re8 village #re village #Lord Heisenberg #Karl Heisenberg #Heisenberg #Lord Heisenberg imagine #Karl Heisenberg imagine #Heisenberg imagine #Lord Heisenberg x reader #Karl Heisenberg x reader #Heisenberg x reader #Lord Heisenberg x you #Karl Heisenberg x you #Heisenberg x you

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rohanabb · 10 months ago

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ABBASI, ROHAN: an introduction, of sorts

Following immediately after Seth.

It’s widely considered bad form to start one's story with their protagonist waking. So let us begin, then, what is most assuredly not a story – something quite smaller and grander in scale – with most assuredly not our protagonist – lacking categorically across the board – with, of our own forthright admission, an interlude on morning routines and the spiraling outwards of them.

Like most mornings, Rohan rises with the bile-bitter tongued feeling that he’s already late for something important.

Unlike most mornings, he does so in a bed his body does not recognize and without the usual sunlight streaming across his face. The sky, from what Rohan can see of it, sits lower here than in Arizona, a singular grey plane through which it feels little can escape between. What light does is equally low and flat, casting the as-yet-unfamiliar room in unflattering shades of, well, more grey. Rohan reaches semi-blindly for the bedside lamp for what little it'll help, his face still half-pressed to the pillow and — a protein bar.

He hadn't dreamed it, then. Seth had been here. The silver, crinkling assault of Kirkland's Worst nestled in the indent only just previously occupied by Rohan's head enough to rematerialize — something of the morning. God fuck, what time was it?

Rohan swings his legs over the side of the bed. It's cold. Of course it's cold, it's February, and for most of Rohan's life February has meant fucking cold. But Arizona, clearly, has made him soft. Cold-blooded, in need of a large, smooth rock to stretch out on for a few more hours. Missing the same sun he had complained so thoroughly about for so much of the year. Maybe he should think about investing in a sun lamp; any chance Amazon will still honor a two-day delivery?

...

When Rohan does arrive at the right room, it's under frankly more layers than he has any business wearing and would be embarrassed by in nearly any other circumstance. And he still feels cold — though, if we're to be entirely honest, as much as Rohan is ignorant to it beyond wishing he'd worn another jacket, it likely has more to do with the freezing waves rolling off the rest of the team than any real change in air temperature.

Rohan, for his part, started practically vibrating the second he so much as stepped foot in the building. To say he's operating on a different wavelength than many of his coworkers might be, perhaps, an understatement. He enters brightly, bristling with awareness of each pair of eyes that swivel towards him. This, at least, is in some way familiar. Orientation; a round table of stiff-mouthed and too-rehearsed introductions, even if Rohan is the only one leaking genuine excitement and anxiety on making a good first impression out of every pore.

If there is any hesitation in Rohan's step, it's not in taking his seat. That's easy. He slides into the space held for him, Seth's bag deposited gently on the back of his chair and Rohan's slung the same. A matching pair. He gives Seth a gentle tap on the ankle to say what he needs to and won't in the presence of strangers. Hi. Good morning. Thank you. Don't look at me like that. Pay attention.

Beyond that, Rohan is by all accounts well-behaved and characteristically himself. He does not take notes, does not cross his arms and avert his gaze. Rohan sits forward in his seat, chin propped in hand, making as much direct eye contact with each speaker as they'll allow. In the space between he leans back, settles beside Seth, and allows himself the brief vice of workplace gossip with his best friend.

When his turn comes around, by virtue of it just having been Seth's, Rohan slides again to the very edge of his chair, elbows planted on his knees, and gives a half wave.

"Hi, all," he starts with a smile, trying and failing to meet the eye of everyone left in the room through it. "I'm Rohan. Just Rohan, please. Dr. Abbasi if you feel especially professionally compelled, but really I'd prefer if we kept things more casual and friendly, seeing as it looks like we're going to be spending some serious time together. You're welcome to call me Tree Hugger, if that feels right to you, but you might have to say it a few times to get my attention."

He tries for a self-deprecating smile, drops it, and tries again with something a little more honest and open.

"With that said, please forgive me if I'm slow on the uptake when it comes to call-signs. I'm in my seventh year at the Foundation, but it's all been on the research side of things. Lab work, mostly. I'd be more than happy to go into details with anyone who's interested, as Seth knows I can go on all day about it and then some, but I'll spare you all the gory parts and give you the rundown: I'm a neuroscientist and pharmacology guy by training with a more recent focus on amnestic applications in animal and humanoid SCP recovery. I definitely consider myself a pretty active participant in the Foundation's scientific community. One of my long-term goals that I've had — pretty much since I started here has been to incorporate academic and modern medical research principals into what we do. It's something I bring to work with me every day and I'm more than excited for the opportunity to continue bringing it but on a much larger scale and alongside all of you.

"So — yeah. That's about it on my end. Again, pleasure to meet all of you. Please feel free to grab me afterwards for anything or any reason. I'm also on the hunt for a running partner, maybe someone else interested in starting a journal club of sorts — so. Yeah. Grab me if that's you. Thanks for listening. Onto the next."

#this sure is. something.#act i scene i

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the-fiction-witch · 2 years ago

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Bratty Princess

Media The Queens Gambit

Character Benny Watts

Couple Benny X Reader

Rating Smut af

Concept Punishment

Smut dom x Sub / punishment kink / choking / spanking / bj/ hair pulling/ full sex/ biting/ scratching/ master x princess / good girl/ nudity

I sat perched on the side of our double bed, my body perched on the edge comfortably my legs outstretched towards the door my feet sat in my tall black heels with red under soles, my legs held comforted snuggly by my tight black sheer stockings the seams perfectly lined my body hugged by my new black sleeveless mini dress it finishing barely down my thighs with my little white lace panties underneath not a bra, of course, letting my perky breasts sitting so obviously in my dress, my white lace kimono over my shoulders hung far lower than my dress, I held my mirror on my hand as I slowly brushed my blood red lip stain onto my lips the rest of my makeup and hair already done. Once finished I put my makeup away and fixed my hair one last time before putting my mirror away too. I picked up my perfume giving myself a spritz before I stood making sure to adjust my outfit before I made a show.

I got into this character I needed to take three steps from our bed grab the glass door handle open it fast but not too hard given I didn't want it to break take two more firm steps making sure my heels clacked on the basement concrete I knocked out my hip and leant my arm and shoulder on the doorframe with my legs wide trying to look as seductive as possible as I looked across the basement apartment I called my home.

The living area to my right with nothing but the one standing lamp on, the small windows nothing but darkness letting the orange lamps glow move across the apartment, the shower empty at the back wall only the light being reflected in the mirror above the sink, the kitchen much, as usual, the dishes still done from earlier and the kettle on the side from a recent coffee being made, at the small square silver table sat the black and white wooden chess board half plaid, the chess clock beside it on a pile of hardback books, besides the clock the small coffee cup half drunk.

In the chair facing me sat the body I was looking for, barefoot, in tight black jeans without his belt, his grey button down with slight sliver pinstriping over him the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the top four buttons were undone, his rings and bracelets of silver across his arms and his three chains of silver around his neck hung low against his hairless chest, his hair messy and fluffy from his earlier shower clearly been fixed to one side in his focus, his eyes squarely in the board with no intention of that changing his elbow on the table, his chin in his hand fingers across his lip and cheek slightly touching where his straggled facial hair sat. He was deep in contemplation layers deeper than I could understand when he slowly moved his other hand from where it had rested on the table to pick up a knight moving it from E6 to D4.

I smiled and decided to begin my plans doing my best not to blush

"Benjamin" I called

That was enough for his eyes to leave his board glancing at me looking unbelievably unamused by my antics his face didn't even crack with any emotional reaction he simply returned to his board so I smiled

"Ohh Benjamin" I cooed making sure to milk every syllable of that word

he simply moved painstakingly slowly so slow I struggled not to giggle or blush as he moved all the pieces on his board one by one back to their starting position, then he took his coffee giving the last of it a slow sip, he pushed the chair out getting to his feet with a slight stretch as he did so cracking his fingers before taking the slow agonizing steps over from the table to the door frame being mere inches from me.

Immediately I could smell the coffee on his breath and the teakwood aftershave on his neck. I tried so hard not to blush or to reveal my plans as I already knew what I was in for.

Suddenly his firm callus hand grabbed my hip forcing me against the doorframe completely he purposely stood his foot between my feet giving me even less chance of an escape his dark eyes watched me intensely causing all the blood to rush to my face as his hand came and slowly fixed my hair

"What was that?" He asks

"What was what?" I replied

"What. Was. That?" He warns his hand slipping down my hair grabbing the end and pulling not hard but enough to let me know I was in trouble

"I didn't do anything" I blushed

"Say it again."

"What-"

"Say it again princess" He growled

I smirked a little biting my lip "Benjamin"

That was all he needed to move from my hair to my neck holding me tightly against the wooden door frame giving me barely an inch between us

"What's my name?" He growled in my ear barely audible at all as he tightened his grip on my neck

"Benj-" I began but he tightened again

"What's my name princess?" He warns

"Master" The moment that word left my lips he released his grip

"Good girl" he chuckled "You really thought for a second you were gonna get away with that?"

"I thought I might try"

"Don't be a brat princess. Or you know what you'll get"

"Maybe I want what I'll get"

"Do you? I must not be doing it hard enough" he smirked "for your… blatant insolence. On the floor. On your knees princess"

"Or else what?"

"No or else. You do as your master says that's it" he smirked heading into the bedroom I blushed hard but followed him seeing as he sat on the edge of our bed with a dark smirk across his lips I smiled and moved to the cold concrete floor of the apartment on my knees resting my head softly on his knee, he softly stroked my hair softly before tugging me a little closer "Go on then"

"yes master" I cooed slowly unbuttoning his jeans and tugging them down to expose his half-hard erection, I blushed as I saw him as I almost always did I moved closer moving between his legs peppering soft kisses up his shaft and gently stroking quickly feeling him harden against my hand once he was fully hard I gave the tip of his head a kiss making sure to leave my lipstick on him before I took him completely into my mouth making sure to leave my lipstick on the hilt of his shaft I moved my head back and forth gently and slowly kitten licking around him, softly sucking.

"Good girl" He cooes playing with my hair often times he would let little groans or grunts slip from his lips in pleasure but other than that purposely kept quiet until he suddenly gripped my hair hard pulling me away completely "Enough."

"Didn't I do good Master?"

"You did, but master can't punish the bratty little princess if she makes me cum so early"

"Maybe that was my plan"

"was it? to treat me so good you get out of your punishments. You should know better than to think so simply princess" he smirked doing his jeans up and tapping his thigh

"Yes master" I blushed getting to my feet and to try to sit on his lap but he pulled my hair hard "owww"

"No. You know what your getting. Go on" he smirked

"Yes master" I blushed trying to hide my excitement as I moved to lay over his thighs my heels on the floor and my head hung down he ran his hand slowly down from my hair down my back until he reached my ass giving it a soft stroke before a hard slap, then another, then another, hitting in the centre to make sure both cheeks would get sore, I bit my lip hard trying not to let him know how much I liked it, he was merciless spanking me hard and fast often stroking to soothe me slightly

"Good girl" he cooes pulling away my kimono and my dress leaving only my panties between our skin as he began again this time I was unable to merely bite my lip hissing at times unable to hide my reactions of pain as my skin got sore and red from his spanks and slaps often his fingers stroking the pattern of the lace, I'd undoubtedly have some level of the lace pattern in my skin for a few hours if not more, "Good girl, what a good little princess." He cooes

"Are we finished?"

"Humm... you wish." he smirked grabbing my lace panties but instead of pulling them down my legs to lingure at my thigh like usual instead he pulled them up higher to sit on my waist leaving the small lace fabric to tighten on me now the fabbic rubbed harshly on my clit, held my pussy tightly and excited only between my cheeks at the back exposing bare skin for him to slap which he immediately did it now hurting much more directly onto my bare skin as well as each slap rubbing harshly on me from the tightness leaving me with utterly no escape and I was unable to stop my reactive sounds "Maybe if you hadn't been such a bratty princess we'd be finished." he smirked spanking me hard causing me to loudly whine "but you had to act like a little brat" he growled his other hand grabbing my neck to slightly choak me and silence my sounds

"I was only playing"

"Playing? Well masters only playing with his little princess" he smirked tightening his grip and spanking me hard atlast his grip loosened and I thought I had peace but it was only for a moment as I felt an even hard slap and I knew what he had in his hand, the firm wooden base covered by black leather that he picked up in a back-alley Brooklyn store, he made sure I felt it on every inch of me spanking my ass and my hips even tugging my panties up more and spreading my legs to spank my pussy all of which caused squeals and screams from pain and pleasure "Good girl" he cooes gripping my panties and forcing them off my body letting them hang around my ankles "on your feet" he demands

I didn't waste time moving to stand between his legs he moved my hips so I faced away from him clearly admiring his work get peppered kisses around my waist heading to the small in my back before then biting hard on my left cheek leaving his teethmarks there

"Owww!" I complained

"you're cute when you're pouting about getting punished" He cooed turning me back to face him stroking up my body slipping off my kimono before he tugged at my dress about to rip it but I stopped him

"It's new" I pouted

"Fine. take it off, and lay on your back like a good little princess or I'll rip it and have you know your knees."

"yes master"

"Good girl" he cooes

I slipped off my dress and kicked off my panties leaving me utterly naked which only seemed to amuse him more before I laid on our bed on my back with my head sweetly on the pillow, he smirked crawling onto the bed between my legs and undoing the few buttons done up on his shirt pulling it off and throwing it off his arm onto the floor, he undid his jeans and pushed them down kicking them off as he leant over me kissing my neck while he gripped my thighs forcing them up and around his waist grinding himself against me

"What about protection master?"

"Not tonight. Maybe I would if you behaved. but bratty little princesses don't get protection so master can raw fuck her sweet little pussy" He growled

"Isn't that a reward?"

"For me." he smirked

"But I enjoy it."

"I know you do princess, but not as much as I do" he smirked burying himself child deep inside me immediately making me squeal and arch my back, he didn't take long panting his hands either side of me on the grey sheets his hips starting their fast and hard thrusts making sure he moved from hilt to tip with each deep thrust often letting small grunts escape his lips as he worked I did my best not to scream too much overwhelmed with pleasure as he got faster and more merciless on me often leaning down to kiss my neck

"Ughhh master please" I begged already close to my release

"I know princess" He grunts sweat forming across his skin as he worked at times so much so his hair would fall in his eyes damp from sweat the closer we both got the more out of breath he sounded gasping between his thrusts until I reached my orgasum gripping onto the skin on his back as it built to its peak and rushed over me completely clawing down his back as I squealed he seemed to get a last bolt of energy as I reached my high as he moved mercilessly fast letting me ride out every second before his hips bucked up and spuraticly and he buried himself as deep inside me as possible releasing himself there before stopping to catch his breath "Fuck-" he gasped after a few moments he pulled out and pretty much collapsed on the bed beside me on his own pillow making me giggle a little at him "Shut up you're not the one who has to do all the work" He says wrapping his arm around me so we could spoon

"You do it to me, when I ride you."

"Thats because you start off riding me and it ends with me bouncing you on my cock because your little legs get tried" he says kissing my shoulder

"Ummm, mean benny"

"You love it" He smirked "not too hard?"

"I'd have said it it was"

"Good" he cooes tightening his grip on me so I smiled and rolled over so I could nuzzle into his warm chest

"I love you benny"

"I love you too y/n." he smiled giving me a soft little kiss "I need to get back to work" he says after a while

"cuddle"

"Okay princess. cuddles."

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ribbonsaikeaux · 1 month ago

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Singularity

Through the twilight vista of steel and glass shines a potrait of orange, greys, and purples. Shortly the sun will sleep and the waxing silver moon will shine amongst a curtain of stars. Not that the city was kind to the night sky; stealing its light and replacing it with the glow of thousands of street lamps and headlights. The veins of the city pumping with the humans that are its life blood. However, in this moment, the Witch sees only the painting of the skyline. Contemplating its beauty and vibrancy in juxtaposition to the horrendously dull monument to the inginuity of humans.

She spares a weary sigh, turning away from her window. She had work to do. The dolls were resting behing the glass of their finely carved display case. A dark oak bearing the faces of all four dolls in each corner and shelves lined with black velvet. Only the best for her dolls. However, now was the best time for this particular spell work. While this apartment was convienient in its location, it was lacking in space. Therefor, her precious dolls did tend to get in the way. This particular spell was rather complex and required great concentration, so it was best done while the dolls rested.

She desired power. The strength to make her dolls safe from this disastrous world. They deserved safety, afterall. Only the best. The only way should could conceive to accomplish this mammoth task, seeing as how humans were never to be trusted, was to gain the powers of a god. This way she could reshape reality as she saw fit; ridding the world of these humans so that her dolls would no longer have to be concerned about them.

She set to work, drawing her sigils across the floor. Further glyphs surrounding those. Candles of black, red, purple and gold set within each glyph, all lit in turn. She stands at the center of the sigils, closing her eyes and focusing. A dazzling light emanated from her being as she whispered the spells words. Forcing her will on the universe and demanding it give her the power she desired.

She didnt notice the light being pulled into her body; being more focused on the feeling of rapidly increasing power. She did, however, start screaming as her body was wracked with unknowable pain. Her whole body aflame with indescribable agony, he fell to her knees, still wailing.

Her dolls were ripped from their sleep as she screamed; banging on glass trying to get out to help their Miss. They were trapped, however, as the doors were too heavy for them to open on their own. She looked up, reaching out to them, but unable to get to them.

The dolls watched in terror as her clothes started disintegrating, the ripping fabric floating shreds around her. In her center, a darkness started to form. It was there that the remains of her clothes travelled; sucked into her. The darkness spread over her torso, then down her legs. A solid black that seemed to bend the light around it. A darkness so deep that the dolls eyes hurt as they gazed upon it.

The carpet was pulled into her being, atomized the moment it touched her obsidian leg. Then the table, the chairs, and the lamp, all travelling to the singularity that now existed at her center. Every bit of mass abosorbed made the darkness spread across her body more. She watches in horror as the dolls display case, thus the dolls themselves, flew towards her. Letting out a shrieking cry as it, and they, made contact instantly shredding and being sucked into her being. The witch sobbed and screamed and wailed, tears streaming down her face as the darkness crept through her hair and over her face. Those tears vanished within her; her voice silenced. There, now stood a woman shaped black hole. All lumination disappearing within her. Every once of matter she absorbed increased her size, making quick work of her apartment. Then her building. Then her block. Her ravenous form devouring more and more. Her reach growing as she grew and her density increased. The whole city stringified at her event horizon. The bigger she got, the stromger her pull. In minutes, the earth was gone. Swallowed into nothingness. Then Venus and Mars, Mercury and Jupiter, even the sun itself. An entire galaxy ripped from existence in less than thirty minutes.

She was now the empty darkness of space. A supermassive, unyielding goddess. She had gotten her wish; humanity was destroyed. Though, now it was just her. Isolated in the vast expanse of nothingness she had created.

#empty spaces #writing #dollposting #witch posting #black hole

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sailtomarina · 2 years ago

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Slytherin Dorms

Hermione always had a vague idea about the possible location of Slytherin House, but this was her first time actually seeings its entrance come to life. With a single utterance from Draco, a thick, golden serpent rose up from its previous casing within the floor and formed an arch against the wall. A door shimmered into view and silently opened to beckon them in.

She turned to glance up at him with an impressed raise of her brow. “And here I thought I’d make it out of Hogwarts without ever visiting the Slytherin dorms.”

“You can thank the illustrious Headmaster McGonagall for thinking up Eighth Year for us deprived, war-ridden souls. How else will we confront our nightmares and transition into functioning adults?” Draco quirked a grin in reply, grunting softly when she elbowed him in the ribs. Taking her hand firmly in his own, he led her past the entrance and up the stone steps into what looked to be the Common Room, decked tastefully in the Slytherin House palette, grey and silver, deep mossy green and velvety emerald.

Everything about the dungeon should have been cold. The stone surfaces, cool colors, and large windows peering out into the depths of the Black Lake would normally suck out any semblance of body warmth, but multiple fireplaces and countless lamps cast their light out to banish the chill. Students curled up fireside and under sconces, reminding Hermione of family vacations at the ski lodge.

“Are you alright?” Draco pulled her into his arms and peered down at her in concern. He knew his house could feel unwelcoming at first, especially to outsiders.

“I’m tempted to take a cat nap over there by the fire…or would it be more appropriate to compare it to a snake and a heat lamp?” She hid her grin behind a hand and feigned yawn.

Draco’s concern transformed into a suggestive smirk as his hands slid up into her hair and along her waist. “We can certainly curl up in my room later—”

She hummed in pleasure as he dragged his lips up her jaw to nibble at her lobe.

“—but first, we have to properly greet everyone.” He pressed his face into her curls, inhaling deeply before reluctantly stepping back.

“I’m sure Theo and Blaise will understand if we’re just a little late…” Hermione blasted him full on with that look, the wide-eyed plea that promised him everything and denied him nothing. She could see his hesitation, and knew with just one more push, he’d tumble and drag her off to have his way with her. Stepping back into his space, she stifled her giggle at his hard swallow and stuttered breath. “Dra-co…”

“You two are late, and that is unacceptable. I have cocktails, hors d’oeuvres, and a schedule to keep!” Pansy’s shrill voice pierced through the fog. She glared at the duo as they slowly turned to face her, heel tapping audibly on the stone floor and scarlet lips twisted into a disapproving scowl.

“Hi, Pansy,” replied Hermione, smiling like a kid caught out of bed after hours.

“Prefects, my arse. You two are worse than I ever was, and that is saying something…” Pansy continued muttering to herself as she stomped, still elegantly, around the corner to a hidden alcove along the glass.

Hermione muffled her laughter into his chest as he stroked her back once, twice, before letting to. “I suppose we ought to go. Our welcoming party awaits.”

Sigh. “If we must.” Draco knew the gathering was originally his idea that Pansy had then excitedly ran away with, but now all he wanted to do was be alone with his witch.

“Hey.” She gazed up into him, grasping his attention with a ferocity that continually shocked him no matter how often it happened. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. We have all the time in the world. And right now? We’re going to drink those three under the table.” She pulled a handful of Sober Up vials from her pocket and cheekily waved them before tucking them back into her robes.

“Granger, that’s positively snake-like.”

“Hat-stall, remember?” With a follow-up laugh, she dragged him to their friends and promised victory.

#dramione prompt #dramione #draco malfoy x hermione granger #harry potter fanfiction #flash fiction

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shebeafancyflapjack · 3 months ago

Text

A Slip Through Worlds (Part 15)

Amy ( @idiotwithanipad 's oc) and the Silvers are faced with a new challenge.

Her clothes aren't right.

Or rather, she knows they're hers, they fit perfectly, but they don't make sense with what's around her. She runs her finger along the purple denim of her knee high dress. Bare knees, stripey monochrome jumper, Monster High socks tucked into second hand Mary Jane shoes, one of the buckles hanging on by a couple of threads.

All well and good until she looked at her companions. The twins. Two young girls, around her age, both wearing medieval style dresses that match the cosy but simple home around them. Not costumes, not that cheap crushed velvet tat, actually hand stitched dresses of pink and ebony, both with pink flowers in their matching short, dark hair. Except the girl on the left also had leaves in hers, like she'd been rolling in the forest outside.

"You okay, Ames?" The twin on the right asked her. "You look a bit dizzy."

She blinked. Dizzy was certainly one word to describe it.

The three of them sat on their knees around a low table, close to a roaring fireplace. Other candles and soft lamps lit the room, filling it with a warm and comfy glow, every light blurring a little against her weary vision.

"I...I don't remember where I am..." she confessed, "Or who you are..."

The twins were more familiar than the room, which she's almost certain she's never been in before.

"Hehehe, maybe your brain is bleeding!" The girl with leaves in her hair giggled.

"Sis! Shh." The other girl scalded, gently.

Amy rubbed at her head. It didn't feel sore...Just muzzy. There was something soft beside her and she looked down to see something that instantly brought her comfort. A dear old friend. She picked up the tiger teddy and hugged it close.

That was a bit better. Not much.

"I'm sure you're just tired. We've been playing for so long. I'm Silver, remember? And that's my sister...Silver."

"Hello! Hehehe."

They were the same age. Nearly identical, except for a few small differences. The one on the right seemed 'older', more down to Earth and serious, compared to her grinning sister.

Amy frowned; "You're both called Silver?"

"I'm happy to be Silvy, if it helps, hehe." Said the one on the left.

Silver smiled at her sister; "We were about to play with our dragons, weren't we, sis?"

"Uh huh. Mummy got them for us."

"Dragons?!" Amy's eyes widened. She loved dragons. Other girls her age were usually scared of the concept of them.

Silver winked and picked up a small wooden box. She tipped the contents onto the table and a collection of beautiful, variously designed and colored dragon figurines tumbled out onto the surface.

As Amy went to pick up the nearest one to her, a little electric blue beast with open wings cradling a crystal in its claws, she couldn't help but feel a tad bit...disappointed.

They were gorgeous. Probably nicer than the sort of toys you would let kids play with. But hadn't she been expecting something a little more impressive? She couldn't work out why.

"Hehehe, I'm gonna pick this one, coz she's asleep on a book." Silvy gushed as she picked up her dragon; "What color is she, sis?"

"Green and black." Silver told her while stroking the head of her own bronze wyvern.

It was then that Amy noticed Silvy's grey eyes that didn't quite focus on what she held. Blind. Not that it seemed to affect her all that much.

"M'gonna take her flying! Hehehe." Silvy stood up and began to spin around the room, holding the dragon up over her head.

"Sis, be careful. We mustn't break these, they're very special." Silver was soft in trying to guide her twin to avoid tripping over one of the toys left on the floor.

She threw Amy a look like most exasperated older siblings, not that Amy could relate. But she smiled back, feeling a stronger connection to 'Silver' than to 'Silvy'.

"Are you girls playing nice?" A sweet voice entered the room.

"Yes, Mummy." Chorused the twins.

Amy looked around to the woman who entered, a kindly round face, black hair and strong arms formed from years of farm work but now meant for wrangling children.

Something about the woman, as pretty and kind as she seemed, made Amy shudder and hug her tiger even tighter.

"Oooh, playing with the dragons are we? You are brave little wenches! Why, you'll be going off to become sheildmaidens on the 'morrow." The woman teased, making Silver chuckle.

Silvy ran up to her mother and presented her green one.

"Mine is called Annie, Mummy!" She chimed.

A blush appeared on the woman's cheeks; "T'is a lovely name, darling girl." She kissed Silvy's forehead and then fussed at some of the leaves; "Why do I bother groomin' ye, hmm. Amy, sweetheart, are you having a fun time? Are my girls treating you nice?"

She gulped. Why was she suddenly so shy? When was she ever shy?

Was it because the woman was so...Big? She seemed to tower over Amy and the twins. But then again, all the furniture in the cottage seemed too big. Glancing at the sofa, covered with blankets and pillows, she could imagine all three of them and the girl's mother curled up together and room for their doubles.

Doubles...Silly idea. She tried looking at the underside of her shoe to check the size.

"Oh, they look like they've had it, little'en. How's about you take them off and leave 'em to me to fix? Or I can make you some new ones." The woman sweetly offered, not waiting for Amy's consent before removing them; "You girls will be needing your afternoon nap soon, can't be getting all snuggly with ya shoesies on."

Silver frowned; "Mummy, we're too big for naps." She then playfully swatted her sister who was letting out a big yawn.

"Hmm, you never gets too old for naps, my love. Take it from your old mum. Besides, little Amy here looks ever so sleepy. Aren't you, Poppet?"

Poppet. Amy blinked and rubbed at her eyes, which made the glow in the room even more smudged.

"You girls can all have lovely little sleeps and when you wake up, it'll be time for dinner. I do hopes you'll join us, young Amy. We is havin' lasagna."

She grinned; "My favorite!"

"Ugh, not mine." Silvy cringed and her sister nudged her again, furrowing her brow.

"Amy is our guest, little'en, you can survive trying pasta for one night." Their mum said. "And how is your tiger there? I let him have a ride in the tumble dryer so he be all warm and cuddly for ya."

Amy nodded, hugging her plushie close again. Her first reaction to the woman seemed silly now. She was...lovely. A real mum. Not like...

There was a rumble of wheels against gravel outside.

A black car pulled up to the window.

"Who's that, Mummy?" Asked Silvy.

But Amy knew before any of them. Before even tottering over to peek out the window, she heared the slurred mumbles, the uneven footsteps exiting the car.

No. Not here. Not when she's so...small, again. Weak. Hasn't yet honed the power of the voice.

A hand slipped its way into hers.

"Is that your mummy, Ames?" Asked Silver, cautiously.

Embarrassment flooded her, especially as various swear words were uttered by the woman outside. She held her tiger tight in one arm and squeezed Silver's hand in the other.

The twins' Mum clicked her tongue.

"Daft women. We agreed you woulds stay the night." She softened her eyes as she knelt before Amy; "Want me to make her go away, Poppet? You can stay here with my girls as long as you want."

Was...was that possible? Could she? That was her mum. Loud and drunk and angry, yes, but...she had no one else. Did she? No better option except dumped into a care home.

But this? Warm cosy living room, two friends, an adult who seemed happy to take care of her...

"I...I want to stay a bit longer. Please." She told the woman.

"Thought so. You carry on playing, little'en. I'll take care of your poor excuse for a mother." She smiled and patted Amy's hair. "You girls keep playin' nice, Mummy will be back soon to tucks you in for your nap."

The woman in the blue dress turned back into the foyer of the little cottage and trudged outside. Amy was tempted to climb up to the window ledge and watch the girl's mother send her own away.

Barely, she could make out their conversation. Ruth demanding "her own fuckin' brat" and the other woman giving her a verbal lashing for not being the mum "a sweet little'en like that" deserves, before ordering her to disappear and clean herself up.

Silver tugged on her hand; "It's okay. Mummy's handling it. You're safe with us."

"Mummy always keeps us safe, hehe." Chirped Silvy, sat beside the fireplace with two dragons in her hands.

"Let's put these toys back, Silvy, and we can get all comfy under the blanket for our nap. I bet Mummy will tell us a story. Maybe one about the witch and the caveman again."

Witch and the caveman...Why did that sound familiar?

Something was wrong. Not just with her clothes but with her head. There was knowledge there that shouldn't be, stuff she shouldn't have access to. Lots of things that didn't make sense.

A crash of thunder made her jump and hug her tiger tight. Rain began to pelt the window. The storm seemed to come out of nowhere.

Their mum quickly bustled back into the house, retrieving three glasses from the sideboard and bringing them over to the little table they were playing at.

"Little'ens, Mummy just needs to do a little more work out here. You girls drink your milk to get you all nice and sleepy." She placed two glasses of white liquid before her own daughters and a yellow one before Amy; "Mango juice for you, sweetheart. None of that caffeine energy stuff while you're still little, hmm." She teased, poking her nose.

Her throat felt parched. When she took a sip, it tasted as close as she could hope to her favorite drink...without the adrenaline boost. Instead the stillness of it added to her sleepiness, as the milk also seemed to do to the other girls.

"Fresh from the cow, Mummy?" Silvy giggled.

"Always, precious." Mary wiped her blind child's mouth and winked at Silver knowingly; "Now Mummy will be back in a jiff. Be good."

She then exited back out the cottage, as another chap of thunder rang above.

"What work does your mum have to do in a storm?" Asked Amy.

Silvy shrugged, collecting the dragons off the table; "Dunno. Grown up stuff. She has to work really hard. Sometimes I wish she spent more time with us."

"Mummy works hard to keep us safe, sis." Silver reminded her, leading her twin to where the box was for the dragons. "It's dangerous outside. 'Specially now."

Amy wanted to ask what she meant. What was so dangerous? True, she can't remember ever seeing a storm in England as bad as this one. The cottage seemed secure, however. Not the slightest draught of air or drop of rainwater entered through the wooden walls.

Everything was so warm...So sleepy...Would they even need to bother with the blankets, soft as they looked? Amy rubbed at her eyes again.

Silver was back at her side, leading her to climb up on the sofa with her.

"I'm really happy you're staying with us, Ames. I missed you so much."

Did she? Amy thinks she missed this girl too, despite nothing about her making sense right now.

"Is Amy gonna be our new sister?" Asked Silvy, also scrambling up onto the cushions. Silver reached to help pull her up.

"Maybe for a little while. But she's probably gonna want to stay with her own sister and daddy, won't you Ames?"

Sister? She doesn't have a sister.

And she especially doesn't have a...Wait.

Amy's chest tightened for a moment. The tiger slipped from her hand and fell down to the floor, from what seemed like a monumental height given her current size.

Poppet. Dad.

Humphrey...

She turned to look at the two Silvers. The blind one was already tugging her blanket close to get comfy. The other was still looking at her for her answer.

Silver. Her Silver. Her best friend.

"It's the witch." She said, aloud.

Both girls blinked; "What? What witch?"

"The witch, she....Fuck!" She slapped her own forehead so hard that her hairband was knocked to the side.

Silvy gasped and giggled at the 'rude word'.

"She's in our heads. Silver...Silvers." She clarified, suddenly hating the childish pitch of her voice; "This isn't real. She's trying to trap us...Weaken us. We mustn't fall asleep."

"What are you talking about? Who's trapped us?" Silver frowned.

"Your fucking 'Mummy'! She's the witch, remember? C'mon, please try to remember!" She gripped Silver's hand in her own, both of them much smaller than they should be; "Your name is Silver Guppy and you're nineteen years old, you're not a little girl, you're a badass Wiccan who died in 2004, now snap out of it!"

"Right....Because that doesn't sound silly." She said with more sarcasm than a six year old should know how to weild.

"I know, it's nuts, but you have to believe me!" Amy stressed; "That woman is not your mum. And that's not your sister, not really."

Silvy looked up in doe-like shock.

"You come from the same universe as me but you stumbled into another one and that Silver's mum wants to keep you as her own. But you have a mum already, remember? Mary. Your Mary." Said Amy, persistent; "She's not some psycho fire poltergeist, she's just your mum. And I told her that I would do whatever it took to bring you home to her."

Bewilderment flickered in every muscle of the child beside her. And perhaps a touch of...recognition?

"I...Why would you do that?"

"Because you called for me, bitch. I wasn't gonna leave you here to rot, was I?" She laughed.

Tears sprung to her friend's eyes and she looked down at their hands clasped together.

"...Ames...Is this even real? Sh-she messed with my head so much...I can't even tell anymore..."

"No, it ain't fucking real, that's what I'm saying. I mean, the cottage isn't and we're not six, but..." She pinched the underside of Silver's wrist a little; "Feel that? That's real. I'm real! And so is Robin."

"Robin? He...He's here too." She glanced about the room. Where was he?

"Don't think boys were invited to the slumber party. That other wannabe Tarzan is probably still bothering him."

Silver's lip wobbled; "Ames...I didn't think I'd see you again."

Just this once, Amy indulged her friend in a super tight hug. Her younger body seemed to have less of an aversion to physical affection, weirdly enough.

Or maybe she was just as happy to see her mate.

A giggle behind Silver reminded them that they weren't alone.

"This is so silly! Why would Mummy trap Amy in a dream with us?" Silvy asked, having made something of a pillow fort around herself; "Why not- Bonk! - knock her out and just take both Silvers home with her?"

That...was a good point.

"Yeah....Why did she want me to come too?" Amy suddenly asked.

Memories of the moments before her blackout began to flood back. The witch, in her proper wraith form of fire and rage, had looked at Amy with pure hatred for coming between her and her daughter.

Silver slid off the sofa at the sound of the thunder increasing outside. Lightning flashing much more frequent. Rain near torrential.

And the clouds. The clouds looked more like tears in the fabric of the sky.

"She can't control it..." the small Pagan said; "The universes are crumbling. We just ripped a massive hole in them and the longer we've stayed has made it bigger. It can't repair itself like last time..."

"And Mummy's trying to fix it on her own?" Silvy gasped, as if afraid for the witch.

Amy gulped. A true mad cow.

She was prepared to risk destroying two worlds for the sake of keeping a girl who wasn't her daughter?

"How do we get to her if she's trapped us in our own heads?" Asked Amy.

Silver looked back at the door which seemed gigantic compared to her now.

"We gotta go outside." Could it be that easy?

"But it's dangerous out there! Mummy said so!" Silvy cried; "And what if Amy's mummy is still there? And Mummy took her shoes!"

That's right, she did. But that was easier to get past than the mother thing.

Amy shuddered, suddenly terrified at the thought of a half-cut Ruth Richards staggering towards her and grabbing her twig of an arm, dragging her back to their filthy, beer stinking flat.

"Did you see your mum, Ames?" Asked Silver.

Amy looked up. No...No she hadn't. She'd been too little to look through the window.

"I heard her...." Hadn't she?

Silver pursed her lips; "I think that was another trick. Something to scare us off from leaving. Same as the storm. It's partly real but...why include it in our dreams like this?"

Fucking sneaky bitch. Amy gritted her teeth and jumped off the sofa.

"Silvy. We're going outside. You don't have to come-." Silver said to her 'twin'.

The other Silver jumped off and ran to grab her fake sister's hand.

"Don't leave me out, hehehe."

Silver smiled and then turned, having to push herself up onto her tip toes to reach the handle. She grabbed it and then turned to Amy.

"Dunno about you...but I'm ready to grow the fuck up." She smirked, despite the fear glinting in her eyes about what awaited them beyond that door.

Amy gave her friend a smile.

"Let's get you home, Silv."

#bbc ghosts fanfic #amy bone #silver guppy #ghosts oc #mary guppy #astw

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a-world-of-whimsy-5 · 1 year ago

Text

"Crimson and gold"

Pairing: Tulkas x Maedhros

Themes: Smut | Soft

Warnings: Kissing | Dirty talk | First time | Oral

Word count: 1.7k words

Summary: A continuation of this short-fic. Tulkas and Maedhros finally consummate their relationship when the chance for them to do so presents itself.

Rating: 🔥| Minors DNI | 🔞 | You are responsible for the media you consume

Ever since Maedhros confessed, they had taken to sparring together, away from the others, and always just the two of them.

They would talk first. And they would talk about anything, and everything.

The fell beasts Tulkas slew.

His life before the creation of Arda, his battles after.

The troubles with Melkor, what Arda was like before its marring.

Maedhros' family, and the turbulent currents that oft drifted through the noble house of Finwë.

His pursuits, the things that bring him joy.

His brothers. The twins in particular, and their quest to test the limit of their family's patience.

Nothing was deemed too dark or too sacred. They would talk and talk, holding nothing back. Then Tulkas would teach Maedhros how to grip a sword, a spear. He would help him with his stance.

"Hold the spear this way," he would say.

"Stay like this while you swing the sword," he would say.

"Grip your shield like this," he would say, "and never like this."

Deceptions, all of them. For Tulkas, any opportunity to touch him was a welcome one. His thumb would brush over a knuckle, a wrist. His nose would glide over sweet-smelling auburn hair. He would be rewarded with a shiver, a wistful sigh. Glorious silver eyes would sparkle, the question contained within plain to any being with wit.

When?

Amber eyes always had a ready answer. Soon.

There had been kisses exchanged in dark corners, hushed whispers, and promises of more. There had been glances across a vast hall of tables, where those amber eyes always sought out the familiar grey ones. Again, the question was the same.

When?

And the answer would always be the same. Soon.

The others were always near, always seeking out the master and always pressing him with their questions. Even when it was just the two of them, an eager elfling would come running, asking for guidance and stories. It was sheer misery, this creeping about. Tulkas despised it. For Maedhros, it was no better. Still, they endured, keeping to the shadows, making themselves content with stolen kisses and rushed embraces. And then-

And then the others left for their own homes, their lessons now over for the season. Tulkas would finally be alone, for a little while at least. He invited Maedhros to stay with him. There would be no one then. No one with questions; no one barging in. The Maiar who served Tulkas would demand no explanations and would spread no tales. They could do whatever they wished. The elf agreed. He penned a letter to his father, his hand trembling with giddy excitement. Fëanor was quick to reply. He was pleased that his oldest child and heir wished to make the most of Tulkas' instructions.

Listen well. Learn well. Those were his lord father's counsel. Obey your lord in all things.

Maedhros could only smile when he read the words. If only his lord father knew.

The last meal of their first full day alone was a simple affair. Bread, roasted meat, stew, and wine. They ate well. Drank well. Talked. Laughed. Their hands touched. Legs brushed against each other beneath the table. Attendants walked in. The table was cleared. Lamps were snuffed out. Only the light of a few tapers remained.

"Come, Maitimo," Tulkas said, extending a hand and rising. Maedhros took it and trembled. There was so much strength to be found, even in such a gentle touch. And warmth. He followed through one dimly lit corridor after another, beneath one golden ceiling after another, until, finally, he was standing in his lord's private chambers.

"Come," Tulkas said again, drawing him near. They kiss. Embrace one another. It hurts; Tulkas is that strong. Maedhros ought to have cried out, but he did not. The craving to be held closer made the pain feel like a trifling matter, nothing more. Tulkas indulged him repeatedly, his hands exploring every inch Maedhros' inviting body. They stumble their way to bed, their kisses now a heated frenzy of teeth and tongues. Garments are disposed of without ceremony. Boots and leathers and tunics all form a growing pile. They embrace each other again, their bodies cupping each other in their desperation to be closer, to feel skin press against skin. Maedhros is pushed down onto the edge of the bed, his eyes filled with curiosity and his heart pounding in his ears. What was Tulkas going to do next?

"Have you experience?" Tulkas reached out to caress his cheek. Maedhros sighed. Closed his eyes. Pressed his lips against the flat of Tulkas' palm. "With anyone? Even for a little while?"

"None, my lord," Maedhros confessed. "This is all new to me."

Tulkas nodded, already ablaze from within. "Then let me show you the way."

He leans down and kissed Maedhros hard on the mouth. The first true moan spills free. Tulkas goes lower, searching, probing, tasting. He kissed the span of Maedhros' chest, the skin that smelled of new roses, and the peaks that hardened with each quickening breath. A hand delved into his hair.

"Do not stop," his student whispered.

Tulkas did not stop. A nipple fills his mouth even as a ragged gasp fills the air. He stroked and sucked, first one, and then the other, on and on and on. His hand reached down, finding the place of Maedhros' pleasure. It is already rigid to the touch. A flash of greed speared through him without warning.

"Spread those legs of yours as wide as you can for me," he commanded.

Maedhros obeyed. Then threw back his head after Tulkas sank to his knees and took him into the wet heat of his mouth. His lips, his tongue, his hands, were all instruments of Maedhros' bliss. He trembled. Something strange but electrifying sparked to life just beneath his skin. It smoldered and grew, surging within him like roaring flames about to consume him whole. His hands found their way into golden hair, and his hips lifted with each stroke, with each sinful flick of the tongue. The feeling within grew and grew. It was too soon. Maedhros knew it was too soon. He could not stop himself either. He let himself shatter, his mouth parting in a strangled cry. He felt the spurt of his warmth filling Tulkas' mouth. He shook, his body still caught in the throes of unmistakable rapture.

It was glorious, what he had experienced. And it came about fast. Too fast, he reckoned. It should have lasted longer. He should have held out longer. Would his lord be angry and chastise him for not possessing greater restraint?

"I am sorry," he said quietly, his cheeks red with shame.

Tulkas chuckled. It is soft and breathless, unlike the hearty bellows that would rattle around the great feasting hall during a meal. "Your cheeks are as red as your hair," he teased. "Tis a pretty sight, Maitimo."

He ran his tongue along the last remnants of milky white spend, not stopping until he was satisfied he had taken it all. Maedhros watched, ensnared by the sight. He trembled again.

"And there is nothing to be ashamed of." Tulkas rose to his feet. He caressed Maedhros' hair, his cheek. His thumb drifted over soft, bow-like lips. Visions of those lips parting for his cock often haunted him. "You did nothing wrong. Now open that pretty mouth of yours for me, Maitimo, and keep still. I will see to the rest."

Maedhros obeyed again, his eyes closing, his cheeks hollowing out and clenching with each thrust. The weight against his tongue and the little ridges that brushed against his lips were all unfamiliar sensations to him. He enjoyed them still, flicking his tongue and sucking harder, his hands reaching out to grip a pair of now familiar thighs. A hand brushed over his hair. Praise and half-whispered obscenities poured like honey into his ears. He grew drunk on them.

"Hearing your moans here and now was better than anything I have heard in my dreams."

"You feel as good as you taste."

"Deeper. Take me deeper."

"Keep putting that sweet tongue of yours to good use."

"Make me spend, Maitimo. I know you can."

Maedhros opened his eyes. He dared to look up. Tulkas' eyes had closed. His breath was ragged, filled with yearning, and his rhythm was now as erratic as his breathing. The markings on his fana pulsed and gleamed with a golden light of their own.

"You are perfect, my lord," Maedhros paused long enough to whisper.

Tulkas went still for a moment. His eyes darkened. He grew impatient, and pushed Maedhros' head harder, filling him to the hilt. Fistfuls of red hair are pulled out of the way in Tulkas' desperation to see. Maedhros grew bolder. He made use of his hand, tightening and releasing with each stroke. Tulkas shuddered. There was a vicious tug in his belly, pulling at him, dragging him to the precipice, over the edge and beyond it, casting him down a dark ocean of ecstasy. He lost himself within the waves, drowning as his orgasm ripped through him. The moan that followed was deep and long and drugging. He stopped and went still. A warm torrent pours onto Maedhros' tongue.

"Swallow." Tulkas cupped his cheek, encouraging him. "Take every drop of my spend. Go on."

Maedhros swallowed and drew back. His lips are now puffy and bruised, his body slowly filling with a welcome sense of ease. Tulkas leaned down and kissed him. There is tenderness this time, instead of heat and fire.

Starlight fills the room; the fragrance of flowers from the gardens below pours in through the windows. The room is hushed, the air still. They stay as they are for a brief while, now touching, now kissing. Tulkas finally pulled away. Their eyes meet. Maedhros blushes, grateful for having confessed his true feelings for his lord and mentor. Tulkas thinks: How blessed am I to have one such as him in my arms.

"There are bruises." He saw dark patches blooming along trembling arms, and the pale torso. He forgot his own strength and forgot that his companion was an elf, not one like him. It shames him. "Wait here. I have a balm for them."

Maedhros stopped him. "There is no need, my lord. This is what I desired. There is no cause for worry. I am well."

"But I have already gone too far. I can forget myself even more the next time and really hurt you."

"I trust you, my lord. I know that will never happen."

Tulkas hesitated for a moment. "Very well." He pauses, takes a deep breath. "But I insist you tell me if I do indeed go too far. Now move further up Maitimo. I would like to lay beside you while you rest."

Rest they did, their limbs entwined, their hair spreading out over the pillows in a blend of crimson and gold.

tags: @cilil @wandererindreams @asianbutnotjapanese

#maekas #maedhros #maitimo #tulkas #tulkas x maedhros #tulkas imagine #maedhros imagine #tulkas smut #maedhros smut #the silm #the silm imagine #the silm smut #the valar #the ainur #sons of fëanor

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