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liliannadelaphinehartifelt · 8 months ago

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Lucifer + Alastor - [ NSFW 3 ]

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A/N: Had this song on repeat since its release and it reminded me of these two so much…

WARNINGS: [ NSFW ] + [ MDNI ] + [ FEM READER ] + [ SLIGHT DUB CON ]

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Sharing is caring, but when it comes to being between the King of Hell himself and his newly established opponent - the all too cocky Radio Demon- you don’t have much say in who gets fair claim of your existence.

Sharing is caring, but only in the ways that matter to the men wrapped around your little finger. Lucifer needs your physical touch; he can’t go one moment without it, and god help you if you’re around other flirtatious sinners -he’ll be all over you for no reason at all. Hand on your hip, lower back, even on your ass if he’s feeling possessive. His height doesn’t matter, not when he can back hug you just fine, plant kisses on your head or temple, and sit you down on his lap without a second thought. Lucifer is a sucker for praising you, every word out of his mouth is sweeter than honey, and the knowing smile on his lips when you get all soft and shy from his gentle admiration swells his already massive sense of pride.

“You’re a sweet little sinner, aren’t you, baby doll?”

“I’m so proud of you, my love.”

“Oh, aren’t you just the cutest thing!”

“I’ll do anything you ask of me, sweetheart..”

“Atta girl…keep going…just like that…”

The King of Hell never runs out of patience for you, spending his free time in your presence without a care for his rival's foreboding aura. Though at times they blatantly argue, the drop of your sweet smile into a solemn frown has them both rushing out an apology. However, Lucifer is quicker than Alastor to admit his faults. He makes up for mistakes with sincere gestures, visiting you in the dead of night with the promise of pleasure radiating off him in tangible waves. By the following day, you can’t even begin remembering what you were angry about.

Sharing is caring, but Alastor has a hard time with both concepts. He’s not one for physical affection, preferring acts of service and gift-giving as alternatives. You don’t seem to mind, always at his side when he calls, a pretty little thing on his arm while he struts about hell running conspicuous errands, and a genuinely engaging sinner he doesn’t mind having deep conversations with. You contrast him in all the right ways: expressive but gentle, lethal but only when provoked. Unlike most demons, you hold value to Alastor, drawing out a softer, more honest version of the stag that most will never see. In private, you’re allowed to babble off his ear while he works, cuddle up in his lap when he’s feeling ‘vulnerable,’ and sometimes you’re lucky enough to get a few somewhat kind words from the overlord amid lingering kisses.

“What a pretty little thing you are,”

“I’m tempted to keep you all to myself, ma chere… Would you like that, hm?”

“I know you can’t help being a greedy girl, darling, but I’ll always be better than that pompous excuse for a king.”

“You love to provoke me, don’t you, little one? Prancing around the hotel like you do, smiling at every little thing, and showing off for attention..”

“It’s rather pathetic, but lovely things can’t control what they attract..”

He’s possessive, outright toxic in some instances, but you’re quick to manipulate the stag into an agreeable state with the threat of seeking out Lucifer’s company over his. This tactic occasionally works, but sometimes it enrages Alastor to bloodlust. His semi-polite exterior falters, causing the overlord to be on edge with everyone -especially Lucifer- and the king won’t let a chance to irritate him further slip by.

“Something bothering you, Rudolph?”

Lucifer snickers as Alastor enters the parlor through its shadows, automatically glaring at the sight of you straddling the blonde fallen angel with his hat lazily set on your head, and you giggle at his obvious disdain for the scene. “Oh, don’t look so upset, Al. I just wanted to play with Luci for a bit.. “ you flash him a cheeky grin, purposely shifting on the devil's lap to feel his growing erection and show more skin hidden underneath your fluffy oversized jumper. Lucifer chuckled, ducking his head to give you a quick kiss as the crackle of static resonated around the room, but you were far from scared of Alastor’s fury in the presence of his rival.

Sharing is caring, but later that night, when you snuggled under your bedsheets with Lucifer, lying on his bare chest, only wearing his dress shirt, soundly asleep, and listening to his undead heartbeat, you’re jolted awake by the distinctive coolness of shadows lurking over your skin.

“What made you think I wouldn’t put you in your place, my dear? That I wouldn’t remind you he’s not the only one who can lay claim to your very existence?..”

Alastor’s voice echoes through your head, coaxing you awake as his specters entangle around you. They tug, pull, squeeze, and ravish your small frame with his every word. Your cunt starts to pulse with need, leaking arousal in steady drops as a shadowy tentacle prods your entrance before sheathing itself in your warm walls with one sharp thrust.

“Ahm!” You yelp, eyes shooting open as a satisfied whine leaps from your lips; quiet moans soon follow as the bulk of shadows touches your womb with tender strokes. Two more snake up the borrowed dress shirt, swirling under the white silk with precise menstruations, encircling your fragile body ruthlessly until you’re forced to sit up in hopes of gaining more fleeting touches. “Alastor, you’re being mean…” you groan into the darkness, hips rutting down in timid circles, a reflexive action you try to maintain to avoid waking the man lying under you. Alastor’s low laughter shifts from your mind to the confines of the room, signaling his physical appearance in the space, and you’re tempted to search for him but aren’t given a chance to as the scrape of his sharp claws manifests along your sides. He’s close, so close you can feel him leering behind you, breathing in your ear as if he needed your scent to survive.

You lean backward, humming at the familiar firmness of his chest meeting your back,” Just wanted you to be a little nicer, that’s all…” Your explanation for earlier does nothing to quell Alastor’s jealousy; his hands hovering over your sides clamp down harshly, and his claws shred through Lucifer’s shirt to prick your skin. Your heart thuds wildly as a scream threatens to fall from your chest from the pain he causes, but your cunt clenches with excitement from his aggressive treatment. “Reasoning won’t help you now, darling. It seems you only understand one thing..” he purrs into your ear, red eyes glowing as they trace your flushed form, “A-and what’s that?..” you mumble fearfully, feeling a coil build in your core, but a pang of shame in your chest overrides it as Lucifer begins to stir below you. He’ll awake any second, and though you weren’t afraid of him seeing you in a whorish state, very used to being intimate with him, the unpredictable reaction he’d have to Alastor taking advantage of you right in front of his eyes was still nerve-wracking.

Sharing is caring, and Alastor’s response to your feverish question makes more sense than you care to admit. “Attention, my dear. You’re shamelessly addicted to it,” he drawls, smile widening when you whine helplessly, back arching as his shadows wrap around your breasts before swiping over your pert nipples while your cunt no longer resists forceful strokes of his shadows. Your vision blurs as the sensations blend, erasing mannerable actions from your thoughts the closer to cumming you got, and the riveting shivers vibrating your body were evidence enough. The subtle tremble of your thighs mixed with the combined noise of your soft moans and Alastor’s hushed taunting drew the King of Hell awake with a gentle start. Lucifer ruts his hips upwards on instinct before groaning tiredly, mildly aware of the familiar stickiness your arousal causes on his pale skin but unsure as to why it’s there. “Baby, what’s the matter-“He’s at a loss for words for a long moment, almost panting at the sight above him, confused at first but gradually intrigued as sleep waned from his consciousness. Alastor smirks, lips against your neck as he stares down at the fallen angel, daring him to instigate a fight. “Ah, looks like you awoke your preferred lover, ma chere. How rude…” the deer demon taunts you, clearly unbothered by your disagreements and conflicted writhing. “N-no, that’s not ah- ah- mmm fuck Al, please d-don’t!” A bright blush coats your cheeks, tears brimming your waterline as the demon nips at your bare shoulder before lapping up the blood that trickles from the wound. His gaze never leaves Lucifer’s as his tongue collects the red liquid, humming triumphantly as a prominent red color floods the ladders’ cheeks and eyes. “How fucking dare you..” the blonde hisses, voice thick with an indecipherable emotion, and you whine anxiously as embarrassment rushes your veins. It wasn’t your fault Alastor was taking his anger out on you this way, disregarding his aversion for touch in the hopes of getting back at you both, but it’d be a lie if you said you weren’t enjoying the intense situation brewing.

Sharing is caring, and you're afraid neither entity will consider doing so as a heavy beat of silence engulfs the room. The only sound is your rushed breaths, growing heavier with every thrust and twist of Alastor’s shadows in and around your body. You try to break free from the overlord, gazing down at Lucifer pleadingly for a better chance at forgiveness. Unexpectedly, his displeased expression morphs dramatically seeing the desperation in your eyes. He’d never been the type for sadism, let alone encouraging it, but your need for his help stirred a primal desire in his chest that he’d only felt sparks of recently. It was no help to him that Alastor, a demon with no remorse or pity for your plight, was the one indicting pleasure on you. He’d seen the stag agitated, irritated, and maybe even flustered but never lustful. It was new and undeniably attractive. Why waste an opportunity to use it against him?

Lucifer took a slow breath, stamping out his rage in seconds as his eyes shifted from your lidded ones to Alastor’s, “How dare you have fun without me, hm?… that’s a little unfair,” he pouts, stifling a groan as his cock twitches to life. The radio demon scoffs, forgetting his grudge against Lucifer for the mutual benefit of desire, “If you wished for fairness, you shouldn’t have fallen from heaven …” he taunts back.

Sharing is caring, but the instant sting of Alastor’s insult doesn’t anger Lucifer like usual. It eggs on the blonde, prompting him to reach for you, and you welcome the gentle coolness of his fingers trailing up front. Unlike Alastor, his claws do you no harm, never breaking skin even as he cups your jaw firmly. “C’mere, little one. M’ not going to hurt you…” he coos quietly, eyes glowing as brightly as Alastor’s as you leer into his touch like a wounded lamb. “Yes sir…” you whisper compliantly, surprised that Alastor relents his hold just enough to let you follow Lucifer’s lead. He’s relatively calm watching you, admiring how your hair falls like a curtain over your flushed face, skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat, and the dress shirt slipping off your shoulders but sticking to your skin at every curve you had. There were reasons he wanted you to himself but dealt with sharing you with another, and this sight was one of them. You could be so good to them both, on all fours, cunt creaming from his actions and Lucifer’s words, and your loyalty to them both on a whole show no matter the implications.

Sharing is caring, and to some degree, you believe it’s a possibility for your relationship with a prideful fallen angel and an egotistical demon. Lucifer lay beneath your trembling form, muttering encouraging praises against your lips when he wasn’t connecting them with his own in heated kisses.

“Mhm, good girl…go on, come for him like you do for me.”

“Feels good, doesn’t it, baby doll..”

“Fuck, you like that hm? Want more? Ask him nicely, sweetheart…”

“Cum for us, my love…”

“You’re doing so well….taking us so well. There you go, baby, all of it just like that…”

Alastor loses track of himself within moments of watching you come undone in his shadows for the first time, hungry to feel the warmth of your cunt for himself as puddles of your cum form on Lucifer’s crotch. You don’t fight him when he replaces his specter's task of fucking you, welcoming the length of his cock with a grateful smile and melodic moan of his name. “Alastor!… nghh yess, please r-right there!..” you yelp into Lucifer’s neck, letting him cradle your head as he talks you through the rise of your next high, “You sound so precious like this, baby. Give em’ what he wants.” His tone is strained, leaning towards a moan as he watches your expressions switch between pleasure and pure wonder. Alastor is fixated on the both of you, ears twitching at the top of his head with every satiated moan you let out and sinful word Lucifer says. His hands find purchase on your hips, gripping them harshly as he snaps his roughly, plowing his cock into your cunt with so much pent aggression your legs refuse to stop shaking. “Oh, fuck…” he groans in the air, tearing his gaze away from your arched back and leaking entrance to try and slow the impending peak of his high. Self-control was something Alastor prided himself in, but it was spiraling from his grasp the longer he fucked you.

Was this what the King of Hell had been enjoying with you?

Milking you of every drop of lust in your body?

Filling you with his overrated seed in the hopes of one-upping him?

If so, Alastor could never blame him. You felt divine, after all, and had no complaints about being used for pleasure.

Sharing is caring, but you forget all about it when Alastor yanks you away from Lucifer, a hand tangled in your head so tight you’re sure he might rip into your scalp if he holds you any tighter. Luckily, the overlord refrains from doing so, opting to groan into your ear as he buries his length to the hilt in your fluttering cunt, spilling ropes of warm cum into your abused womb with no remorse. “Don’t waste a single drop, ma chere. See it as a gift for being so well-behaved,” the radio overlay in his voice is gone, giving way to an accent you couldn’t resist mewling at. Lucifer chuckled, eyes fixed on where Alastor and you were connected, smirking at the mess you’d both made on top of him. “Need a taste of that…” he mumbles more to himself, tone hungry, demanding. You’ve yet to catch your breath before Alastor lets out a short laugh, flinging you forward into Lucifer’s chest without much care as to how weak you still are, “Greedy bastard,” he snickers, slowly pulling out of you with a satisfied grin at your attempt to keep him in. “Now, now, dear. I’ll have another turn with you soon. No need to be selfish..”

Sharing is caring, and oh, how wonderful it is when you’re sat in Alastor’s lap, facing away from him, one leg bent over his while the other rests on Lucifer’s shoulder. The King of Hell kneels before you both, inhaling the scent of your cunt, and smiling at the steady stream of cum drizzling past your folds. He’d done this many times before, a being addicted to the taste of women, of you specifically, but you still shied away from his vulgar eagerness. Your coy reactions only worsened when the notion of Alastor’s cum mixed with your own eventually settling on Lucifer’s tongue came to mind. They hated each other after all, and despite getting along most of the time in your presence, you never imagined this to happen, but neither backed down from the ordeal.

“W-wait Luci, you don’t h-have-“ you start to protest quietly, squirming in Alastor’s hold to avoid Lucifer, but your refusals don’t hold any weight to them.

“Mm, but I want to, love…I can’t help it,” the blonde whined as if he’d die without getting the task done, hands cupping your inner thighs tenderly as he flicked his tongue over your slit and swollen clit. You jolted in Alastor’s grip, biting back a whimper as he mumbled into the crook of your shoulder, “It’s impolite to refuse royalty, so let him have his fill …”

Sharing is caring, and you’re sure Lucifer could survive off eating your pussy alone just fine for the rest of his immortal life. He makes a show of it, diving his tongue in and out of your stretched entrance, moving to suck on your clit every so often before putting both actions into tedious repetition. You couldn’t remain coherent as he explored your insides with expert focus, letting his tongue linger in the spongiest and sweetest spots in your cunt just to draw back and generously spit on your clit. He’d learned your body, when to hit nerves, or when to overwhelm them. As of now, every sense you had was heightened, intensifying when Alastor’s eyes studied your facial expressions, your smile growing an inch more expansive when you rushed out a warning to Lucifer.

“Gonna cum m’ gonna cum…!”

The devil perks up, delving two fingers into you, red irises dilating completely as they hit a tender spot in your cunt immediately, curling against it at a languid pace. He met your gaze with a proud smile on his face, tongue lapping at your clit leisurely, begging you to come undone without hesitation. Alastor curses under his breath, agitated by the fact that your moans are turning him on again, and you feel his cock twitch under your weight.

Sharing is caring, and the euphoric bliss of releasing in Lucifer’s mouth felt divine, bringing small tears to your eyes as he buried his face in your mound, moaning at the taste of you drenching his tongue. Alastor grunts as your hips rock to meet Lucifer's pace, hands creeping up to cup your breasts, kneading the plush flesh mindlessly to avoid bucking his hips against your backside for better friction. He couldn't give his rival the triumph of seeing him worked up at the sight of you cumming so reverently under his touch. You felt powerless between them, shaking in Alastor's arms and pleading for Lucifer to join. One look is all it takes for the two to agree, giving into your minuscule wishes and thoroughly enjoying themselves the remainder of the evening.

Sharing is caring, but if you dare to utter a word of what transpired that night in the presence of others, both will deny the implication of tolerating one another. Although, you find yourself being used by both more often, stuffed full of their cum night after night, and keenly aware of the mutual trust growing between them when you finally collapse into sleep by their sides. They're capable of fair behavior with you, but only in private. Away from the eyes of others who’ll never witness how obsessed The Radio Demon & The King of Hell are with you and you alone.

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It's just a filler post cause I'm getting burnt out with requests! ❤️ I love your ideas, so I'm trying to write them all in my style but as concisely as possible. It's tiring but fun…

[ BONUS CONTENT + ]

They may not be able to stand each other but I’ll gladly take them both (not in a fight) ❤️ credits to creator

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lady-ashfade · 1 year ago

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A Sign

Yan!Rhaenrya Targaryen x WhiteHind!Child!Reader. (Hinted Yan!Criston Cole)

The reader has antlers in this! Idk if females don’t have them, they do in this.

Warnings: Yandere tendencies, possession, obsession, over protective.

Her chest fell as she glanced over the woods from above, the camp ground filled with her people had put a weight on her chest. This time she was far away and no one could tell her she wasn’t worthy of the throne with just a look. Everyone looked at her now just as someone to be thrown aside for her new male brother, Aegon. Rhaenrya could leave without another word and maybe things could be better.

Cristin stood at her side with admiration in his eyes at her beauty even with blood coving her skin and clothes. She was perfect, she was smart and caring but ruthlessly and strong willed. She had raised him from the bottom and gave him a title and somewhere he could belong, he was grateful to no ends.

Sounds of soft footsteps and branches breaking broke the silence and caught the attention of the princess and the knight. Heads turning quickly a around to face what they had heard, criston ready to draw his sword to protect. But their eyes saw no threat at the sight in front of them but a wonder to see. Maybe they both had gone mad to cause them seeing what the did.

A small girl with long hair dropping off her shoulders and down to her back, a dirty dress that was once white turned brown with spots. The sun behind her made it clear as day to see the antlers on her head, beautiful patterns with waves and twisted. Her doe eyes that looked soft and curious as she stared at the pair, they had the same expression filled with wonder and confusion.

Rhaenrya new this was a sign. She could recall the men saying there was a stag in the woods and they called it a blessing from the gods. Slowly the princess hopped off her horse to walked towards the girl she had seen, criston waiting so someone could keep a eye on her. Inching closer it surprises them that she had not run away but slowly walked closer. “Can you speak?” The princess asked in a soft voice.

The small eyes blinked and her head nodded to the question. The princess stopped a few inches away and waited for the girl’s permission to come closer. Bending down she looked at the child and smiled sweetly, slowly extended her hand out and reached for the girl. “My name is Rhaenrya, what’s yours little one?”

The girl was you, a girl only knowing the woods and nature as your home. You never seen a human up close before, the animals had always welcomed you. The harmful creatures thought of you as a friend. “Y/n.” Your small voice answered her and stepped closer. Rhaenrya felt herself fall in a deep hole of love and obsession, the urge to protect you and place you above everything.

“Would you like to come with me, y/n? My kingdom does need something like you.” You blinked up at her and felt the wind blow and the ringing in your ears stop. Just this morning you had been miles away but something was calling you. She was must be your purpose in this life.

Eyes wondered and watched as Rhaenrya walked through the camp drenched in blood and covered in dirt. The cold expression on her face sent shivers down the spines of everyone who looked. Her father, the king, had stoped what he was doing as well as the queen. The princess only looked at them and then stopped herself and looked back at the horse of her protector. Her gaze made everyone follow and the people gasped in shocked.

You stepping down from the horse with the help of Cristin and looking like a blessing from the gods themselves. Everyone stood up and watched you walked through them. You felt nervous at all the eyes on you and whispering, but Rhaenryas eyes were reassuring and calling you to her which kept you grounded as you walked. Taking her hand in yours she walked into the tent to get cleaned up and to spend time with you.

The first thing she did was get you food and clean you up first, she would be so gentle with you. “Do you know how special you are little one?” She asked as the rage whipped the dirt off your cheek. You only shook your head. “I will show you in time, you are mine by the gods laws. They sent you to me in the darkest hour.” She leaned down to kiss your head and then continued to wash you up.

“No one will ever keep us apart”

#rhaenrya targaryen #Criston Cole #Criston Cole x reader #yandere criston cole #yandere rhaenrya targaryen #yandere rhaenyra targaryen x reader #princess rhaenys targaryen #rhaenrya targaryen x reader #yandere house targaryen #yandere house of the dragon #house of the dragon #house of the dragon x reader #yandere house of the dragon x reader

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kasagia · 4 months ago

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I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x fem!moon summoner!Alina's sister! reader Summary: After the events of the fold and the fight against Aleksander, you, Alina, Mal, Baghra, Zoya, Feydor, and the Six of certain Crows join forces against the Dark General, who is trying to take over Ravka. But instead of hating YOUR Aleksander with all your heart, you still believe that you can influence him and stop the civil war in Ravka. Inspired by: Taylor Swift - I Can Fix Hhim (No Really I Can) Taglist: @aoi-targaryen @il0vebeingdelulu @chelseyyouraverageluigi @watersquirtpewpewboomm @summersummoner-pat Aleksander Morozova's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist

They shake their heads sayin', "God, help her" When I tell 'em he's my man But your good Lord doesn't need to lift a finger I can fix him, no, really, I can And only I can... maybe I can't. Taylor Swift - I Can Fix Hhim (No Really I Can)

You can't help but shudder as you observe the fold from the hill you're standing on. Sometimes at night, you dream about how HE created it. As shadow flew from his mouth along with a desperate scream, creating a shadow fold with creatures destroying everything and anyone on their way instead of an army that was supposed to save his people.

The bond between you is still there. Even though Alina made sure that the amplifiers he placed in you were completely inactive and removed. Sometimes you envied her for not having these strange visions about Aleksander's past. Maybe then you could hate him blindly instead of gradually starting to see the point in his reasoning and actions.

“You should be sleeping.” You close your eyes and sigh as you hear the old witch's voice. Baghra's presence was like salt to the wounds that her son inflicted on you. She didn't help you move on from Aleksander at all. Even telling you only the worst, bloody, dark stories of his past didn't change how you felt. And God knows how hard you tried to hate him after all this time you were running away from him and his people. "Ignoring me won't make your situation better. Only I can help you with this bond between you and my son; you know it well. Besides, you have a long road ahead of you. Your summoning skills are poor; he would defeat you with a wave of his finger. You are a better summoner of the sun than of the shadows."

"I am the moon summoner. Not some strange hybrid." You huff offendedly, stroking your thumb over the back of your left hand—more specifically, the small scar left after Morozova's stag amplifier.

"Moon summoner? Who called you that?"

"Your son." You say scathingly, enjoying the silence that came after your words.

You congratulate yourself as the smirk disappears from her face. You fondly remember how he gave you that nickname during one of your late-night meetings in his war room.

You were both night owls; it made sense that you would want to spend your time with the general who personally trained you in the use of shadows rather than senselessly tossing and turning in your bed, waiting for a sleep that would never come, right? Besides, over time, you went to his chambers to toss and turn in HIS bed. And not because you couldn't sleep...

"You still can't see it? He only wanted your power. Nothing more. He cares more about Alina than you, since your powers are weaker than theirs. You can control two elements and be the first to summon shadows and not be from our family, but you will never compare to them. And Aleksander is a greedy man, like all of them. He won't be satisfied with a naive girl whose powers depend on the time of day."

"I understand." You answered calmly. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the woman staring at you in shock, believing for a moment that you had actually moved on. But you can't stop a small, mocking smile from appearing. "Instead of standing here and looking at me stupidly, you'd better check on the others. I hope Zoya hasn't killed poor Mal yet."

"Silly girl. May the saints watch over you." She comments, shaking her head.

"Your good saints don't need to lift a little finger! I can fix him." You hear her mutter something to herself as she walks away, leaving you alone and not even responding to your taunt.

You sigh, playing with the sleeve of your coat as you stare at the fold. You could have fixed him. Really. He didn't need much. He was a good man, and maybe others didn't see in him what you did, but you deeply believed that the real Aleksander Morozova still lived under the mask of the Darkling.

All you had to do was get him out. And only you were able to do it.

You close your eyes, letting the moonlight fall on your face as you focus to summon your own light. You sigh in defeat, playing with the tiny ball in your hands, which quickly dissolves the moment you let the shadows slip through your fingers—as usual, too weak to summon a light bigger than your fist in the dark of night.

You pull the hood of your cloak over your head and go back to the camp, thinking about the nights when you could summon anything you wanted in Aleksander's arms. How dependent you had become on him... Alina had told you more than once that you should have known better than to listen and believe the enticing promises of monsters whispered in the darkness of night.

But was it really your fault that you still wished you could sink into the warmth of his embrace and sheets where you didn't have to worry about whether you'd live to see tomorrow? With Aleksander by your side, at least you never had to question your usefulness.

You were both his stars and his darkness. And while Baghra's whispers sometimes made you doubt it, in your dreams you remembered how much your Shadow Summoner valued your presence. And that despite how the world saw him, he wasn't really the villain in this story. He was just a fallen angel, a saint you had to put his halo back on and give the stars back to. Or at least that's what you wanted to believe.

After all, only you could fix him.

"And who is she?" Prince Nikolai's piercing gaze meets yours as you, Alina, Mal, and Baghra meet his band of rebels on the ship.

Alina told you that if you were to defeat Aleksander, who was growing stronger every day after the King of Ravka declared Grisha, who did not join the First Army public enemies, you needed to obtain an amplifier of some sea creature.

You didn't listen to her very much, though. You were busy talking to Aleksander at night... mostly trying to connect with him or watch him from the shadows. You only briefly listened to the plans they were making. After all, they didn't need you as long as Alina and Baghra were in good shape. You were only a spare summoner in case one of them did not have enough power. Another reason why you preferred to spend more of your time and energy trying to contact your Sasha.

Maybe at least he would consider you useful.

"Wait... I know you from somewhere... Aren't you the Darkling's girl? The one he gave flowers to at the Winter Festival?" A man with a ridiculous hat and guns at his side asks you. You roll your eyes at him, sighing.

"Yup. That was me." You admit it—a wave of whispers spreading across the deck of the ship. You feel the judging glances of the other crows at you.

"Poor girl. Fortunately, you've got it over with now. If you're lucky, next time you'll see him, he'll be dead." Nikolai comforts you, patting your shoulder. You move away from him, narrowing your eyes at him as you brush invisible dust from your arm—right where he touched you.

For them, his death would be a salvation. For you, it's the worst thing that could happen to you. Even worse than losing your own power.

"Oh, believe me, my prince. I can handle me a dangerous man like him." You reply, ignoring the angry look Alina gives you.

Nikolai chuckles awkwardly, responding with something joking to your remark. The group gathers in the captain's office over a table with reports, papers, maps, and Morozova's notes. They are discussing the plan, but you can't focus too much on it. You stare at the map, wondering where Aleksander could be right now, as memories of the Winter Fete come flooding back to you.

"I don't recall this thing as a part of the schedule. I thought it was only you and Alina who entertained people while I was looking lovely while standing next to the Fedyor and Genya for the whole night." You say it in an accusatory tone as you enter his chambers. You hear his small, deep chuckle as he closes the door behind you and turns on the lights in the room.

"And here I thought that flowers would help me get into your good graces, and you would forget that I dared to save you from the king's wandering eyes and keep you for myself in our shadows." He replies teasingly, slowly walking around the war table to join you.

"The flowers are pretty... but I'd like you to remember that I don't just control shadows. I am the moon summoner. A combination of both light and dark. You called me that yourself. So don't underestimate me just because I can't yet do what you and Alina can do." He frowns at your words and shakes his head. He brushes away some stray strands of hair that had fallen out of your elaborately styled hairstyle made by Genya and stares at you intently.

If you could, you would stare into his dark, chocolate eyes forever. And you weren't even ashamed of it.

"I don't underestimate you. I'm protecting you. Alina had already caught their attention—the king and his pampered prince. I don't want you to be next. Besides... am I so selfish that I want you to shine just for me?" His (not so innocent) question and the sweet smile he gives you make your heart melt for him. You pull him towards you by the collar of his kefta and kiss him sweetly, lazily caressing his plush lips with yours.

Aleksander Kirigan was addictive. His kisses were sweeter than the sweetest dessert you had ever eaten in the Little Palace's kitchen late at night with him, and his scent was intoxicating in the most dangerous way. You would never forgive yourself if you lost him; you couldn't imagine how your life would have looked if he hadn't shown up, literally swept you off your feet, and didn't take you into his strong arms.

You didn't know what he saw in you that convinced him to make you his, but you decided not to question it as long as he was your man and only yours. Even if he was a bit possessive at times.

"A little... but I think I can handle it." You whisper as you break apart after getting out of breath. His thumb caresses your cheek tenderly as he looks at you, smiling. You feel the light flow out of you under his touch. "How does it work? That you make me unleash my powers no matter the time of day?"

"You just need… a little boost. Once we find Morozova's stag, I'll make sure that you will get an amplifier from its bones. You'll be able to control shadows and light regardless of the position of the sun or moon." He assures you, tracing a few pegs with his thumb on your waist, massaging you as he slowly pushes you towards the war table.

"How romantic... men give their ladies jewellery, chocolates, and other sweet things, and I will get a bone amplifier from my man."

"Your man?" He asks teasingly, raising an eyebrow at you. His hands rest gently on your hips, playing with the fabric of your black kefta as he leans over you. His nose brushes against yours, and his dark eyes never leave yours as he plays with your belt, slowly undoing it.

"Aren't you one?" You answer his question with your own as he undoes the buttons on your kefta. He slides it gently onto the war table behind you, leaving you in your black silk dress. You shiver as his fingertips touch the bare skin of your arm and collarbone.

"I think I am..." He whispers, placing kisses on your neck. You purr as he coaxes both moans and light from you. You feel the heat on your skin grow with every second his mouth explores your skin, your power wanting to burst out of you to light up his war room.

"Aleks.. hmph..." You gasp as his lips connect with yours in a frenzied kiss.

You give him everything he demands. Your mouth, your tongue, your moans, your light, and your darkness, to play with as he sees fit. Nothing matters to you except his touch and his mouth and the way he uses them to caress you in the most lustful and pleasurable way, dedicated only to two people with a true, strong, untamed, and unpredictable connection.

You feel like he's everywhere. He is in your body, soul, heart, and mind. Your every little thought, breath, heartbeat, and moan of pleasure belongs to him. And he enjoys them immensely, almost as much as you enjoy his service. Aleksander serves your pleasure as he does to his Grisha—completely losing himself in you, giving you everything he possibly can. He is fucking you in the most demanding and breathtaking way, making you feel like nothing else exists for you but him.

As always, he's your crutch as you dig your fingers into him for a foothold, your muscles completely failing you as he guides you over the edge of bliss. Light floods the room, dispelling the shadows you and Aleksander had summoned earlier. He could just as easily take your powers away at that moment, and all you'd do is thank him and beg him for more.

You tug on his hair, pulling him into a kiss as you feel his movements become less regular and more desperate as he too approaches the peak of his pleasure. You find that the beautiful music that drifts through the window of the Grand Palace cannot compare to the sound your Darkling makes as he lets go of his control and restraint completely and allows himself to lose himself in you.

His shadows consume the room, making you see nothing, but at the same time you feel so much… and you can't say you don't like it.

You’re glad you can bite into his skin to muffle your moans a little. At least it’ll allow you to look Ivan in the eyes when you leave this room with Aleksander after Ivan calls him on urgent business.

Although your heartbeat remains unchanged as Aleksander’s hand grips yours tightly when he leads you through the corridors of the Little Palace. And from the uncomfortable grunt of the heartrender, you suspect that Aleksander’s heart is beating at least as fast in his chest as in yours. And it’s not all because of the adrenaline rush of learning of your sister’s sudden disappearance.

"I can feel your breathing on my neck, Aleksander." You whisper into the darkness, standing on the bow of the ship and staring at the foamy sea in front of you.

You shiver as familiar arms wrap around your waist. His warmer, bearded cheek rests against yours as you peacefully stare at the nightscape in front of you. Aleksander's fingertips stroked your sea serpent scale bracelet—your second amplifier that you, Alina, and her great team managed to get a few hours ago.

"You are becoming more and more powerful, milaya. Too powerful for my taste." He murmurs against your ear, and teasingly licks your lobe with his tongue. You tremble in his arms, biting your lip as you try to find some shred of control.

"Now that we don't talk, I don't care much. You should rather go and torment my sister, good Saints know that's your favorite thing to do lately." You huff and untangle yourself from his arms (which he reluctantly allows you to do). You walk to the starboard side and ignore him completely, playing with the shadows that came with his 'projection'.

"Jealous?" He asks teasingly. He acts too smug for your liking as he stands next to you and brushes your arm with his.

You don't know how exactly your connection allows him to appear next to you at any time he wants, but you don't like it, not when you can't do something similar and torment him whenever you want.

"About you? Never. We both know you're mine. But that doesn't mean I'm not irritated by you trying to seduce my sister into your plans." You reply, focussing your gaze on him. You allow yourself to take a closer look at the scars on his face—a new thing about his appearance besides the kefta in yours and his colours that Alina had mentioned to you.

The fold had clearly hurt you in more ways than one. And looking at Aleksander you can't help but feel sorry for him, because you imagine how much those wounds must have hurt him. You wonder if it hurt him more than when you both broke your hearts back on the ship in the fold.

Even more so, you cannot understand why he insists on keeping the fold and widening it.

"To be honest, I was hoping you'd react to my little... tamptetion of your sister and come to me to knock some sense into me. Then I could tie you to my bed and keep you with me. Maybe I should collar you like I did to Alina, since you ran away from me and betrayed not only me but also our people, our Grisha. Tell me, did my dear mother also convince you that she gave birth to a monster? Are you afraid of me, malyshka? Are you disgusted by the things I taught you and did to you in the darkness?"

"Not at all. You've been such an angel in those nights… pleasing me so well with your silver-tongue. What a shame you decided that you'd rather play with Ravka than with my pussy." You reply, running your hand over his jaw teasingly.

His beard is longer than usual, rougher, and standing so close to him you can see the outline of the black bags under his eyes. The civil war took its toll on him. But he was still too damn handsome to resist.

"Look how I depraved you, my sweet, little, innocent Saint. Just a few months ago, you blushed at my mere words—not to mention my touch—and completely forgot to respond with anything of your own. What a diligent student you became, milaya. Have you found a new teacher yet?"

"Why did you ask? Haven't you found some new students?" You ask mockingly, pushing his wandering hand away from your waist.

"Why should I waste my time teaching someone the tricks I've already shown you? It is much easier and more advantageous, for me, to find you and drag you with me back to the Little Palace than even start to look around for someone else. After all, I didn't spend that sleepless night, teaching you how to please me, just to let the other man enjoy the fruits of my hard work."

"Who said no one else than you haven't enjoyed it already?"

He responded to your teasing question with a low growl. He grabs your hips tightly, making sure that you won't run away from him and press his hips to your ass. Goosebumps appear on your skin, and your heartbeat speeds up when you feel his manhood against your body.

"You wouldn't dare. You know I would kill anyone who would even think about touching you. You are mine, my little moon. All mine."

"Right now, you are too far away to order me or claim your right to me, Aleksander. What a pity… especially when there are so many men who could be called mine instead of you." You said and pushed him away from you. "Have fun at your war." You growl at him and move to go under the ship's deck.

But you don't make it far away from him. After just a few steps, Aleksander grabs your arm and pulls you to his chest. Shadows swirl around you, making you unable to see anything. All you can feel is their coldness, the warmth emanating from Aleksander's chest, and his scent, which is like a drug to you after a long withdrawal—more addictive than anything in the world.

"Why the rush? Don't you want to spend a few more minutes with me? The Saints know I would. Very much so." He murmurs to your ear, making you shiver as his hands are holding you tightly, his fingertips dig into your arm, probably leaving you bruised the next day.

"Before or after you will destory half of the Ravka?"

"I haven't decided yet." He growls and leans towards you. Before you can react, he's tangling his hand in your hair and pulling you in, claiming your mouth in a passionate kiss.

You gasp, enjoying the sudden, unexpected feeling of his soft lips on yours. You instinctively tangle your hand in his night-black hair and pull him closer to you, biting his lower lip. You moan at the taste of his blood on your tongue, his fingers digging into your waist. He lifts you, forcing your legs to wrap around his waist as he pins you against the wooden wall of the ship.

He takes your air, every logical thought, and every heartbeat, stealing everything that's left of you to remind you that every last bit of you was tainted by him and will forever belong to him. No matter what he did, Alexander had claimed every last bit of you, all of you, and left nothing for anyone else, as if he would ever allow another person's lips to touch the places that were his.

His lips move to your neck, nibbling there and leaving a trail of hickies. His beard tickles your skin as you feel the familiar tingle of sunlight trying to break through you as his skin meets yours.

You freeze, realising that Aleksander is standing before you in his own flesh. This isn't a vision, a nightmare, or anything else. It's him. The REAL HIM.

You take a deep breath, but before you can say or scream, Aleksander's large, calloused hand covers your lips, which are chapped from the sea air.

"I told you I'd come back for you, milaya. No matter how far or fast you run, I'll always find you and bring you back to your rightful place. At my side." He whispers in your ear, sending a cold shiver down your spine and your heart racing, adrenaline pumping as you try to summon your shadows.

Any hopes you have of escaping are dashed by the sight of Ivan's red kefta behind Aleksander. Heartrender quickly slows your heart rate, sending you into a sleep state. The last thing you see as you collapse into the Darkling's arms is a bright light that must be coming from your sister. And part of you is glad you're unconscious. It means you don't have to look her in the eyes as you realise your mistake.

Strangely enough, you don't wake up on a ship at sea. Or handcuffed in some filthy cell. You wake up in a comfortable, warm bed in an unfamiliar chamber.

You sigh, stretching your aching muscles. You roll over, pulling the black silk sheets off of you, rubbing your hand over your eyes as the sunlight hits them.

You are surprised to find no one around you. Not a single living soul. You suspect that Aleksander has placed a heartrender by your door to watch over you. You decide to get out of bed and investigate your surroundings.

Your legs tremble as you slowly get out of bed. You steer yourself towards the window, using the wall as a support. You gasp as you see the buildings through the window, the houses of Os Alta, and most of all the familiar structure that was the Little Palace.

You shiver as the door suddenly opens with a bang. You turn around, watching Ivan carefully as he enters the room.

"You're finally awake. The Tsar wants to see you." He informs you and walks over to the closet. He pulls out a black kefta and hands it to you. You stare at the material for a moment, trying to make sense of what's happening around you.

"I won't wear this." You say stubbornly, refusing to wear his colors. You're too angry at him for kidnapping you to grant him any more small victories in your... little war.

"I doubt it will make him angry. Probably quite the opposite." Ivan comments, significantly lowering his gaze to the nightgown you have been dressed in.

You roll your eyes at him and yank the black cloth out of his hands. You expect to see an all-black kefta, similar to the one Alexander gave you at the Winter Fete, but you are… surprised to see embroidered silver detailing on the sleeves. You raise an eyebrow at Ivan, but he seems to ignore you, patiently waiting to be escorted to the throne room to face the new Tsar.

You reluctantly follow the heartrender, aware that your power is limited by the metal bracelet on your wrist—an accessory you remember vividly from when the Darkling entered the fold with you, Alina, and the Ravkan dignitaries.

You shiver uncontrollably as you remember what happened in the fold.

It was your first time crossing the fold, and Aleksander knew it, as well as the fact that you were afraid to cross the creation that killed your parents. Your only consolation was that now, if need be, you could summon at least a small ball of light to scare away the volcra. And that Alina would be there with you. But your Shadow Summoner had never even mentioned to you that your sister would join you on the ship against her will. A small omission of fact that had been happening to him more and more often lately.

"I can hear your thoughts." As if on cue, he stands right behind you. His hand—the one with the amplifier—reaches for yours and intertwined your fingers, squeezing your hand tightly in his grip.

"It's a pity that you only hear them and don't think about them even for a moment." You reply snidely, swallowing hard as you stare at your sister’s collar. When her gaze meets yours, you drop your gaze to her shoes.

"It had to be done. You know it."

"Do I? You haven't been telling me anything lately. You just keep saying that I'm too weak to fulfil your plans and that you need Alina." You reply angrily, turning to look into his dark as fold eyes. You shiver as you watch him clench his jaw and narrow his gaze at you, trying to ignore the curious glances of the invited nobility as he is trying to respond calmly to your allegations.

"I never said you were too weak. I said you needed an amplifier to unlock your true potential."

"And what difference does it make?" You snap at him madly, wishing you had more control over your emotions than he does. You guess it'll take you ages to master the ability of keeping up your mask of indifference like he does.

"That I know what you're truly capable of. Don't you think I'd rather stand by your side as we pursue our plan? Do you think that I wanted to do this to your sister? That I'm the monster my mother painted for her and you? Everything I do, I do for the sake of Grisha. For us. For you. I… I just need a little trust from you. That's all I'm asking, milaya."

"And you need to know how hard it is to trust you when my sister is chained to the floor of the ship, with a collar around her neck so you can control her powers." You whisper, voice breaking, holding back the tears as you face both your immense love for the man before you and your hatred for what he did to your sister.

"She never wanted it."

"But now she wants. Just like I never thought you could be more than the Black General to me, and here we are." At your words, he softens a little. He sighs and looks around. You can see that he is struggling with his thoughts, that he is considering your words, but you know as well as he does that your relationship is too weak for him to change his entire plan with one word from you.

You shiver, not from the cold that your black coat, strikingly similar to the one he wears, protects you from, but from a premonition of what's about to happen. Something you definitely won't like. But you allow yourself to delude yourself a little longer that everything will be okay. You reach for his hand and place a quick kiss on it, pressing your lips not to the bony amplifier but to his skin, which makes his gaze focus fully on yours again. As if you really were going to be his light in the darkness.

"Please... just don't prove me wrong. Don't make me regret trusting you so blindly." He doesn't respond to your pleas—something that should make you at least a little suspicious. But he doesn't. Instead, he tangles his hand in your hair, pulling you closer. He presses a kiss to your forehead, appreciating the feeling of your body against him for a moment longer before he lets you go completely to take care of Alina.

Now you know it was a farewell, that he knew you would not accept how he used your sister's power to intimidate those on the ship, engulfing Novo-Kirbirks in the darkness of the Fold.

Then everything happened so fast. And you're really grateful to Alina for dragging you to another ship, even though you were cursing her name and howling in the darkness of the Folds louder than the volcras. Because you know you would have jumped after Aleksander regardless, trying to protect him at all costs from the monsters he himself had created.

“We’re here.” Ivan announces, pulling you out of your thoughts. You literally only had a few seconds to prepare yourself to confront Aleksander before you were shoved into the throne room, the doors slamming shut behind you.

Before your eyes land on the Tsar, you allow yourself to scan the room for a moment. The throne room underwent a major renovation. It resembled one of the rooms of the Little Palace more than the former throne room of the Lantsovs.

As you might expect, the dominant colours are black and gold. Surprisingly, instead of sitting on his new black marble throne engraved with a solar eclipse, Aleksander is standing at a round table with a map of Ravka. His gaze meets yours, sending an electric shiver through you.

But what surprises you the most is that there are two thrones present in the throne room. Not one. And the second one has an engraving of a crescent moon.

"I heard you called yourself tsar, but somehow the rumor about you taking over the capital never reached me."

"You might have slept through it, Sankta Y/N." He responds to your mockery with his own. You wrinkle your nose at the sound of your most hated nickname.

"And how long exactly was I in that forced nap?" You ask, walking towards him with your arms folded. You lift your chin at him as he frowns at your defensive posture.

He puts down the reports he was reading before you arrived and takes a step towards you. You resist the instinct that tells you to back away from him, just as the one that demands from you to come closer to him and snuggle into him.

You marvel at how he managed to evoke in you both blazing fear and rage, as well as lust and love. The desire to be close to him seemed unable to weaken at all. No matter what he did, a part of you would always be his. And it was something you strangely didn't want to fight.

"A few weeks."

"Hmm… how nice. And how many times have you used my powers in your little plan to take over the title of Tsar, the Grand Palace, and well, probably all of Ravka in those few weeks?" You ask snidely, glancing briefly at Ravka's map and the papers on the table.

"You sound like you're suggesting that this was something I wanted to do, or at least something a little enjoyable for me. And I thought that you, of all people, knew me at least a little better."

"Do I?" You raise a questioning eyebrow at him, staring straight into those dark irises, trying to ignore the black scars on his face that you haven't had a chance to get used to yet. You can't help but wonder how he's put up with his... new face.

"You're asking me?"

"And who should I? Of the two of us, I'm not the master of half-truths here." You question him, undeterred by the shadows around him growing thicker with each of your mocking words.

"It wasn't a half-truth… I just kept some things in the dark to protect you."

"And look where your defending me has gotten us. What exactly were you trying to defend me from? From your mother, Fjerdan, Drüskelle, or perhaps from yourself, Aleksander?"

"I… it wasn't supposed to be like this."

You sigh, taking a step towards him. You place one hand on his kefta, just above his heart, and with the other, you cup his bearded cheek, forcing him to look at you.

"So tell me. Let me in on your plans. Don't treat me like a pawn in your game, but as your equal. Unless you do consider me as someone beneath you."

"You ARE my equal." He quickly confirms and takes your hand (the one resting on his chest) in a tight grip, intertwining your fingers as he stares at you pleadingly, feeling how close he is to having you on his side.

And all Aleksander ever wanted was to not be alone in his fight for Grisha. And he would have that. He would have you even if you ran away from him, screamed at him, called him a monster, and cursed him to the saints, if it meant he would never have to struggle against the world alone again.

"So start treating me like one." You reply and look pointedly at the bracelets on your wrists.

You see the internal battle that is going on inside him. You see him struggling to let you in and to be as vulnerable with you as you have allowed yourself to be with him. You know his past, you know perfectly well what he's struggled with, what he's been through over the hundreds of years, but if he wanted you on his side, he had to at least show you in some way that he was able to trust you the way you trusted him.

"I… you can't expect me to… after all this…"

"You once asked me to trust you. I did. Why can't I expect the same from you?" You ask, looking at him expectantly. "Do you think I am capable of hurting you more than you've already hurt me, moi Tsar?"

"That was never my intention." He frowns, refuting your accusations. He steps back, creating some distance between you, giving in to his defensive reflexes. But you don't back down. You'll make a good boy out of him and make him come to you and fall into your trap. He just needed a little push...

"I know. Which doesn't change the fact that I pay a price for loving you, and you, Aleksander? It would be so much easier for me to hate you. But I can't. I don't want to. So please, for OUR sake, don't give me a reason to."

You look up at him pleadingly with your most beautiful doe eyes and stop your lips from forming a smile when you see the effect it has on him as he slowly begins to melt his attitude.

You take a step towards him and grab him by the collar of his kefta. He stiffens for a moment but calms down when you pull him to rest your forehead against his. He sighs shakily and tangles a hand in your hair, stroking your temple with his thumb.

"Aren't you tired? Of fighting all the time, giving them everything and never getting anything in return? How many lives have you spent sacrificing yourself to Grisha, and how many have truly belonged to you?" You whisper and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. His beard tickles yours and you smile slightly at the familiar, comforting feeling. You open your eyes and stare into his dark irises, mumbling against his lips. "We could have had this, Aleksander. We could have made Ravka stronger together, united Grisha and Otkazat'sya, built an empire the likes of which no one had ever seen before. We still can. I can convince Alina and the rest that you can be trusted, that our goals are aligned, only two paths lead to them, which we can connect, everything can still be changed. You no longer have to fight alone."

"You think I haven't tried their way? Grisha will never be treated as their equals. Not if we don't use force, if we don't instill fear in them."

"Aleksander... they are already afraid enough. Please. Let's find the last amplifier and end this. Don't you think it's taking too long? We can repel the Fjerdan, stop the Drüskelle attacks, intimidate the Shu Han, and bring peace and security, but only by combining our forces."

"It's too late for that."

"Who said that?" You ask, stroking the black scar on his cheek with your fingertip. He trembles under your touch, burying his face in your hand.

"They won't see me as anything more than a monster."

"Now yes. But I can show them the real you. My man."

"Your man?" He raises an eyebrow at you, placing a hand on your shoulder and caressing your collarbone tenderly. You shiver as you feel the power flow through you, answering the amplifier’s call.

"Aren't you?" You whisper, looking at him from under your lashes and lightly biting your lower lip.

A moment later, he gives in and leans forward, capturing your lips in a kiss. You sigh, tangling your hands in his hair and pressing your body against his. He pulls you back with him and sinks into the throne, with you on his lap.

You move your hands to his chest and slowly undo the clasps of his kefta, peeling the black material off of it. Alexander pulls away from your mouth and presses kisses along your jaw and neck, nipping and biting at your skin, marking it with hickeys as you work to undo his shirt.

You hold your breath and stop your movements as the bracelets on your wrists are suddenly removed. Aleksander places tender kisses on them, causing both light and shadow to flow from your fingers. You sigh, pressing your lips to his forehead and burying your nose in his hair, inhaling his scent.

"I think I am." He mumbles against the skin of your neck, his beard giving you small tickles that make your lips curve into a little smile. You lazily run your fingers through his hair and pull away so you can look at him.

You trace the black scar on his cheek with your fingertips, caressing it gently. Aleksander holds his breath for a moment and places his hand on your thigh, squeezing it when you touch a particularly sensitive spot on his still-aching wounds. Your heart aches to see him like this. You swear to yourself that this is the last time you'll leave him with his shadows, that you'll let anyone tear you from his arms and leave him alone in the darkness.

As you sit on his lap in his throne room... your throne room, you wonder how the hell you're going to explain this to Alina and the others. You wonder how you're going to convince them that you haven't completely lost your minds to the man beneath you and how to convince them that you both have only the best interests of Ravka in mind and have no intention of harming anyone in the process of increasing the freedom, security, and importance of Grisha.

You decide that's a problem for another time. Right now, you were happy to bask in Aleksander's embrace, warmth, and scent.

"Moya tsaritsa..." He whispers in your ear as he works on taking off your kefta.

Yep, you could definitely fix him... or at least that's what you wanted to think as he showed you heaven in the ruins of what was once Ravka. After all, a fallen angel is also an angel.

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year ago

Text

To Hunt a Silver Stag (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Knight!Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Fae Princess!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 6.9k

WARNINGS: Arranged marriage, talks of childbirth, traditional views of women & men in medieval times, talks of war, death, heavy religious imagery/symbolism, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You wore a crown of deer antlers atop your head. Charms were woven into the gaps between the tines, attached to golden thread; jewels of starlight strung like teardrops from the moon. Your feet, staying still on the hard stone of the Great Hall, are bare though attract no dirt or dust—it is as if the very ethereal aura that coats your gown of pure white repels any such thought of uncleanliness or corruption of this mortal plane.

You are so very far from home.

Standing in the center of your soon-to-be husband’s court, your eyes seem not to be on the man himself, who watches you greedily from the throne of black iron, but instead behind him. Blank of any emotion, your long lashes blink in the direction of the stained glass windows with a horrible longing. Whispers from the multitude of court attendants go in one ear and out the other—useless to you. Their time would be gone in a blink, and yet here you would remain, immemorial. Their words were nothing, and their utterances would turn to dust faster than their bodies would.

You can’t help but wonder if those colorful depictions in that glass window, of God and his valiant angels, are mocking you as you blink at them slowly. Not only for what you are and where you now find yourself in the kingdom of your enemies but for being so full of the very qualities that would normally resign a woman of this age to the stake.

Independent, confident, and curious, among others.

A voice raises above the rest, and your eyes blink elegantly, the silver hue to them unnatural in all senses. Yet, you do not look away from the mighty white stag, its soldered bits of thin glass a patchwork of an overwatching Lord. Saint Eustace is there, staring at it, just as was told from generation to generation.

A pagan man converted to Christianity, the symbol of a cross set between antlers very much like the ones adorning your head. Humming under your breath, your eyes dip down, chin moving. Below the window, there stands a tall knight, and your gaze locks with his softly.

“Today,” the King’s voice echoes over the crowd as brown orbs stare at you, blinking. “We are here to celebrate the joining of two great bloodlines!” He stands with a grand cape over his shoulders, falling to the floor as his boots stand at the top of the stairs to the throne. Yet, this knight holds your attention more than your Promised does as the cheering starts, loud; making your ears twitch.

At your waist, a golden belt is engraved with expert attention, stories woven into metal that even seem to move with the magic embedded into it. It seems to hum with an energy that makes your eyes narrow in confusion upon this stranger.

He had brown eyes, the knight, and the hues reminded you of brown that you could see in the trees of your home—those old beasts that grew still with the magic of your line and your gentle touch. Surrounding him, there was silver armor and a strip of red fabric that went over one shoulder, hanging beside the items of his station; a sword and a dagger on a brown leather belt.

Brows furrowing, your head tilts slowly, unblinking, as the eye contact persists.

A bold man, it seems.

The knight’s eyelids slightly widen, as if realizing he had been staring, and his face swiftly moves to the side, his short hair close to his oval skull. You hear the faint clearing of a throat come into the shell of your pointed ears.

Sighing, your focus returns to the matter at hand, the crown’s adornments clinking together as your head rotates. The speech.

King Michael spreads his hands out, a man far into his older years but still had the gleam of malice in his eyes. Those beady things. They remind you of a rat—a small creature, while intelligent, that cannot win unless through tricks.

“We all know that magic has slowly been disappearing from the lands,” the King utters, voice echoing off the walls. Your hands are holding themselves near your abdomen, grace embedded into your bones. Watching how he speaks, you can’t deny he was influential. But influence didn’t matter when you had no wife—no children. He has a dying line, and that means weakness…which is why you’re here, after all. “And in that time, our war with the Fae has fallen into a stalemate.”

Your expression sharpens, fingers twitching. Stalemate? There were humans in your lands—spreading their fires and swinging their defiling iron swords. There was no war here except the one that this King was perpetuating.

But you held your tongue, even if your silver eyes narrowed in an ancient, bitter, anger. Your head raises itself higher, hanging gemstones swinging. The knight near the stained glass is back to watching you—his feet shifting from under him, hands behind his armored back with loose shoulders.

“...Today, myself and the King of the Fae have come to an agreement in confidence, and in the fashion of old, I am to be wed to his daughter, a princess!” Gasps, cheers, clapping. They spring up from all corners of the Hall, bouncing. Your body longs for nature, to be away from rock and metal, these suffocating walls that close in with the gaggle of wretched corpses walking. “Peace shall be beholden to all of us! Magic shall come back into my bloodline through our many children, and all will share in its wealth!”

You had compared yourself to a broodmare when your father had given the news of your journey here. A womb to be filled until you could give no more; restrained to a bed—away from any privilege and right.

And you’d been sent here anyway. A price needed to be paid, your father had told you. A daughter to stop the war. A child to bring back mortal magic and keep the peace through generations. Was your head to be put to the block for that? Who was to say that children would bring peace? That there weren’t more conflicts to come?

This was a momentary sacrifice, and here you were wearing white.

You hum under your breath and feel shackles tie themselves to your ankles; tying you to this place. But what other option did you have?

Your ears listen to the loud rapturous cheering, the exclamations of love that mean nothing to you—you do not love these people, do not love their need for violence and their pride. You want to go home, to find where you can rest among glades and grass. Converse with the birds and the beasts to learn of their news of far-off lands; run your hands through clear streams and watch plants grow where you walk.

As your stone body stays still, silver eyes unblinking, the knight near the window is the only man in the room not gazing at you like he wants something from you. While Lords have their eyes filled with lustful envy of your age-less skin—your finery and wealth; the promise of strong children, the knight is the only one with an open expression.

He only watches, handsome face holding the whispers of stubble and eyes that would make many moral women wish to be his wife.

Admittingly, your attention keeps going back to him, just as his own is stuck on you even as he tries to look professional. Back straight, armor glinting, sword pommel fiddled with by long fingers.

The King is walking down the stairs, one withered leg at a time. You don’t offer any help.

“My bride,” Michael licks his lips when he’s in front of you; but he’s more fixated on your stomach than all else. What it will hold for him. “My beautiful Fae bride. My wedding will be known through history for ages to come.”

My.

The world holds its breath. The knight’s jaw clenches, though no one sees it.

You take a heavy breath into your lungs to hold back your snapping tongue. As the words meet the air, they come out as unemotional as a wave at sea. Wind holding mist.

“Certainly.”

—

As it turned out, the castle itself was even less homely than the material that was used to build it. You walk slowly through the halls, hands behind your back and your crown glimmering—the trail of a thin and flowing gown making you look like a specter. One crudely carved window after another passes by your right shoulder, and you look out of every slit; seeing the silver shades of moonlight. In contrast, everything on your left was washed with firelight from the blazing iron sconces, your ears twitching to the pop of wood and fabric saturated in animal fat.

Everything here was horrible.

A prison, you think, slowing near one of the larger windows in the hall. A cage.

Staring outside, trying for only a moment to understand the disgusting castle and adjoined town you look at, there’s a faint noise from far down the corridor.

Wasting no time, your head moves slowly to the side, blinking. There isn’t anyone to be seen, but yet again, your slightly pointed ears twitch.

A firm heartbeat.

Bump-bump, bump-bump, bump-bump.

Staring at nothing, you listen for a moment, taking it in as your visage fights with blue and red light, shadows littering the small cracks and the marks of stone—your hands slightly tighten, but you hold no fear.

You refused to be afraid here; you would go to your spiritual death with a high head, and nothing less.

“It’s unbecoming to stalk as if a wolf,” you call, voice smooth and even. A beat of bird’s wings. “Four-legged beasts have perfected it, yet, the same cannot be said of you.”

There’s a lapse of silence—a swirling of slight tension that comes not from you but another. The heartbeat in your ear lightly skips. Startled. A shadow cusps one of the connected hallways, a gleam of silver armor. You blink slowly.

“Apologies, Ma’am.” The Knight. The one from the Great Hall. “I…didn’t mean to make you nervous.”

His lithe form doesn’t try to hide from your accusation, instead, his body moves to the middle of the stone floor and straightens—one hand going to his heart and the other behind his back; bowing. The darkness of his complexion seems to glow in the light, smooth skin besides the marring of small scars along the left cheek. Tiny things, only two lines.

For no reason at all, your body lightly turns towards him, watching.

“I’m not nervous,” you respond. “Please, stand straight.”

He does so without hesitation, though his eyes are avoiding yours. A guilty pull is to his lips that you can’t help but quirk a brow at. Yet, you remain emotionless, and outside the shadows of flying birds shift past.

“What is your name, Knight?” You see his expression slightly tense at the question, but you continue easily. A test, perhaps, if this man was worth your time. “I recall your face.”

“I can’t give you that, My Lady.” Brown eyes go to meet yours, and the silver flecks in your orbs glimmer. “My orders were clear.”

“And were those orders also to follow me?”

He clears his throat, feet shifting. “...Maybe.”

You hum, moving your body slowly and walking forward to him. The man blinks in surprise, straightening even more but a firm set to his eyes. His attention never wavers, unless it’s to glimpse your crown and belt, perfect pieces of artistry lost to this section of humanity. No mortal craftsman could imagine making something as such. He liked them, you notice at the light impression of awe in his gaze.

Anyone with sense would.

Stopping just a few feet away, you tilt your head.

It was common knowledge that you never gave your name to one of the Fae, your betrothed would have told everyone close to him to avoid doing so. Just as you would never tell your real name to anyone—not even under dire circumstances. Names hold power, and no person in this castle would make you even more of a prisoner than you already were.

You know the names of beasts and plants, flora and fauna—they bend to you, let you manipulate them to your will, though you often find no need to. The animals from any land prefer your company, anyway. The castle’s hunting hounds have already become well acquainted, just as the messenger birds had.

But mortals? No. No, there were no names that you knew besides the King himself, and even then it was a fake one. Second names and such, are common.

“Your title, then,” you say to the Knight. “If you’re to be a constant face to me.”

“Gaz is just fine, I’d say.” He nods his head, a slow smile moving his cheeks. Your brows furrow. Strange fellow. “A pleasure. I really do need to say that I wasn’t following you for long—I was only concerned you might have lost your way.”

You stare.

“Lost?” Owlishly, your head shifts.

Gaz makes a noise in the back of his throat, one hand coming up to rub at the base of his neck. “Yeah—lost. It’s, uh, it’s a big castle, My Lady—”

“Stag.” Wide eyes blink, this meeting is only awkward on his part and not yours. In fact, for how humans go, he was acting far better than most. Usually, there was iron being brandished by now.

“What was that?”

“My title,” you explain, your crown’s gems bright in the light. The fire crackles, popping. “Stag. I do not need my status stated. I know what I am, Knight.”

“Then I’d say the same,” your fingers twitch, liking the word game he plays. Inside of your sockets, the unnatural makeup of your eyes shimmers.

“Very well,” you pause, picking your words. “Gaz. A strange choice to be sure.”

He chuckles, nodding in a very stoic-like way despite the nearly boyish nature of him. “Well, Stag isn’t exactly common, either.”

You hum in your throat, unblinking; staring. Your intrigue grows the longer the man talks. Just like in the Great Hall, his form attracts all of your attention to it, against all laws that you seem to know in your soul.

“Pray tell,” you shift, moving back to the window with your feet not making a single sound. Gaz watches on, eyes flickering between the hanging gems and how you tread over the stone as if you had wings. Your form slips back to the window, and your focus once more goes outward. “Has the King told you to spy on me, Gaz?”

The title, even if not the one of his birth—not the one written on his soul like a brand—still made the air quiver with might. You were older than most of this kingdom, the Knight knew. Older than the oak trees of the nearby forest; older than rock and wind and air.

Power dripped off your tongue like water to a leaf.

But it wasn’t your influence that made the man answer you. It was his own nature.

“Yes,” Gaz says, taking a few steps to where you stand, watching a flock of birds dance above the courtyard, silver moon-drips illuminating white feathers. “But I wouldn’t call it spying. Officially, I’ve been put in place to keep you safe, Princess.” His dark brows crease when you don’t pay him any mind. “I take my job very seriously, yeah?”

“I can see that,” you utter, eyes still on the birds. “The only thing I need protecting from is the iron ring on your right hand.”

He startles, blinking for a moment.

“...Parden?”

Silver eyes pierce him, watching; waiting.

Gaz looks down, locking on the hand that has been resting on the pommel of his sword. Cape swishing, he makes a noise in the back of his throat. His sigil ring—the one that had been given over at his dubbing ceremony sat on the first digit, the engraving of his King’s coat of arms glimmering back.

A wolf; a snake caught in its fangs.

Brown eyes dart back, and he sheepishly smiles, huffing a chuckle of sorts.

“Comes with the job, unfortunately,” yet still, his other hand easily grasps and slips the thing off, tucking it away into the leather pouch swinging from his belt. “I thought that was a myth—the Fae being harmed by iron. Conjured up to give people something to cling to.”

“I can name a million things that men and women like you consider myth,” you mutter, starting at that pouch, deep in thought. You hadn’t expected him to give in that easily. Your shoulders loosen their rigidness, but your chin never drops its high pride. “Every story comes from somewhere—be it reality or wives’ tales. Who’s to say that the words don’t give them life in one form or another?”

“Bloody hell. Not a discussion to take up with me, I’m afraid,” Gaz huffs a chuckle, smirking. While still hesitant around you, the conversation wasn’t anything that made him want to not be around you. Everyone deserved to have their character shown, and what he was seeing so far wasn’t ringing any alarms. “Sound more of a scholar than a Princess, if you don’t mind me saying.”

Your lips quirk. “I prefer philosopher.”

“And what’s a Fae philosopher doing out in the middle of the night, then?” A breeze wafts through the window, blowing on your dress and making Gaz’s cape flutter in its bloodish tint. The torches whip and dance. You take a low breath, bird chips coming closer.

“Speaking with an old friend.”

A white dove lands on the stone opening of the window, fluttering wings coming to fold along its sleek form until it shakes and settles all at once.

“Lysander,” you say in greeting, nodding your head. Gaz watches, barely moving as his lips part in astonishment.

Your hand extends itself, bearing no rings or bracelets. All you needed was your crown. Tiny eyes blink as an angular head turns to the side, tiny coos sparking from a rounded breast. Pale feet grasp your perfect flesh, such a tiny weight settles before you lift effortlessly; wings flapping to keep balance.

“What news, then?” You ask in a whisper, bringing the beast to your crown. Lysander settles on one of the tines, head dipping down as feathers puff. Into your ear, words take shape.

You hum in answer, blinking at every clicked sentence; tapping talons.

Gaz stares blankly, eyebrows pulled up on his head and unable to articulate himself.

So many stories about your people—he hadn’t thought half of them to be true. While he’d been stationed in many places during the duration of this war, he’d never actually encountered one of the Fae before. Gaz had been told they were like a plague; they came in when you weren’t looking, spoke magic into your ears, and forced you to come back to their home and live as mindless beasts. Cupbearers and entertainment.

Of the countless knights he’d been in line with, he knew the true names of none of them. A precaution. Forethought.

Yet…you don’t look dangerous.

But the man is far from stupid.

“He says the fires from your forges burn his eyes,” your voice snaps him back to you, and he straightens, fingers twitching. Gaz finds your face already turned his way, owlish in its movements. “The smoke makes his throat ache.”

“I,” he pauses, mouth opening and closing. Brown eyes dart to the sharp-beaked dove; the thing very much like you in the way it watches him. “I’m…sorry?”

Your lips pull in a frown, sighing with a shake of your head.

I can never survive here, you find yourself thinking. I believed this is what I had to do, but if this is how I’m going to live…

“Tell me about your King, Gaz,” your body swiftly turns, feet carrying you down the corridor once more with long, even, steps. “If I’m to marry him, I will know of his nature.”

The man clears his throat and follows after, where you hear the clinking of silver and the scabbard against his thigh. He glances over at you, walking if not a bit behind yourself in proper fashion.

“What do you want to know, Ma’am?”

Your unnatural orbs shimmer, and the bird on your crown hunkers down; puffed contently and eager to rest his wings from a long flight.

“Everything. I will not be unaware of my fate.”

“Well,” Gaz sighs, rubbing at his chin with his opposite hand. He licks his lips, mind running to answer the best he can. “You’ll not want for anything—finery and wealth will—”

“I do not care about mortal revelry. I need neither fine things nor wealth.” Your voice curtly moves along the open air. The Knight’s boots connect with stone while your bare flesh emits nothing. “His character, Knight. Is he fair—just?”

Gaz’s face tightens, glancing from you to the hallway as he takes a moment to think.

“My King has…become troubled with the turning tides of the war. I’m sure when your marriage is official, he’ll go back to how he was before.” He doesn’t seem certain, but loyalty is a trait that a knight knows well. You had been set as his charge, of course, not under the best of circumstances, but he would do his job how he believed would benefit all parties. Even if his guts were stiff at the thought of a forced marriage.

“My Lady Stag?” He asks, and your heart jerks unexpectedly at the muttering of your title.

Blinking in confusion, your hand coming up to rub at your collarbone like a willow branch, you almost miss the question entirely.

“Where you come from, if I can ask, of course, what’s it like?” Your mind strays from marriage ceremonies and consummation—momentary peace slipping in on waves of this man’s smooth accent.

Mouth opening, only to close once and open again, you decide to indulge this man with your answer. If only because he speaks of your home.

“Green,” is the soft utterance of your answer to him. “It’s green. More trees and rivers than you can count in your lifetime. Animals each more fantastical than the last; all of which your people now call nothing but hearsay.”

You can sense his attention, sucking up knowledge as if he had the years to know and understand it all.

Lysander coos, shaking his feathers out, and you glance upward without moving your head. You chuckle like a blade of moving grass.

Blinking, Gaz slowly begins to smile, cocking his skull to the side boyishly. “What’s so funny, then?”

Your high nose twitches.

“He says you’re as if a Wyvern hatching. A curious thing.” Brown eyes drift to your companion, whose peaked eye pierces like black fire-stone. Gaz’s mouth releases a puff of a chuckle, chest jerking.

“Hell, never thought I’d get insulted by a bird.”

“Humans have not the ability to speak with beasts,” you ease out, walking on. “On that, I have to say you are at a sure disadvantage.”

“What?” Gaz’s amused voice is in your ear. “Minus the whole immortality thing?”

You side-eye him, visage calm with decades of understanding. “Not everything is built to last forever.”

A momentary silence falls between the two of you. Eyes locked, you both stare, legs carrying bodies across the unfeeling stone until the area Lysander had told you about takes form. You shift a slow right and exit into the inner courtyard, large stone walls making a small square of patchy green grass and dying plants. A fountain sits still.

“If this is to be a game of equal exchange, Knight, I desire to ask the next question.” Your eyes take it all in, hand moving out to capture the blackened leaves of a Medlar tree. Frowning at the dead fauna, you hear Lysander take to wing, flapping until his ghostly form lands on the far-off fountain’s edge.

“Alright,” Gaz nods, looking around at the dying place with a frown as well. He’d never come here before, but the state of things was…sad, really. “Ask away.”

“When you leave the castle—the town,” you let power move to your fingertips, and you feel the tingles of it running the lengths of your arms like ice and fire; taking a low breath. “What do you see? I admit, I’m not used to having company with humans. I know not how their souls feel.”

Gaz walks into the small enclosed space, humming as he taps the pommel of his sword. His shoulders shrug as his head tilts up, blinking at the stars.

“I wouldn’t see it as you would, I gather.”

You look over your shoulder, amusement in your face mixed with a slice of intrigue. “That wasn’t my question. But, no, you would not.”

“Figured,” he chuckles, nodding at you. Gaz articulates himself dutifully. “I see a place far more peaceful than the one here. Outside the stone and smog—it’s beautiful, truly. Calm. You can actually think above the noise, you know? I usually find myself wanting to get out more often, but my duty ties me here.”

Your eyes soften slightly, thumb running the face of the leaf as you take in his words. Lysander stoops to take a sip of water.

“You’re…” You lack the words, only humming and stopping yourself.

“Why are we here, Princess?” Gaz asks you, gazing around. “I had only expected you to walk to the kitchens—the library, even. Don’t get me wrong, you can go as you wish, but I’m not sure this is the most…” He grunts. “Sightly place to end up. Everything’s dead.”

“Nearly,” you whisper, a tiny smile taking over your flesh. “Not quite.”

Gaz’s frown is lost to you, as is his comment that he mutters, “Looks it.”

Leaning forward, you press your lips to the leaf you hold as if a precious object. Into its blackened and shriveled form, you whisper its name—its true name, one you had learned through years of patience and trust that bordered on an entirely trance-like state. A Medlar is a tough and stubborn thing, like the fruit it bears, it will hang on until all else is gone to dust. Its roots are strong, and from them, you had listened to the earth sing its songs one buzzing note at a time.

All things speak, you just have to know how to listen.

There’s a surge of wild order, a dichotomy of will and freedom; the sing of an axe and the memories of young saplings just gracing their leaves to the sun. A circle of death and rebirth as old as the stars that still shone in a sky of black.

You know many names, but those of the trees were the first to come to you, and it was only proper. Before anything, there were trees.

The Medlar shakes, its leaves dropping down one at a time until they come in groups, in clusters—bare branches shiver like dogs do until creaking ballads move over the air.

Starling, Gaz had taken a large step back, hand snapping to the handle of his sword, the blade half drawn. Lysander flies past his face, blunt talons skating the close-cropping of his hair before the bird grapples to your crown. Flinching, the knight watched with a mixture of horror and pure wonder.

The tree was sprouting new greens.

You step back, and from your feet, the dead grass quivers, before the smell of groaning earth makes his nose twitch; fresh blades show themselves anew. The dove atop your crown jumps from one sharp tine to the next, dodging lines of gold—eyes glinting and wings flapping excitedly.

Life is in the very air.

You smile to yourself, silver eyes moving as a nearly ancient-looking spark flares to life in them—a long breath entering your lungs.

Gaz’s face begins to heat as he watches, his heart pounding with something he can’t understand. He stares at your bright face before his fast-blinking eyes move to the grass growing all around; the bushes dancing, flowers opening up and turning to you. Birds gather on the edges of this verdant and fertile land, darting one by one to the fountain and to the trees. Singing.

The knight steps back, feet dancing over the ground with an airy laugh stuck in his throat.

“Holy hell…” he breathes, nearly panting.

Wide eyes move back to you, expression open, innocent. This was a moment when you truly believed you’d never seen a face more bare than this; more giving.

“You…” He laughs. “You’re tellin’ me you could always do that?” You chuckle, and it is a sound that could make roots grow in his heart, flowers bursting from his lungs. “I…I’m speechless, really. This is,” he laughs once more, turning a full circle, with his hand going to the back of his neck in shock. It was entirely new—all of it. Ivy climbed the stone, and the animals spoke and flew in the air; excitement something that transcends species. “This is extraordinary.”

You were something incredible.

Chuckling, you raise a slow brow, feeling a foreign heat move over your cheeks. It’s a moment before you speak, taken aback by the reverency.

“My thanks, Knight,” your head nods his way, a simple dip of your chin and nothing more. “But this is only a small courtyard. A fraction. If I so wished, forests could grow from ashen ground.”

“How?” He asks you, eyes glittering more than the moon.

Smaller birds join Lysander on your head, finches, perhaps, and sparrows. They tweet and chip, speaking their thanks. You reach up and let one move onto your finger, bringing it back to eye level as you move to softly connect your forehead to its own. Moving back, you hum and watch the bird fly off.

“Ages of practice,” you elegantly tip your head his way, careful of your cargo. “Quite verbatim.”

Gaz is speechless, unable to recall something in his life that had made him feel so special to be able to witness it. Magic to humans was a dying thing—you’d be surprised if he’d ever even seen it in this magnitude before.

“...Amazing,” he utters under his breath, smiling like a fool.

For all of your Fae trickery, your games, you had to be honest. “I don’t believe I thought you’d be this moved by it.”

“Really?” He blinks at you, a boyish twist to his face. “How could I bloody not be, Love?”

Your air gets stuck in your throat, eyes minutely widening.

Gaz quickly comes back to himself, straightening and clearing his throat as your face suddenly blazes in a way that startles you. Heart pattering like a horse’s hooves not only at the…different title but his awe at your magic as well.

“Forgive me, My Lady,” you choose not to correct him. “I overstepped.”

His body bends forward in a deep bow, hand to his heart, resting over his armor as the cape drapes its crimson fabric to the now vibrant grass.

It had briefly eluded you that you were to be married soon. A comment like that could get the Knight and his tree-bark brown eyes put to the sword. You hold back a long sigh, eyelids fluttering shut softly.

“Is he kind?” Your question is small, but it moves like a knife.

Gaz stares hard at the ground, once dead and nothing but a reminder of nature. He clenches his jaw, a worry swirling in his gut. The man knows who you’re asking about, and he holds the same dread he did in the Great Hall as you were led like a sacrificial lamb to the altar.

Maybe the Knight was broken, but even if he’d never met one of your kind before, he knew that no person deserved to be bartered for the illusion of peace—forced to give children like they were only objects. But maybe he was also just a man not meant for this lifetime.

It was the way of things.

Gaz swallows the tension in his shoulders. He will not lie.

“...No.”

—

This tall knight had become a constant at your side. Officially, he’d been placed for your protection, but you knew it was because the King didn’t want you to cut and run.

But unless there was a very good reason to, he should have known that you were not the running type. It was a battle of wits, and even into your marriage, you would always come out on top.

It started easy enough—Michael would invite you for tours of the castle ‘making it a home’ he’d said in front of his court. It was a power trip.

He’d talk about his wealth like it would make you swoon; like you cared at all. You could only hide your sneer for so many hours, even with your infinite amount of patience. Time had mellowed you like the rocks of the ocean, but even they cracked when the storm was strong enough.

Yet still, you considered yourself too intelligent for baseline insults.

“My palace was much the same, your Highness. Our towers rose high—nearly gracing the clouds themselves.”

“Oh, lovely, my King. Pray tell, do you also have pet dragons? Oh…unicorns, perhaps? My, I had the most lovely unicorn companion when I was just shy of my two-hundredth birth year. A little thing—all legs and neck. Beautiful creatures.”

“Gorgeous little trinkets. Tell me, do you have a coffer for fallen stars? They create the most magnificent illumination for late-night reading.”

Gaz nearly lost his composure at times, even if no one else could tell except for you and your pointed ears; twitching at every breath that was fought to keep still. The over-the-lip huffs and chuckles. In fact, you found yourself perpetuating the back-handed insults just to hear those noises. Such small and meaningless things, in the grand scheme.

You took…enjoyment from it.

Seeing the effect it had on the King was also a bonus—his raging eyes, snapping tongue held back for only his reputation and little more. He wanted to take you by the arm and shake you, you knew, yell in your face.

Kind, King Michael was not. Gaz had been correct.

In the nights, you would discuss with the Knight—sitting in the dense and growing courtyard with your body comfortable on the grass; Gaz’s on the fountain’s edge.

You have much of the same confidence in one another as you do tonight.

“Do knights marry for love?” Your voice wafts out, petting Lysander with a single finger in your lap; itching at his neck as he coos. “Do they get to choose?”

Gaz fiddles with his cape’s clasp, fingers dancing over the silver make. He has made a motion to always take off his ring when it’s just the two of you, easily slipping it away until he was forced to put it back on. He doesn’t know if you feel it, but he believes the two of you to be well-off acquaintances—perhaps even friends.

The man enjoyed speaking to you. He reveled in the limitless knowledge that spilled from your tongue, your stories and tales. Gaz, unlike so many others, enjoyed your company not for the power that it offers in a physical sense, but for the words that you freely give. Often your sentences were like honey to him, seeping into his head.

A princess speaking with a knight? Unheard of. A Fae princess? Blasphemy.

It was easy to forget that you were older than many generations of his family line.

“No,” he says, glancing over. “All knights take a vow of chastity when they commit to service. None of those alive in this kingdom will wed unless they willingly break their oaths.”

Your head tilts, crown resting comfortably a small distance away on a rock.

“That sounds lonely.”

Gaz smiles, “Worried about me?”

You stare, eyes traveling the little deaths on his face—the lines, the scars. “If it’s what you wish to do with yourself, who am I to tell you any different?”

The man’s face softens, lips pulling as his cheeks heat under the moonlight. “Figured you’d have some opinion of it.”

You hum, raising a brow. “It’s your life—it’s so fleeting. Tread it as if water between your fingers. Before you know it, it’ll be gone.” Lysander leans into your flesh, shivering. “Live it.”

“For someone who says they don’t know humans that well,” Gaz grumbles, though his chest is light. “You sure know a lot about them.”

“Intuition,” your mouth twitches in a smile. “And a bit of reality.”

Delicate looks are shared.

You do admit, you liked these conversations with Gaz. The long nights and the feeling of grass under your flowing dresses; the horrid contraptions that your betrothed had tried to make you wear stuck far back into the wardrobe of your room. Heavy items—suffocating corsets, unlike the simple but elegantly sewn one you wear now. You could feel it trying to sneak in when the days drew on.

Control.

It was all becoming more and more apparent. You did not want to live like this.

Your face goes troubled as the calm silence moves over the Medlar with its reaching branches. Fireflies hang like miniature stars as you take your crown and slip it back on; to feel the comforting weight of antlers.

The knight pauses as he slips his cape off of his shoulder, blinking over at you in a slow confusion. You look troubled. He’d never seen that expression on your face before.

“Stag?” Your head swivels, as if in another world.

“Just thinking,” your voice moves into his ears, making them hum with energy. Gaz’s brows furrow, a frown taking over. After a second, he stands, moving closer on quiet feet.

You watch him as he goes to kneel near you, one arm moving over the bent nature of his leg while the other holds fabric—letting it cascade over the earth. Brown eyes narrow, and a joking tease moves with the undertone of slight concern.

“I’m usually the talker, I know, but when you look a bit like that it makes me nervous.”

You frown. “Look like what?”

“Like someone’s got a sword to your neck, Princess.” The air is cool here, the deep throws of night taking you by the breath in your throat. A smooth smirk. “It’s my job to make sure that doesn’t happen, yeah?”

If you leave, if you find a way out of this…the war will never end. It will go on until stone cracks like glass and generations forget why it even started in the first place.

But why were you put to the axe because of it? Why must you take the blade to the stomach—an object of greed?

Gaz’s amused voice moves lower at your immobile lips, going serious.

“Hey,” a hand outstretched to your arm, hovering. “Really, is everything alright?”

“Gaz,” you pause, voice still level despite your heated pulse. It’s like a snake curls itself in your guts, roots growing in your veins. The courtyard seems to shiver all by itself, leaves curling into themselves from bushes and trees. Lysander’s feet shimmy, head moving about.

This knight had been kind to you as well as honest about his intentions. Chivalrous. Such qualities are hard to come by anymore.

“I don’t believe I want this.” It’s a breath more quiet than a lapping of waves. Gaz stills, fingers above your flesh twitching. “I can’t live in a cage. I refuse.”

Silver meets brown, holding it firmly.

“I will not be a prize to be chained to a birthing bed.”

The man’s face pulls at that, tightening.

You don’t know what to expect. It isn’t fear in you—no, nothing like this could make you afraid. Apprehensive? Perhaps. Age made you cautious. At any moment he might flip his tune; run off to tattle to a King he, seemingly, likes just as much as you. Which is to say, very little. But there’s still the possibility, the knowledge stacked over ages and ages of strategy and mind games.

A knight of a tension-ridden kingdom, swearing fealty to a King whom you’re betrothed to. You’d just expressed treason, in a way. It could put you to the sword; to the rope. To irons. Your mind runs through the millions of possibilities, not able to settle on a single one before—

A cape settles over your shoulders, startling you.

Hand snapping to grab the front, your head snaps up, eyes wider than you can remember them ever going.

Soft browns meet you, a thin smile. Fireflies buzz about, and a dove sits under your still finger, watching with beady orbs intently at the scene. A Medlar quivers.

A stag and a knight breathe the same air. A godly creation and a saint ensnared in a song far larger than they intend, as the world shifts past all around them. Silver starlight leaves long reflections breaking from the hanging glory of your gems, but the patches of light on Gaz’s face capture yours in that instant far more than they should have.

Impossibly so. Unnaturally so.

Does this mortal have magic of his own, perhaps? You have to ask yourself. There was no other possibility.

And when he speaks…it’s like whatever ice has been layered over your antediluvian heart breaks into fire. There wasn’t even a fight from him.

“Then tell me what you need.”

TAGS:

@sheviro-blog, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @mrshesh, @berryjuicyy, @romantic-homicide, @kmi-02, @neelehksttr, @littlemisstrouble, @copperchromewriting, @coelhho-brannco, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @fictional-men-have-my-heart, @sleepyqueerenergy, @cumikering, @everything-was-dark, @marmie-noir, @anna-banana27, @iamcautiouslyoptimistic, @irenelunarsworld, @rvjaa, @sarcanti, @aeneanc, @not-so-closeted-lesbian, @mutuallimbenclosure, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @gildedpoenies, @glitterypirateduck, @writeforfandoms, @kohsk3nico, @peteymcskeet, @caramlizedtomatoes, @yoursweetobsession, @quesowakanda, @chthonian-spectre, @so-no-feint, @ray-rook, @extracrunchymilk, @doggydale, @frazie99, @develised, @1-800-no-users-left, @nuncubus, @aldis-nuts, @clear-your-mind-and-dream, @noonanaz, @cosmicpro, @stinkaton, @waves-against-a-cliff, @idocarealot

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senseofnewness · 5 months ago

Text

hate, set and match

pairing : tashi duncan x female rival!reader

rating : explicit

word count : 3.3k

contains : smut 18+, bullying, name-calling, violence, fingering, homophobic slurs, internalised homophobia

summary : Before Tashi Duncan became the Duncanator, she was just a little bitch. Yet, she was YOUR little bitch.

Until that fateful summer of 2006, Tashi Duncan had barely existed in your world.

You were both members of the same tennis club, but your paths rarely crossed. You, a year her senior, were deep into your law studies at Harvard, while Tashi was on the cusp of joining the Stanford team and competing in the Junior US Open. For you, tennis was merely a pastime. For Tashi, it was everything.

That summer, however, she became the unexpected source of your frustrations, and suddenly, Tashi Duncan was impossible to ignore.

It all began on that one particular day when Tashi Duncan had ratted you out to the coach for smoking weed under the bleachers. She had claimed the smell was ‘bothering her’ and preventing her from concentrating. Deep down, you knew it was just an excuse to cover up her shit performance on the court.

Tashi was the club's golden girl, but you couldn't help but see all her flaws. While she was undoubtedly strategic and agile, she lacked power and aggressiveness. Her serves were weak, half-hearted attempts at dominance. There was no drive, no passion behind them, even though you knew she had it in her.

Her little act of betrayal earned you a week-long suspension from the club. And oh god, you were pissed off. Tennis was your summer sanctuary, a refuge from the weight of your family's name and the looming expectations of your future at the family law firm. On the court, all you had to do was hit the ball. And she had taken that away from you.

●

When you returned that week, a burning desire to settle the score consumed you. You wanted her to pay for what she had done.

One advantage of having the tennis prodigy as your adversary was her frequent absences for tournaments. This gave you ample opportunity to rummage through her locker. As you opened the door, her scent filled the air. A blend of cheap detergent and her overpowering girlish perfume. Your eyes landed on her racket, and a devilish smile crept across your face. She would soon learn what it felt like to be unable to play. Grabbing her spare racket, you meticulously cut through all the cross strings with pliers. Next, your gaze fell upon one of her tennis outfits, the one that accentuated her figure and made her look like a slut, showing just enough ass and thighs. With your signature lipstick retrieved from your purse, you boldly wrote SNITCH across the chest. You wanted her to know without a doubt that it was you.

●

It took several days for your scheming to come to light. Rumors swirled about her triumphant return to the club, but it was when you caught her, head bowed, scrubbing her tennis skirt in the sink with soap and water, that you knew she had realized you were now a threat.

"If you think I'm going to let you reign supreme here just because everyone worships you, you're in for a ride, bitch." You told her, your tone icy and menacing. She met your gaze in the mirror's reflection, her eyes red and brimming with unshed tears, though she refused to let them fall. Tashi Duncan didn't cry, she was too strong for that.

"Your parents must be so proud to have raised a victim like you." You continued, aiming to provoke her, and it was working. "All their hard-earned money wasted on putting a little skank like you in this club. I pity them." You sneered. It was a cruel jab, even by your standards.

"Keep my parents out of your filthy mouth, you whore." She shot back through clenched teeth. "Or what." You teased, stepping forward with your hands on your hips. Though you were only slightly taller than her, in that moment, it felt as though you were towering over her.

Tashi's fist struck first, catching your jaw with a force that sent you reeling. Staggering backward, you felt the impact of her next blow as it split your lip open, flooding your mouth with the taste of blood. Adrenaline surged through you, fueling a desperate grasp for control as you seized Tashi's hair and delivered a retaliatory punch squarely to her eye.

Amid the chaos, the coach's commanding voice cut through the air, demanding an immediate end to the fight. Strong hands intervened, forcibly separating you and Tashi, both of you breathing heavily and glaring at each other with intense animosity. Your split lip throbbed painfully while Tashi sported a bruised and swelling eye.

As you stood apart, restrained by the coach's firm grip, a bitter satisfaction washed over you. "Oh no, poor girl." You taunted, restrained but defiant. "Your parents are going to be so disappointed in you." The coach's hold tightened, preventing any further escalation.

Deep down, jealousy flickered within you as you watched Tashi leave the room, tears finally streaming down her face. Her family's support and concern were envious, a stark contrast to the indifferent distance of your own. They would notice her pain while yours would likely go unnoticed. Tashi's parents believed she was worth better than that, while your own expected nothing less from you.

●

The punishment this time around seemed less severe than your first offense. Perhaps it was because Tashi Duncan, with all her talent, was involved, and losing her from the club, even temporarily, would be a significant blow. Now, you were both compelled to team up and train together every day in an effort to ease the conflict until the end of the season.

"I can't believe I'm stuck playing with a loser like you." You complained as you stretched on the court, eyeing Tashi on the other side as she counted the balls. "Shut up." She muttered, her eyes still showing the lingering effects of your recent altercation. "You really need to work on those backhands." You couldn't resist needling her. "Even my grandma plays better than you."

"What's wrong with my backhands?" Tashi retorted, her eyes flashing with defiance. “They lack fire.” You replied, meeting her glare with calm determination. “We all know you love tennis, but you’re not showing us how much it means to you.” Were you really trying to help Tashi Duncan? Sometimes your brain worked in mysterious ways and even you didn’t understand your own motives. “It’s worked well enough so far.” She shot back with a confident shrug, a proud smile curling her lips. “That's because you’ve never played against someone who’s willing to risk it all.” You said, stepping to the baseline and preparing to serve.

The ball flew across the net, a blur of speed and precision. Tashi lunged, her racket connecting with a sharp crack. The back-and-forth began, each stroke echoing with intensity as you both fought for dominance. But as the game progressed, it became clear that something was shifting. Tashi’s shots, though technically flawless, lacked the raw intensity needed to overpower you. Your serves were relentless, your returns fierce and calculated. A drop shot brought her scrambling to the net, and a powerful backhand sent her scrambling to the baseline. She was losing ground, point by point, her earlier confidence fading. With a final, decisive serve, you clinched the match. Tashi stood there, breathless and stunned, her racket dangling at her side. "COME ON!" You exclaimed, throwing your arms up in triumph. Her startled reaction to your outburst drew a derisive snort from you.

●

Three weeks into being partners with Tashi, you could already see her grasping the essentials. Perhaps it was the influence of playing against you, but her serves now carried a ferocity unlike anything she had shown before. Lately, you two were spending most of your time together. A part of you was driven to mold her into a true champion, perhaps even living vicariously through her. You had shared all your tricks and techniques with her, ensuring she wielded them with precision. The hours spent together were beginning to blur the lines, to the point where outsiders might have mistaken your growing bond for something more than just a competitive partnership.

"Move already, I need to shower." You shouted through the shower curtain. "I'm not done." Tashi yelled back defiantly. You sighed and kicked the curtain open, revealing a naked Tashi trying to cover herself with her hands. She was exasperatingly beautiful, resembling Botticelli's The Birth of Venus. She quickly turned around, her long, wet hair falling down her back in an irritatingly perfect cascade.

"Is your ass so big that it takes you half an hour to wash it?" You remarked, eyeing her body. Her bottom was infuriatingly flawless, drawing your gaze. She turned back, hands now covering her bottom, fully exposed to you. Her petite breasts adorned her chest with a graceful symmetry, accentuating her figure. Your gaze traced the curve from her erect nipples down to the dark curls between her legs. She remained silent, allowing your gaze to sear every inch of her flesh.

With your eyes fixed on her, you pressed the soap dispenser and began lathering your body with the liquid. As you slid your hand between your legs, using the soap as a pretext to touch yourself and ease the tingling sensation in your core, you realized it wasn't sufficient. You yearned to touch her, to explore her body, to discover if she felt the same burning heat inside as you did.

Your hand moved towards her, slipping between her legs, your fingers caressing her folds. Her skin was smooth and moist. Slowly, you eased your index finger inside her, simultaneously rubbing her sensitive nub with your thumb. Your touch sent shivers up Tashi's spine, causing her to arch her back and press further into the caresses. She clutched tightly at your shoulders, bracing herself as you continued to explore her depth.

You were in total control of Tashi Duncan, free to indulge in whatever pleased you. In that moment, with her eyes closed in bliss, you sensed her unwavering trust. As you continued to tease her clit, you gently inserted a second finger inside her. The sounds she made were unlike the powerful grunts she emitted during matches. Instead, they were breathy, high-pitched, and… divine.

You were now exploring her with your fingers, your index and middle fingers skillfully positioned to stimulate the sensitive area behind her clit, while you continued to fondle it externally. You moved your fingers skillfully inside her, while Tashi practically rode your hand, her hips matching the rhythm of your strokes.

A loud moan escaped her lips as you felt her pulse around your fingers. She opened her eyes, locking her gaze with yours. In that moment, the world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you.

When Tashi leaned in for a kiss, you instinctively stepped back, letting go of her. "What are you doing? I'm not a dyke." You blurted out. Touching Tashi Duncan was one thing, but allowing her to touch you was entirely different. You withdrew your hand from her warmth and hurried out of the cabin, soap still frothing on your skin.

●

The next day, everyone knew about Tashi Duncan's attempt to corner you in the shower to kiss you. You had made sure of it. Of course, you conveniently omitted the part where your fingers were up her cunt. It was just a detail, after all.

"Why the fuck did you tell everyone?" Tashi stormed onto the court while you were stretching before practice, her anger palpable. "Isn't that what you are? A lesbo?" You retorted casually, shrugging. Tashi snatched her racket and began pelting balls at you. "Talk." She spoke with each strike. “About.” Strike. "Yourself." Another ball hurled with force. She served aggressively, finally diving into the game.

You swiftly grabbed your racket and attempted to return her last shot. Tashi unleashed her fury with every swing of her racket. You matched her shot for shot, but your words cut deeper than the game itself. "Carpet muncher." You sneered after a particularly fierce rally, trying to get under her skin.

Tashi's eyes flashed with rage as she dashed to return the ball, her movements swift and purposeful. The game became a relentless exchange of powerful strokes, each strike echoing the frustration between you. "Vageterian." You taunted again, your words dripping with disdain as you lunged for a drop shot. Tashi gritted her teeth, her focus unbroken as she chased down the ball. "You seem to know a lot about that for someone so straight." She remarked as she stood still in front of you, a playful edge to her voice. "What can I say, I'm an ally.” You retorted, raising your fist in mock solidarity. Tashi couldn't help bursting out laughing at the absurdity of the situation. Here you were, the one who had initiated physical contact earlier, and now spent the morning calling her slurs only to proclaim yourself an ally. Her laughter was contagious, and despite your efforts to resist, you found yourself joining in. Both of you laughed so hard, clutching your bellies, that the sound reverberated through the building

●

You were both seated on the bleachers, watching another team play. Despite the earlier laughter, the atmosphere between you had reverted to its usual dynamic : that of adversaries. Taking a sip from your water bottle, you offered a measured comment. "You did better this time, but you're not quite pro material yet." A part of you considered apologizing for the name-calling, knowing it had provoked a charged response from her. Yet, you hesitated. Apologies were unfamiliar territory for you, you had never offered one before, unsure of how to admit fault when it mattered.

"I'm going to Stanford anyway." Tashi replied, her tone determined. "You're not going pro?" You asked incredulously. Another talent wasted. She shook her head and took a bite of her protein bar. "Of course not." You scoffed, rolling your eyes. "You're incapable of making wise career decisions.” You jabbed your finger at her. “Let me tell you, all you’re gonna do is end up as someone's wife, playing tennis at the country club." The words echoed strangely like the future you had envisioned for yourself. "What about you?" Tashi shot back. "Tennis is just for fun." You retorted dismissively. "A real future awaits me." You paused, then added with a hint of superiority. "It would be embarrassing to make a living out of something even a dog can do : running after a ball."

●

When Tashi had come back from the championship victorious, everyone had welcomed her like a hero. Everyone except you.

It would have been out of character to go out of your way to congratulate her. You had watched the match on TV and observed Tashi's transformation into a woman. Yet, a lingering sensation persisted that Tashi Duncan had embodied you on that court. From the powerful strikes to the loud scream, she had become you. You, if you weren’t afraid of stepping out of your comfort zone. You, if you had the courage to reveal your true self to your parents.

You waited for a moment alone on the court with Tashi to broach the subject of the match. The first few points played out with a tense exchange between you, each shot meticulously calculated and executed. "Saw you destroyed Mueller. For once, I wasn't totally ashamed of you." You admitted between serves. She responded with a smile, one of those smiles that simultaneously took your breath away and fueled your resentment toward her even further.

Tashi's shots sliced through the air with precision, keeping you on the move as you scrambled to return them. Your own strokes carried power but lacked the finesse that came so naturally to Tashi. Despite the lingering animosity between you, you couldn't help but admire her skill. "Focus on your footwork." You found yourself advising her reflexively, unable to resist offering a correction.

●

Practicing with Tashi had become a rare event. The US Open Junior champion had moved on to bigger and better things, leaving behind sessions with you. When you finally caught a sight of her, clad in a miniskirt and a white tank top that hinted at the shape of her nipples, it had been a week and a half since you last saw her.

"I heard you're seeing that Zweig kid." You blurted out in the middle of a match, a sly grin crossing your face. Tashi's name was constantly on the lips of the girls on the team, and every detail of her life was scrutinized. And to be quite honest, you found yourself paying extra attention to the whispers whenever her name came up. "Big dick, right?" The teasing edge in your voice was unmistakable, and you sensed her irritation mounting as her serves grew more erratic. "Already had him last season." You added casually, recalling the brief but intense fling. "Picking my leftovers? That's embarrassing, even for you, Duncan." Your words were calculated to provoke a reaction, hoping to ignite the same fiery rage she had shown against Mueller. In reality, Patrick wasn't exactly your leftovers. Your parents and Patrick's parents were friends from the country club, and a brief but passionate romance had blossomed between you. However, there was no love story between you, it was just a fleeting moment. But deep down, you couldn't help but think that Patrick Zweig was probably the type of guy you would be married to someday. Handsome, rich, fan of tennis and most importantly, approved by the family.

Tashi's face hardened, her grip tightening on her racket. "I don't need your crumbs." She shot back, her voice steely. You smirked, noting the flicker of anger in her eyes. "If you say so." You served again, the ball darting over the net with precision. Tashi returned it with a fierce forehand, the sound echoing across the court. The exchange intensified, but it was clear you had the upper hand. Your shots were relentless, each one a deliberate move designed to exploit her weaknesses. As the practice match continued, Tashi's frustration grew. She fought tenaciously, her movements becoming more aggressive, but she couldn't break through your defenses. You were winning, and she knew it.

With a final, powerful serve, you sealed the game. Tashi's return was wild, the ball flying out of bounds. She stood there, panting, her face flushed with exertion and frustration. With a sharp motion, she threw her racket across the court, her eyes blazing. You smirked, watching her closely. She was getting there. With a bit more practice, she might one day beat you.

●

By mid-September, summer had faded into memory, indicating the time for both of you to part ways. Your final game together was charged with intensity, the court resonating with the rhythmic thud of balls and the shuffle of sneakers. Each point was diligently played, characterized by precise serves and swift returns. Despite your usual determination to defeat Tashi, this time you consciously allowed her to claim victory with a final cross-court winner. It was a deliberate gesture, a parting gift from you to her. You wanted her to know she was the best player. That no one was better than her. "It was nice playing with you one last time." You said, offering your hand to her. She accepted the handshake, but as you withdrew, your thumb brushed the back of her hand for a lingering moment. She might not recall you as the only girl she could never defeat on the court. Instead, she would remember you as the first one who made her come. "Break a leg."

♠♣♥♦

a/n : Just a little story to put me back into the writing mood. Hope you like it. Really sorry about the use of slurs. I usually avoid it but reader is so closeted and the worst.

#challengers fanfic #challengers fic #challengers fanfiction #challengers smut #challengers 🎾#challengers #fic : hate set and match #tashi duncan x reader #tashi duncan #tashi donaldson

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minarisplaything · 1 year ago

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Blackpink in Your Area (p1) ft. Jennie Kim

Pairing: Jennie Kim x Male!Reader Rating: Explicit / Mature Wordcount: 1.6k Summary: After her latest performance you find yourself sneaking backstage with your girlfriend.

AN: some context, this was made...god around the time of their first world tour? so writing wise it might not follow the same rhythm of my current stuff. but it's a personal fave i've had privately that i figure fuck it i might as well post it now. if you want to read a TWICE converted version of this chapter with Nayeon you can find it on my AFF profile but this is the OG never published version. Enjoy!

"Where are we going?"

"Ssh. Just come on!"

The accented voice leaves little room for argument as the owner's hand pulls you down another corridor. It seems with every turn you get further and further lost — which is likely the point. However, Jennie seems to know exactly where she is going, a small comfort at least. She pulls you down another tight passage then stops, pressing you against the cold wall. Instinctively you hold your breath before realizing you have no reason to — or at least you hope you don't.

"Jennie, you're acting like we're running from the cops," you speak, your voice a hushed whisper despite your previous reasoning.

"They might as well be the police," she responds, glancing back the way you came.

After another moment, she must be pleased that there is no one following you and turns to face you, a mischievous grin on her features. Without a word, she cups your face with her hands, bringing your lips down to meet hers in a slow, greedy kiss. Whatever concerns or confusion you had previously begin to fade away as your hands find their way around her. It has been so long since you had a moment together that you had forgotten how easy it was to melt into her embrace.

She pulls back, her nose brushing against yours. "If anyone saw us," even with your eyes closed, you can hear the relief and satisfaction in her voice. The kiss had the same effect on you. "This would be over and my career would be on the line," she places a kiss to your jaw as she speaks.

It is a bittersweet truth. What you have is masked in darkness and secrecy; not even the other members of her group know about you. If it were ever revealed to the public, not only would the fans and paparazzi eat you alive, dating is strictly against her company's rules. You always said that you would end things with her before you ever let that happen to her.

You feel her palm running over your cheek, your distressed thoughts likely showing on your face as your brow furrows. "Don't think about that now," she presses another kiss to your lips, then another and another; giving you plenty of time to notice just how soft and irresistible her lips are. By the fourth kiss, you are eagerly kissing her back, your hands sliding from her waist up her back, pulling her closer than you already were.

This time around your embrace is needier, hungrier; as if every second you were living on borrowed time. You feel her hands move from your cheek up into your hair, fingers running through and gripping at the short strands. Her teeth dig into your bottom lip, tugging on it while she peers up at you with those killer eyes of hers. The sight alone is enough to make your heart skip a beat.

"I need you," she says when she lets go, "Right here. Now."

As she speaks, one hand slides down from your hair, running over your chest and rubbing over your slacks. Her palm encourages the bulge that is growing there and you cannot deny that your arousal doesn't just come from her but the fact that at any moment you could be discovered. It is exhilarating in its own way. Adrenaline and lust are a dangerous concoction on any night but here with Jennie, it seems especially so.

You agree without a word, only giving a small nod of your head before you are spinning her around so her ass is jutting out to you while her hands splay against the opposite wall. She is still dressed in her stage outfit from the earlier performance, which doesn't help to subdue your eager hands in the least. She is stunning in every way, yet when she is on stage she still somehow seems to magnify that. Seeing the outfit just brings back memories of watching her earlier that night.

"Need some help there?" A teasing voice breaks you from your momentary recollection. Jennie is glancing over her shoulder at you, brunette hair partially masking her features. She has a vixen side to her and truth be told, you are used to her taking control and being in charge, but you also know that you cannot let this opportunity she is giving you go to waste.

In return, you offer her a smirk of your own, "Merely admiring the view." Though given your time and place, this is hardly the moment for appreciation.

You push her plaid skirt up, your hand dipping between her thighs. "You've soaked right through your training shorts, baby," you try to keep the arousal out of your voice, but the husky facade cracks just a bit. Jennie moans in response; the notion turns you on just as much as it does her clearly. "Just how long were you thinking about this?"

At first, it is a rhetorical question, but as your wrist snaps back and forth, fingers getting her off over her clothing, you find yourself eagerly waiting for an answer. Jennie does not give any; her breath comes out in quick hiccups. She leans further into the wall, her hips pressing out closer to you in obvious need. "Were you thinking about it during your performance?"

"Y-Yes..." she manages, her own hand reaching back to grip your wrist, refusing to let you stop. "When I saw you in the crowd — oh god."

You can tell she is going further and further down the rabbit hole. Her New Zealand accent becomes more pronounced the more aroused she gets. An astute observation you have made over your time together. It is not the only sign either; she is biting down on her plump bottom lip and her thighs are clenching deliciously around your hand.

Satisfied with her answer, you lean over her, your breath hot against the shell of her ear. "Baby, we don't have much time."

The idol takes a moment before she nods in response, her grip loosening on your hand. Your fingers deftly move from between her thighs to her waistband, pulling down her spanks to expose her to the night air. You make quick work of your pants buckle, or at least you try to. Your own eagerness causes your hands to fumble with it for a second before finally getting it undone and unzipped.

"Oh fuck..." Jennie moans loudly as you slide your length into her, and it is the most heavenly sound in existence. In any other time, you might've clasped one hand on her mouth to muffle the moans lest you be discovered, but in this moment, caution is thrown to the wind.

You can feel your cock swelling even further once you are inside her; the walls of her pussy clamping down on you. It takes you one thrust, then another before you are in to the hilt, a deep groan rumbling from your chest past your lips as you take a moment to revel in the sensation. That moment is all you allow yourself, however. Comparing it to the earlier kiss that had been the slow and eager first embrace; what comes next is pure hunger and lust.

Your hands grip her waist tighter as you pull out of her, hips snapping forward to meet hers. Another delicious moan reaches your ears as she lets her head fall back. Each thrust is harder and faster than the last, desperate to be with her and to have her coming undone in pleasure. Of course, to do that, you have to hold yourself together as well, and that is no easy task. "God, you feel so good."

The sound of skin slapping together begins to fill the space you have tucked into, mixing with the heavy breaths and moans that fill the air. You lean over her, one hand moving to turn her face towards you as your lips meet in a sloppy embrace. "I love seeing you like this. I want to make you feel this good all the time."

Jennie only moans in response, her mouth hanging open as she takes every inch of you. Your free hand moves from her waist to her chest; fondling her breast through her top. You have enough sense not to be so aggressive that you pop a button, but it is a tall task. The last thing you need is questions from the costume department.

"Fuck, right there," her hand reaches back, grabbing at your ass to force your cock back to hitting the same spot. Jennie is so used to being in control that you are almost tempted to deny her request. And maybe in a different time and place, you would have teased her for a bit before giving in. Now, however, you do not even have control over yourself, let alone strength to tease her. All you can do is what she asks of you. Hips move frantically to fulfill her desire, driving her closer and closer to the edge.

Her nails dig into your skin, and you can feel your own release coming as well. "I — I'm close!" you grunt in warning.

"Hold on, baby. Hold on, I'm almost there... almost...!" she goes quiet; her body tightening as her mouth falls open in a silent cry, her eyes shut tight as her orgasm runs through her. Fingers dig into the back of your neck as she comes, and it is just might've been the most beautiful thing you have witnessed since her last one. Jennie has never been the loudest when she comes undone, yet it is still enough for you to reach your breaking point.

"JENNIE?!"

Suddenly, a voice cries out, causing you to physically jump back, your cock springing free of Jennie's pussy, cum shooting in the air. When you look in the direction of the out crying voice, you are both aroused and horrified.

There stands Jennie's group-mate and best friend, Jisoo, her face coated in your cum.

"...Oh fuck..."

#male reader #blackpink smut #jennie kim smut #jennie x male reader #jennie kim x male reader #jennie kim x reader #kpop smut

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babyfoxflower · 20 days ago

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The Hunter and the Hunted

Human! Alastor x Fem! Reader

*Disclaimer: This story is an AU and does not follow Hellaverse canon. Alastor is pretty much just a hetero, if this offends you in anyway, then I suggest you block me and go on your way.*

Synopsis: This the story of Alastor and the love of his life, his huntress, the charming Y/n Rosier. A rare beauty out on the bayou, his heart is instantly stolen by her. He’ll do anything for his beloved, even if that includes murder.

Story Warnings: 18+, MDNI, Violence, Blood, Hunting, Murder, Mentions of Child Abuse, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, 1920s Attitudes Towards Women

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It was decided, not out loud, that they would meet every Saturday. This was how it went on for a whole month. He would come over, they would converse for a while before doing some kind of activity together.

This week’s was shooting practice.

Y/n fired at the first glass bottle, it was hit. She fired at the second, another hit. She fired at the third, a miss.

“Damn,” she exclaimed.

“That was swell! You almost hit all of them,” Alastor praised in a slightly sarcastic manner.

“Don’t patronize me, pretty boy,” she stuck her tongue out playfully.

He chuckled, “Can’t help it. Especially, when you get so adorably sore, babydoll,” he booped her on the nose.

He’s been like that ever since they got more comfortable with each other. Openly teasing her, she didn’t seem to mind and even gave it right back to him. God, if she only knew how much she already owned his heart.

Y/n got three more empty bottles and

lined them up on the ground, “Your turn.”

Alastor fired at the first bottle, it was hit. He fired at the second bottle, another hit. He fired at the third, a hit.

Y/n scrunched up her face, “Show-off.”

“Haha. I’ve been doing it for a lot longer.”

You’re the one that brings this side out of me, my darling Y/n.

“I suppose you want a reward for beating me, hm?” She raised an eyebrow at him.

“I didn’t know it was a competition. But since you asked, sure I’ll take a prize,” he grinned.

“Hmm, what could I, a lady, offer a gentleman?” She put her hand under her chin, as if pondering, “I know! Close your eyes.”

A suspicious look washed over Alastor’s face, “Why? What are you going to do?”

“Oh, trust me…I promise you’ll like it, Sugar.”

“Alright, then. I’m trusting you, my dear,” he closed his eyes.

He was unsure what to expect. Suddenly, there was the feeling of hands cupping his face followed shortly by the sensation of lips on his.

Instinctively, he pulled her closer to him by the waist, holding her against him. She was so small compared to him, he bet she was standing on her tiptoes just to reach his face. Of course he kissed her back, their lips moving in sync with each others.

With the strong arms he used to carry that stag, he lifted her up. She weighed practically nothing, like a rag doll. He put one hand under her thigh and kept the other firmly, but gently, on the small of her back. He could feel the garter holding her stocking up. She wrapped her arms and legs around him.

Y/n tilted her head to the side, allowing for a better angle. His lips were soft. She didn’t know what she was expecting, but she didn’t think he would have such a supple mouth.

She smells really nice. What is that…lavender? Vanilla, perhaps? I hope I smell good.

He smells like tobacco and…bourbon? Does he drink? I like it though. I hope he likes my perfume.

Eventually, they had to pull away for air. Alastor held her, the most tender of smiles on his face.

“Well, did you like your prize? Hehe,” she giggled.

“I loved it. Merci, ma Chérie.”

“Je t’en prie, mon Cher,” she said, “Oh no, your glasses are crooked. Let me fix them for you.”

She straightened his glasses, “There, is that better?”

“Much, now I get to see you better.”

Y/n blushed.

Cough, cough.

Oh god, I know that cough.

“Mother! What are you doing out here?” Alastor asked as he gently placed Y/n down.

“Oh, I was just having a stroll, and then I happened to come upon you two,” she turned to her attention to Y/n, who was smoothing out her dress, “And you, my dear, must be Y/n, correct?”

“Mrs. Hartfelt, it’s nice to finally meet you,” she held out her hand.

Mrs. Hartfelt’s demeanor shifted to a more cheerful one as she pulled Y/n into a warm hug, “Oh please, Sweetheart, call me Claudine! It’s wonderful to finally put a face to the name!”

“Thank you!”

Mrs. Hartfelt pulled away from the hug, “Let me have a look at you. Well, aren’t you as cute as a button!?” She was smiling with her whole face.

“Oh, thank you, Mrs…I mean Claudine!”

“Are you hungry? Why don’t you come over to the house and I’ll fix you kids up something to eat?”

Y/n turned to Alastor and he gave her a look that said ‘if that’s what you’d like.’

“I am a little hungry…”

Mrs. Hartfelt linked arms with her and started pulling her along before she even had time to finish her sentence, “Splendid! You like jambalaya? I make quite tasty jambalaya if I do say so myself.”

“I love jambalaya!” Y/n exclaimed.

Alastor shook his head, picking up his and Y/n’s guns off the ground.

“Well, are you coming, Alastor!?” His mother yelled.

“Coming, Mother!”

———————————————————————

As they approached the Hartfelt house, Y/n’s mouth almost fell open. To say it was lovely would be an understatement. It looked like a miniature version of those neo-classical style mansions left over from decades prior. It was white and had two large Greek columns. The windows were long and on the second floor there was a balcony.

“This is really where y’all live?” Y/n asked.

“I know, I know…it’s a mess! Alastor still needs to get around fixing that crack in the roof. Isn’t that right, Mister Handyman?” Mrs. Hartfelt turned to Alastor with her hands on her hips.

“Mother, there’s no crack in the roof. I’ve been up there twice and still couldn’t find it.”

Your eyes are going, old lady.

“You’re just not looking hard enough.”

“I think your house is beautiful, Claudine,” Y/n smiled sweetly.

I suddenly feel like a backwoods hick.

“Thank you, my dear. Such a sweet girl. Just like Alastor said.”

“Oh, you said that about me?” Y/n turned to Alastor.

He looked down at the ground, sheepishly, face crimson, “Yes.”

Y/n blushed, “What else did you say about me?”

“He said you were the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen!”

“Mother, shouldn’t we get inside? It looks like it’s going to rain,” Alastor said, changing the subject.

“Yes, we should! Come along, Y/n, you and Alastor can sit in the parlor while I get lunch ready,” Mrs. Hartfelt led her inside, “And Honey, make sure you leave those guns on the porch. You know I don’t like them in the house.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he placed the guns carefully on the porch before following them inside.

As soon as Y/n stepped inside, she felt like she was in a whole other world. There was a foyer with a chandelier, and a beautiful dark wooden staircase. The walls were charmingly decorated with paintings and framed portraits.

“Y/n, I can hang up your coat if you’d like?” Alastor offered.

“Oh, thank you!” She removed her coat and handed it to him.

“Of course, Darling,” he smiled.

He hung up hers before hanging up his own, along with his cap. Even the coat rack was nice, built again with that oh so lovely dark wood.

“I’ll show you to the parlor,” he said, taking her hand in his when he knew his mother couldn’t see.

“Are you sure your mother doesn’t need help in the kitchen?” Y/n asked.

“Oh, it’s best to stay out of her kitchen. Trust me, once she starts cooking, she becomes a whole other person.”

Y/n laughed.

“Ha! I’m not joking. One time, I went in there to ask when dinner would be ready and she threw one her slippers at me.”

“Oh, alright then.”

Alastor led Y/n into the parlor. It had red velvet sofas and big fireplace that had little carvings in the mantel, a stuffed deer’s head mounted above it. There were also rows of bookshelves. On one of the shelves was a radio.

“Did you hunt that?” She pointed to the deer head.

“No, actually, it was my grandfather who hunted it. I did help him taxidermy it though,”pride in his voice.

“Oh, you know how to taxidermy?” An excited smile painted her face.

“Yes, I quite enjoy it. It’s such a relaxing hobby.”

“I imagine so! I find such delight in gutting and skinning animals after a hunt. Making them into an art piece sounds even more satisfying.”

“A lady after my own heart! Draining the blood is also very entertaining.”

“Oh for sure, it is!”

“I can show you how to make taxidermy, if you’d like? With your small hands, I think you’ll be very gifted at it.”

“I would love that! Thank you so much, Sugar!” Her face was lit up completely.

She’s so cute. How am I even supposed to deal with this? I just want to give her everything and then some.

They sat down next to each other on one the sofas.

“So, are you and your grandfather close?” She inquired.

“We were. He passed away seven years ago.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“It was his time. He lived a very long life, made it to eighty years old.”

“What was he like, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“He was what one would call a true southern gentleman. Kind, generous, and charismatic. He was the one who taught me how to shoot, hunt, and fish. In many ways, he was more of a father to me than my own father.”

“I’m sure he would be proud of the man you grew up to be,” Y/n smiled softly, squeezing his hand lightly.

“Thank you, my dear. He would have liked you, I think he would have liked you a lot,” he squeezed her hand back.

“I bet I would have liked him too.”

“Oh! Would you like a cigarette?” Alastor asked, reaching over to the side table and grabbing a silver cigarette box.

“Sure, is alright to smoke inside?”

“Yes, Mother doesn’t mind as long as it’s in the parlor,” he handed her one before taking one for himself.

He then pulled out a lighter from his pocket and lit hers first.

“Merci, mon cher!” She exclaimed.

“Avec plaisir, ma chérie!” He replied, before lighting his own.

Alastor couldn’t help but watch as Y/n brought her cigarette up to her lips, those same lips he tasted earlier, and took a long drag. There was something almost sinful about it.

Good lord, I never thought that I would be so jealous of a cigarette.

He took a drag himself, inhaling that sweet taste of nicotine before exhaling a puff a smoke from his mouth. Little did he realize that she was watching him too, studying how that slender cig fit between his long pretty fingers. Without her knowledge, her thighs started rubbing together.

What am I doing? He’ll think I’m some randy slut if he sees me doing this.

She turned away from him, noticing a framed photograph with three young girls in it on the side table next to them.

“Who are they?” Y/n asked.

Alastor turned his attention to where she was looking, “Oh, that’s my mother and her sisters.”

“Really? Who’s who?”

He picked up the photograph, making sure to keep his cigarette away from it.

“The one in the middle is my mother. The one to the right of her is my Auntie Colette and the one the left is my Auntie Clementine. They’re triplets.”

“Oh! What are your aunts like?”

“Well, Auntie Colette is the most artistic and free-spirited of the three. She ran away to Paris and became a painter. I’ve only met her three times in my life but she seems like a nice enough lady. And then Auntie Clementine is a real homebody who rarely leaves the house, she got married at sixteen and has eight children.”

“Damn, eight kids!? Sorry that was rude.”

Alastor chuckled, “No, no, you’re fine. That would be my reaction too.”

Y/n laughed, “Are you close to your cousins?”

“Not all of them, but growing up my cousin Elodie was my best friend. She’s quite cheerful and has a high sense of morality. You two would probably get along,” he smiled.

“Well, I’d love to meet her sometime.”

“That would be lovely, I’d love to introduce you to all of my family eventually. I’m sure they’ll absolutely adore you,” his eyes were full of sincerity.

Maybe one day, I’ll get to introduce you as my wife.

Y/n’s face turned red, “You’re such a sweet talker!”

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lulublack90 · 20 days ago

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Prompt 2 - Constant

@jegulus-microfic November 2, Word count 512

Previous part First part

“I actually own this flat,” That’s what James had just said. Regulus felt so stupid. He’d kept asking and asking about paying rent. He should have just figured it out himself.

He screwed his eyes shut and sat back down at his easel, opening his eyes to look at his ruined painting. It would have been beautiful, but now it was marred by a thick black line, which he had no way of hiding. He was just about to screw it up when Sirius knocked on his door.

“Hey, Reggie, you good?” Sirius asked, concern shadowing his face. Regulus shrugged, he wasn’t sure. “Wow, is that what you’ve been painting?” Sirius asked, moving to stand beside him.

“Yeah, but it’s beyond saving. I was just about to throw it away.”

“What?! No, don’t do that!” Sirius picked up the paintbrush and began changing the shape of the line. Regulus watched, fascinated, as Sirius worked. “You know he wasn’t keeping it from you to be cruel, right? He just didn’t see it as a problem. It is a constant wonder how someone so intelligent can at the same time be so dumb.” Sirius spoke while he painted. “Seriously, he’s a good guy and was just excited that you'd agreed to move in. There,” Sirius proclaimed as he stood back and revealed the finished picture.

Regulus moved closer, staring at the regal stag, its silhouette taking over the picture. Its head held high, with its antlers brushing the very top of the painting. The oranges and pinks of the sunset Regulus had been painting made it look like some sort of ancient god of the forest. It was eerily beautiful.

“It’s amazing, Sirius, but I can't use it for my assignment. Maybe you should take it.”

“No way, it’s yours. You can hang it in the living room. James will love it, and that way, you can look up and remember the time we did something nice together,” Sirius slung an arm around Regulus’s shoulders and squeezed. “I’m glad you’re here, you know,” Regulus looked up at him with over-bright eyes.

“Really?” He said in a whisper.

“Yeah, of course,” Sirius grinned at him, leaning his head so it rested on top of Regulus’s. "I've missed you so much," Regulus debated internally for a moment before twisting his head so he was looking up at his brother.

“Sirius, can I tell you something?” Regulus said quickly. He needed to know he wasn’t being an idiot because if he left it and stayed with James too long, it would hurt so much more. Sirius nodded, urging him to continue. Regulus took a deep breath before he spoke. “I think I like James. Like more than a friend,” His words were barely audible, but Sirius heard every word. He pulled Regulus into a tight hug.

“You two are as dumb as each other,” Sirius chuckled, kissing the top of Regulus’s head and leading him out into the living room, where James and Remus were having a heated discussion about the proper way to top a scone.

Next part

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politemenacephd · 11 months ago

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Arachnophilia: (Part Ten)

Drider!Miguel O'Hara x Reader (+18)

Chapter Masterlist 🕷️

Content: Fluff and bonding, Monster/human relationship, Miguel is rutting, Reader goes into heat, Rough PinV sex, Spontaneous outdoor sex, Slight voyuerism/exhibitionism, Mouth covering, Rough biting, Creampie & web sealing, Little bit of angst at the end? CW: Mentions of & brief depiction of deer hunting.

Word count: 6060

One Week Later

‘Are you ready, arañita?’

Miguel’s voice drifted up and into the nest, turning your head towards the entrance. You were halfway through getting dressed and the distraction nearly toppled you to the floor.

‘AH- Yeah! Yeah, I’m- almost ready! Just a minute!’

You struggled into your new outfit; a suit made entirely of silk which Miguel had painstakingly crafted for you. It was super soft and strangely warm, but it clung to the contours of your body a little more than you’d have liked. You kept wondering if Miguel had consciously or perhaps unconsciously made it so form-fitting. After all, this was your third suit of its kind, as he’d ripped the other two to shreds during extremely passionate and wet sex.

You felt your face grow warm at the memory and physically shook it away. No, no time for that. If you slipped back into the heat again you’d never get to go on the trip, and you were excited to go.

As you rose to your feet you took a moment to admire how the nest was coming along. The first thing you’d done was make it homely by adding a window and doors, with the entrance now covered by a crude cut oaken circle that swung outward on a hinge and the walls now adorned with little wooden shuttered holes.

You admired the half-made fireplace in the centre of the room, next to the DIY wooden table and the slowly burgeoning food prep area, before turning to the bed.

The mattress was completely drowning in silken blankets and silken pillows, and the floor beside it was now adorned with the pelt of a stag he’d killed. You knew autumn was approaching and it would only get colder, hence the focus on conserving heat, and while you didn’t want to jinx the relationship you enjoyed planning for the future.

You did feel a little bad since almost all these changes were only for your benefit. You had to preserve heat in this empty forest, but Miguel with his soft fluffy abdomen could remain shirtless all year round.

Your eyes softened affectionately at just the thought. Such a beautiful creature. He was a sight to behold when he stepped out into the cold dawn, where the heat of his muscles created a misty sheen of steam and his white breath curling around his fangs.

‘Arañita!’

You jumped in place as Miguel’s voice echoed from below for a second time. Shit, you’d been daydreaming about him so much you’d forgotten to go down. With fumbling hands you grabbed your bag and rushed out the open door.

‘COMING!’

Where once there was only a short sticky rope to descend from his home there was now a generous ladder, allowing you to easily clamber down to the floor.

Miguel was waiting, patient as ever, his legs gently tapping on the dirt as you approached.

‘Alright! I’m here, sorry. Had some- difficulty with the suit’ you called.

‘Ah, arañita. There you are.’ The joy that lit up his face every time he saw you never failed to make your legs weak.

‘Yep! Here I am.’

‘You look wonderful in that suit, by the way’ he noted as you rushed to his side. You took the time to scoff as you grabbed handfuls of his fur, using it as leverage to drag your body onto his back. His fluff was soft where it brushed your skin, and he smelled like grass dew and wet hair.

‘Oh my god- I knew it, you designed the suit to be too tight on me, didn’t you?’

‘I- well, yes. Is that an issue? Is it uncomfortable?’

You landed on his abdomen with an ‘oomph’ and shuffled forward, settling on his back like a great horse. Your hands wrapped themselves tight around his broad waist.

‘No, but- come on. Little bit pervy.’

‘I thought that was the nature of our relationship’ he argued. He tried desperately to catch your eye but in doing so began spinning in little circles, chasing his back as you continuously ducked out of the way. You took great pleasure in making him spin. ‘I like to look at you, yes. I get great physical joy from admiring your form. You are my mate. I thought this was normal. Is that not normal?’

‘Oh my god Mig—alright, come on! No more wasting daylight hours! Go! Go! Git!’

You gently and playfully kicked his side, urging him onward like a horse, but a firm glare from his bloody red eyes quickly brought you down into an apologetic cower.

‘Sorry! Sorry, uh- shall we, shall we go, darling? At your own discretion?’

He gave a curt nod and began strolling upward into the forest.

Today, he was finally taking you hunting.

The woods, once terrifying and unknowable to you, were slowly becoming a comforting norm. You gazed up at the dizzyingly high pines as Miguel walked upward to where the trees grew sparse and wide.

The early morning daylight trickled down in thin rays, their glow highlighting the tiny specks of dust and flitting little bugs as they passed you by.

This place felt old, untouched. It was cool beneath the heavy canopy above. You could hear nothing but the distant chirps of birds and the occasional creaking of an old tree. As you passed beneath those silent giants you clutched Miguel a little tighter.

‘You were talking in your sleep last night’ you whispered. Mig jumped. You’d been walking for almost ten minutes now in abject silence, so your voice was a surprise.

‘Ah- what was that, mi tesoro?’ he whispered back once he’d regained his composure. You bit down the urge to giggle.

‘Oh, sorry, um- you were talking in your sleep last night. That’s all I said.’

‘I was?’

‘Mhm. It’s very cute. You kept kicking your legs, kicking them and grunting, then you said something like don’t run so fast little one or wait for me and um- I think then you just kinda settled and went back to sleep. Like I said, very cute.’

Miguel rolled his shoulders as he continued strolling onward. You couldn’t tell from here what he was thinking.

‘Mm. I don’t- remember my dreams anymore, but, I know that they’re vivid. I remember the feelings but not the events. So- huh. I wonder what I dreamed about?’

‘I should stay up and keep an eye on you, try and sus it out’ you teased. He managed a breathy little snort of a laugh in response.

‘Ah, I’m not sure about that. What if I say something in my dreams that I shouldn’t?’

‘Oh, pft- like what? You gonna say someone else’s name? you don’t know anyone else, well except Miguel maybe, and if you said his name my first thought wouldn’t be that.’

‘I could still- imply something embarrassing’ he said with a shrug. You’d broached the top of the hills by this point and behind you the view was extraordinary, with small windows in the canopy giving you a perfect view of the city in the distance. Mig paused to turn and look at it with you mid conversation.

‘I could- I don’t know, admit some, sexual fetish I hadn’t even realized yet, some- deep interest in the back of my mind.’

You sighed as you rested on his bicep. With your arms still tight around his waist you gave him an affirming little squeeze. ‘You idiot’ you teasingly chided, ‘you admit everything to me anyway. This morning you immediately confessed that you designed my clothes for your own delight, and- wait, yeah, literally the FIRST day you started rutting you sat me down and told me in great detail your sexual fantasy. You are too honest to be worried about this.’

Another guttural choke escaped his throat, his strange little laugh that now filled you with joy to hear. ‘You are right, as always, my tesoro. I suppose it’s just my anxiety. I- suppose I’m just not used to anyone else being around when I sleep. It’s strangely vulnerable, no?’

‘Yeah, yeah. It’s weird, but, It’s nice though, right?’

You felt his fur bristle beneath you, the strands brushing your leg. Oh, you thought, that meant he was upset about something, right? But, why?

‘Is it?’ he murmured.

You turned and leaned around his torso to try and see his face more clearly, but right as you did so he turned himself and began walking deeper.

‘Hey, is something up?’ you gently pushed.

‘Ah, it… Sometimes- you pull away, at night, when we’re… cuddling.’ The way his voice dipped on the word cuddling, like he was embarrassed to be saying it in front of you. God, he was so sweet. ‘You shuffle away and I wake up without you. I- was worried you were uncomfortable with me.’

‘Oh, I love cuddling Mig! But doesn’t it bother you when you’re trying to sleep? I keep waking myself up because when I roll in my sleep you’re there and I keep thinking I’ll wake you up too.’

He let out a soft ‘humpf’ sound in response, clearly surprised by your response. ‘Ah- I don’t believe so. I haven’t slept any worse since you arrived, except, occasionally waking to check you’re okay.’

‘Oh. Huh. Well, you are… Big? I suppose is the best word? Big ol’ guy, you probably don’t feel me as much. But, like I was saying, I’m just not used to feeling something beside me when I sleep. I’m adjusting my brain to it, that’s all. it doesn’t mean I dislike you or dislike cuddling. We’re just uh- finding boundaries, now we live together.’

He seemed to perk up at the reminder that you were, technically, living together. Living together as partners, a concept he thought he would only ever dream out. He did a little rustle before bounding through the trees.

‘Alright, well, we’re almost there. Let me get you something to eat, mi arañita’

True to his word Mig became utterly focused on the hunt from that point onward.

He bayed you to settle down in the roots of a tree while he got into position, somewhere far enough to dampen your scent but close enough that you could see. He seemed desperate to have you witness him being productive, and you were curious enough to go along with his whims.

In this part of the forest the trees were sparser, allowing more vegetation to cover the dry earth. Miguel had said this gave him more cover for ambush, but you were still stumped as to how this giant man was supposed to hide himself even in the thickest growth. Even when pressed to the floor he was huge, as wide as he was long, covered in bright red and black fur.

Surely a deer would see that, right? Curiosity got the better of you, and you settled down in the roots to watch.

Mig started by feeling the vibrations in the dirt. He tapped at the floor, shuffling back and forth as he listened for something far beyond the scope of your own senses. You saw his eyes widen a few times, indicating that he’d felt something in the distance, and once he seemed sure he began the next unusual stage of this dance.

He dug. He dug into the earth with his enormous legs, filling out a small burrow in which his body could just about fit. He used his legs to drag foliage over his head, masking his scent and his body, until even you could barely see him at all.

And there, he waited. He waited, and waited, as clouds came to cover the sun. He waited in the gloom while you picked at your nails, waiting with a patience that frankly scared you to your core, until you both heard it.

A snap. A twig breaking.

A stag had entered the woods. Immediately you shuffled downward, lying as still as possible in the roots. Mig didn’t move an inch.

The stag was sniffing at the ground as it approached. You were certain that it would smell the enormous spider lying in wait, but somehow it just kept drifting closer and closer. You could see its head dipping to push through the grass, its snout flexing and snorting. Its breath condensed hard in the cool air.

Every muscle in your body tensed. You watched, your heart racing, as the stag went to sniff right over Migs head.

CRACK.

You jumped in your skin as he pounced.

It was terrifying. It was pure, primal, a spectacle of undiluted power. He moved with a speed that seemed impossible for something of his size, so large and yet so nimble, as his legs propelled him out of the dirt and onto the beast. It tried to run but his claws caught its neck.

With the sheer weight of his body he brought the bleating giant down. You saw a flash of his eyes, blood red with a single white pupil, right before he clamped his jaws on its neck.

It was over in seconds. The moment the deer stopped moving you scrambled out of the roots to join him.

‘Holy- shit, you’re so fast!’

Mig unclamped the catch with a soft grunt. You could see the blood on his jaw and neck which he immediately smeared with the back of his hand before facing you. He had such a strangely shy smile on his face.

‘Oh- you saw! You saw it. What did you think?’

‘It was… terrifying! Wow! You are- so, strong!’ you said with an awkward laugh. You left out how weirdly enjoyable it was to see him at full strength, to have witnessed the power and carnage he was capable of.

His grin widened as he took your comment at face value. ‘Thank you, arañita. That- makes me happy. I like showing you that I can be of use.’

‘Oh, Mig you idiot.’

You leaned in and affectionately touched his hair, gently brushing back the thick curls. He almost purred at the touch. ‘Now- jesus, let’s get you cleaned up and get home.’

You used a strip of silk from your back to try and clear his face, though he kept nestling into your hand which made it difficult to finish. Something about hunting for you seemed to make him especially soft. He would tap his feet for attention and rustle against you, and you would tut at him while secretly enjoying his touch.

That peaceful downtime did not last long though. As you were brushing yourself down, preparing to head back down, you noticed that Mig had stopped pacing. When you turned to check on him his eyes were wide.

‘Mig?’ you said softly. He didn’t move. You watched with ever growing curiosity as he began to dart his gaze across the forest line, almost as if he was looking for something. You followed his line of sight but could see nothing yourself.

It was only then, on the cusp of your lips parting to question Mig on what he was doing, that your senses picked up the same thing he had.

Your eyes locked in a moment of shared terror.

Footsteps. Distant footsteps, growing closer with every step. Idle chit chat that echoed in the trees, something about being lost and forgetting the map. You sensed a flask on an overstuffed backpack slowly clinking against a metal keychain.

‘Hikers’ you hissed. Mig gave a silent nod.

No, no, no. This was bad, you thought. What were people doing this far out? Why today of all days?

You didn’t want to risk a run in with civilians. You knew Mig was safe, but you also remembered how you’d acted the first time you saw him, and more importantly you remembered his distress at being seen.

Without another word you jumped into action, hopping his back in one fell swoop while he grabbed the kill by the nape of its hide. He lifted it as easily as a cat carrying a kitten, a feat you barely had time to appreciate, as he broke into a canter the moment you were mounted.

In silence you hurried back down the way you’d come.

For about half the way down it seemed to be smooth sailing. Mig made easy progress through the woods, his eight legs silently tapping back and forth on the mulchy earth as you descended to home. Your senses could feel the hikers getting further and further away.

In no time at all you saw the glade appear at the bottom of the hill, a tiny little circle in a sea of evergreen pines slowly sinking downward. You let out a contented sigh.

But then you felt it.

You felt It.

That foreboding tug in your gut. The gentle throbbing that sank down through your insides, the pulsing of blood as your heart sped up. The yearning, the need, the subconscious addictive pleading for satisfaction.

No, no, no, NO. You couldn’t stop here, right? The hikers weren’t far enough away yet.

You shuffled, trying to secretly suppress it, when Miguel abrupted stumbled to a halt himself. You heard him drop the stag with a thump.

Shit. You could smell it. It was heavy in the air, a smell you couldn’t describe with words but which you felt in your loins. He was rutting too.

Your eyes rolled. Oh that smell, it gave you goosebumps. That smell alone dragged you to him like a magnetic force.

‘Arañita?’

His words were soft as he spoke. Those were dangerous words, hungry words.

‘Mig?’

You felt so small on his back as his shoulders arched. You had to tilt your head to see his face, to see the bright glow of his eyes as his head instinctively tilted sideways. You balked. Those eyes were fucking starving.

‘Mig’ you breathed.

His abdomen vibrated softly, rustling against your skin in a way that sent pleasurable shivers through your thighs and spine. You shuddered against him. ‘Mig, don’t—careful—’

He breathed out hard, his breath condensing in the air. ‘Ah… Arañita …’

It curled like smoke around his bloody maw. His full lips parted and he breathed in through the mouth, releasing a dark and foreboding growl. ‘Ah…’

‘Mig—we need to get back—’

He was breathing heavier now. You could see his enormous spider legs quivering as he fought the urge slowly infecting his mind. The urge to pin, to fill, to penetrate, to feel. The urge to claim. The urge to see your pretty form, naked and sweating and shaking as you struggled to take him, as you were fucked to the brim with his very being.

When he huffed smoke for a second time a breathy moan escaped his throat. It was a mating call, plain and simple, echoing through the trees.

‘Mig… Mig…’

It was pitiful; your pleading had gone from genuine concern to depraved praise as you whispered his name over and over again. While you pleaded Mig struggled to focus on his senses. His body was begging, screaming even, to take you now, but he could just feel the hikers still approaching their location.

‘We need- to get back- to the nest’ he panted. You didn’t even respond.

At this point you were broken, involuntarily grinding your hips into his fur for any semblance of relief. Your body was burning to the point that sweat was sticking your suit to the contours of your skin, highlighting every little dip and curve.

‘Miggy—’

‘Arañita!’

His bark of an order made you mewl.

‘We need- to get back—’

‘O-Okay’ you whined. Slowly, painfully, Miguel began to continue his walk down the hillside towards the glade.

It was agony. You’d gotten so used to instant gratification that pushing through the need was now hellish, especially combined with the need to run.

It was an itchy heat, a prickling heat, and as your blood began to pump you felt your insides begin to pulsate. Throb after throb, each harder than the last, as every muscle inside you twitched and tensed around a cock that wasn’t there.

You could feel his body beneath you. You could sense him, feel him in every part of your body. All you could think about was feeling more, tasting more, as that desperate curdling need to feel his cock inside you flooded all of your senses. It was physically unbearable.

‘Don’t’ your mind screamed as you pulled at his fur.

‘Don’t do it’ his mind pleaded as he forced himself forward.

But you were no match for each other’s potent smell. No risk, not even death, felt important compared to that burning ache.

You collapsed from his body and into the dirt with a low moan, unable to maintain yourself any longer. Miguel descended on you in seconds.

You squeaked and squirmed as he gripped you in his claws. He pounced like you were prey. He flipped and thrust your body down onto its back, his gruff hands immediately pinning your arms to the floor. The frail little bones in your wrists screamed out at the pressure.

‘Mig!’

He hissed and flexed his teeth on your neck, hot breath cascading over your skin as the smell of musky hormones and blood filled your nose.

‘I can’t- wait—’ he panted. You could already feel his abdomen rubbing and grinding on you, his slit unable to contain his erection any longer. You could feel the thick, warm shaft smearing your new suit with his thick, pearly pre-cum. ‘I need- you, please- I need it- it hurts—’

You knew it was dangerous, but your brain was a melted pot of red hot lust. You couldn’t fight it anymore. With a soft whine you lay back and turned your head to the side, frantically nodding for him to continue.

‘Okay, fuck—I can’t wait, fuck—just, be quick, please’ you panted.

He didn’t even bother to fully undress you. With a hiss he bent and ripped a hole in your suit with his mouth, a dangerous tactic as his teeth brushed your pussy lips as he tore the silk aside. He took one deep sniff of your pheremones before physically dragging your body into position.

He forced your legs into a mating press, his hefty torso straining the muscles in your thighs to bend to his will. He rustled slightly as he pushed into position, roughly edging his bulbous member against your slit, and as you felt the first inch spreading you open you knew it was over.

‘Okay, okay’ he panted, ‘shh- sh, stay still for me arañita, let me just—fill you—’

He thrust, hard, and with one excruciatingly tight stretch he was inside you again.

‘M-MM--!’ Your hips bucked and tensed, rocking from side to side as you struggled to adjust. Miguel gasped like he’d just avoided drowning.

‘Ah—ahh—that’s it, that’s it. I’ll be- quick, just- stay still, mi tesoro, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.’

The moment he entered you he started to frantically rut to completion, his abdomen jerking back and forth as he fucked you into the dirt. Your fingers dug into his arms.

‘MM--!’ It was painful to hold back your screams. You had to bite your tongue until it bled, until the taste of iron filled your mouth and nose, all in a vain attempt to not be caught. He was so fucking rough.

‘Sweet little spider’ he whined. You felt him thrust a little deeper and squirmed with joy at the familiar mixture of ache and pleasure.

‘It’s… ‘S so good’ you whispered in a needy, whiney breath. ‘So—good…’

Desperate now to finish quickly, Miguel angled himself a little further back. He needed the one thing that he couldn’t resist, his most primal indulgence. He wanted to see it. Your small, soft, sweet human body, perfectly impaled on his enormous shaft. The sight sent full body shivers through his spine.

‘So… tight…’

He looked utterly pussy drunk, mesmerised almost. He watched your slick coat his cock as he drew back, those translucent sticky strings hanging between his abdominal fur and your pretty little slit. They made his black veins glisten as they pulsed against your swollen cunt.

‘Mi… aranita…’

He stared, unblinking, as he moved his hand and began touching the spot where he’d entered you. He brushed his thumb down and across your swollen clit, those wet and messy folds, until it came to rest where his shaft was splitting you open. He watched you swallow him whole.

‘Pretty, pretty little spider’ he whispered. ‘F-fuck…’

He watched your hips jolt as he gave a few short pumps about halfway in, fixated on the way you stretched and wriggled with pleasure. His previous seed was now oozing out at the sides as he pumped in and out, just adding to the absolute mess you were making.

‘So, so… pretty…’

You felt his claws suddenly hit your neck, pressing you down until you were forced to be still. He continued to watch with wide and unblinking eyes as his thick rod squished back and forth, back and forth, filling you until you bulged before slowly slipping out with a wet pop.

‘Mm- mm—’

He was grunting hard as he moved.

‘So, fucking, pretty—’

‘Is it this way?’

Your whole body went rigid at the sound of unfamiliar voices, but you didn’t even have time to process your shock, because Miguel didn’t stop.

Even as the voices got louder he continued rutting you into the floor, his breathy grunts just barely audible in the rustling undergrowth.

You silently slapped at his arm but he couldn’t bring himself to pause. He impulsively clamped his hand over your mouth, his eyes deadly and starved as they stared down at your panicked expression.

‘Stay. Quiet’ he mouthed. Despite your fear, you were just as needy. You let him have you.

He bent your legs into your ribs just to slip deeper, his thick shaft eagerly kissing and smearing your cervix with pre-cum. Your breath was hot on his calloused hand as it muffled your desperate moans.

Despite his rational mind knowing that he needed to be quiet, Mig’s carnal desperation was driving him towards risky behaviour. You could hear the clap of his skin between your thighs echo with each wet pop as he pushed in and out, a symphony just as terrifying as it was erotic.

You watched him savor the feel of your body. You watched him as he experienced you.

‘Ah—ahh—ah—’

He flexed his jaw until it hurt trying to suppress his cries of pleasure, and in a second moment of impulse he bent down and sank his fangs into your shoulder. Your squeaks were silenced.

Now clamped by the terrifying power of his maw you were utterly surrendered. You could feel his teeth moving in tandem with his cock, filling and shifting inside you, flooding you with that same potent mixture of pain and pleasure.

You raked your fingers down his back, drawing red lines into his rough scarred skin. He dug his claws into the dirt.

The footsteps got closer, but there was no breaking free. You were trapped together. With a muffled grunt Miguel sped up to completion.

‘MMFF—’

He came inside you silently, with all his gutteral noises muffled by your skin. You felt it all the same. The heavy spurts, the hot seed flooding in and squirting against his soft underside when your cunt ran out of room. You were filled until you bulged.

In the high of that release you were nearly dizzy. Your eyes fluttered shut as your hormones overpowered any rational fear about being seen. All you could do was lull and whine, relishing the sweet gratification of being filled again.

‘Mig’ you whispered. ‘My Mig. You—’

Snap.

Your eyes shot open.

You tilted your head, slowly, just enough for your eyes to roll and spy the woods behind you. Two hikers were frozen in place, their bodies just barely obscured by the trunk of a pine.

They were staring at you. You, your body pinned beneath the torso of your half spider mate, still fully impaled on his monstrous cock, with your head in his neck and your flesh in his maw.

Your blood ran cold as your body tensed. To say you were mortified was an understandment, it felt like your heart might give out. You felt Miguel’s breath steaming against your shoulder as he panted into it. Did he know? Had he realized?

You opened your mouth but no sound spare a painful squeak escaped. Your brain was utterly fried.

The one to break the tension then was Mig, who decided to release your shoulder and stare directly at the two strangers. Mouth bloodied, eyes red, his naked body straining and panting for air.

Their reaction was swift.

‘FUCK!’

The two hikers almost fell over each other as they ran, both frantically fleeing for their lives into the overgrown brush.

‘JESUS- CHRIST, WHAT WAS THAT?!’

‘WAS IT EATING THEM?!’

‘F-Fuck, FUCK! I DON’T KNOW JUST- GO!’

‘We have to call for help—’

‘JUST RUN JUST- FUCKING RUN!!’

As the screams grew distant, you felt Miguel slowly pull out. His hands were quick to plug you up and carefully stitch your suit back together at the crotch, but you were too exhausted to move.

‘Shhiittt.’

It was the only thing you could think to say as you lay back in the mud, your head still a little woozy from the whole experience. Mig just grunted.

‘Shit, shit, shit. Ah…. I’m- I’m sure it’s fine. It’s fine. I- fuck, are you okay Mig?’

He grunted again as he lifted you up into his arms. His spider legs hooked the stag’s carcass and carefully manoeuvred it onto his back, allowing him to begin the short final trek back to the clearing with you still in his arms. The longer he went without saying a word, the more you began to worry.

‘Mig?’

You patted his cheek as he walked, trying in vain to get his attention. His only response was to sigh.

‘It’s okay’ you said, your voice now rather timid. ‘It’s fine, they- we probably won’t ever see them again. And hey, we didn't have to fight them! That's good, right? They just- left.’

‘It’s not that.’

You were surprised when words finally left his mouth, especially when they were delivered so sadly. He was blunt, yes, but not usually this melancholy, especially after sex.

‘What is it then?’ you asked. It took him a few more seconds to reply.

‘They thought… I was eating you’ he murmured. ‘If I’d been anyone else, they wouldn’t have screamed. We would have been- yelled at, perhaps, or chastised for being perverts. Maybe they’d have just, awkwardly moved away. But they would never have assumed I was eating you.’

The sombre reality sank in slowly. Somehow, you’d both forgotten the reality of what this was. What he was. You tried to shrug it off. ‘Wait, that’s what you’re worried about? I mean… If you were just, purely human, they might have still assumed you were murdering me. People can do murder too yanno.’

He managed a small, throaty chuckle at your light teasing, but it was strained. He looked distant, distracted, alone in his own mind. You gently shook his arm to drag him back down to reality.

‘Hey. It’s fine. You’re fine’ you repeated.

‘Does it not, bother you? The way they reacted?’

‘Mig I would have been mortified to be caught like that whether you were fully human or not’ you scoffed. He seemed unconvinced.

‘If they’d- seen us, holding hands’ he said, slowly musing over the theoretical aloud, ‘if they’d seen us… kissing, or even just sitting together, they would have run. They would still be terrified.’

It was hard to maintain a smile in the face of his dour prediction. You knew he was right, but you didn’t want to simmer in that pool of despair, and you didn’t want him to wallow in it either.

‘People- when they see something they don’t understand, they, react like animals. Sometimes they run, sometimes they fight. They squash it so you don’t have to think about it. It’s easier.’

That morbid thought made him wince, but you refused to let go. You leaned in and tilted his head back towards you.

‘And it’s horrible. It’s horrible, and it hurts, but then there’s other people. Other people, who- know what it’s like, to be the- scared little spider on the wall. And they know, Mig. They knew. I know. And I’m not scared of you.’

To your joy he managed to shoot you a ghost of a smile, just the barest tilting of his lips. It was enough for you, even if you’d only managed to distract him for a bit.

‘Besides, who do we have to disappoint?’ you said in an attempt to lighten to mood. ‘I don’t have friends to introduce you too, or family, or co-workers. You’re alone. We don’t need to worry about what people think.’

‘You say that now, arañita, but… I don’t know, I don’t feel like that will remain true forever. I also don’t appreciate you indulging my possessive nature.’

‘Awh, what? How, what did I do?’

‘Implying we’re all we’ve got’ he said softly. ‘It makes me- happy, but on some level, I know it shouldn’t.’

‘Well, hey! You know it shouldn’t, so- you know, that’s a start.’

Mig ducked his head beneath a row of branches as he re-entered the clearing. In the clear, bright light of the burgeoning sun he looked glorious.

‘Yes, but—I also know that I willingly ignore that fact and, pretend it is acceptable’ he confessed with a slight shrug. ‘Because- well, it comforts me, especially when I’m reminded that we are… different, to put it nicely.’

‘Well, as long as you’re not getting feisty, huh? I’ll just be sure to let you know if it ever gets annoying’ you offered. You pressed your face against his pec, right over his heart, and tapped it like you were making a promise. He gave you that sweet little ghost of a smile.

‘Very well, mi tesoro. I will hold you to that.’

You allowed Mig to drop the kill near the base of the nest before climbing back in with you still in his arms. You lulled a little in the sudden warmth, placated by the warm orange rays of sunlight warming the floor, and the moment he slid you onto the bed you collapsed into it.

‘Mmm… Yanno, that was the first time we were under such pressure from the heat that you didn’t make me orgasm’ you noted with a yawn. It was more a dry observation than a real problem you had, but it immediately caused Mig to bristle in horror.

‘I- oh, no you’re right. You poor little spider.’

‘It’s okay! I don’t blame you, it—HEY!’

You squealed with delight as he dove onto the mattress, his weight flinging your body a few feet into the air before landing back into his already outstretched arms.

‘Let me fix that’ he purred, his breath brushing your ear. ‘Please, mi aranita, let me taste you again.’

With an eager grunt his lips met yours, his abdomen rustling with excitement as his tongue went down your throat. You were smothered in seconds.

You gave in to his whining need to please and relished in the chance to scream again, your wet lips quivering his name with each breath as he tore your third new suit to pieces for just a lick of your cunt.

You were too focused on his mouth to notice anything as you tossed every item of clothing to the floor. Between his whiny moans and your own panting, you couldn’t have possibly heard anything else.

You certainly couldn’t have heard your society watch as it buzzed against the fur rug, the name ‘Jess’ highlighted in clear orange light. It was left to ring to voicemail instead, with neither of you aware it’d even gone off. Link to next part!

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